Fall For My Ex's Mafia Dad

Chapter 0040

I’m alone in the back seat of the black sedan that takes me to dinner at my father’s house.

I look up at the grey stone mansion and grimace, not looking forward to this. I know that there should

probably be some curiosity in me, some desire to know more about my family and my heritage. But

honestly? Lorenzo Alden doesn’t feel anything like my father. That, to me, will always be David.

Kent sent two guards with me and instructed them to stay by me at all times. For protection,

presumably, but also – I think – to be Kent’s eyes and ears at the meeting. Alden is his ally, but I think

even the term “ally” in this underworld has some tenuous distrust built into it.

I had begged David to come with me but Kent denied that too. Alden, apparently, wanted me all to

himself. Great. I was already awkward enough, now I have to go into this alone? It was definitely going

to be a disaster.

The guards get out of the front of the car after they park and come around to open my door. I step out

and sigh, wishing I was anywhere else. The stables, preferably, getting to know Heathcliff.

The three of us troupe up the front steps to the house and formally ring the bell. I twist my mouth at the

irony here. If he’s my dad – if this is my house – shouldn’t I be able to walk right in?

A maid opens it for us, giving us a kind smile, and then opens the door wide in welcome.

As we step in, I stop dead in my tracks. The guards almost bump into me.

“Are you okay?” one asks – Jerome, I think. One of the friendlier guards in Kent’s employ.

“Yes,” I murmur in response, staring around the room.

But in reality? I’m totally not okay.

Walking into this house is like walking into a dream. I’ve been here before, I suddenly realize. I know

things about this space – what’s around some of the corners, what things will feel like, what it smells

like. Even the rugs are familiar – a soft burnt orange, thick and plush underneath my feet. The arch that

leads into the dining room – yes, I know that, and if I look just beyond it I’ll find…

Yes, there. A hutch, filled with blue and white china.

“Oh my god,” I murmur, looking around as I slowly walk through the dining room.

The maid looks at me hesitantly. “Dinner isn’t ready yet, miss,” she says. “If you’ll come with me to the

sitting room…” Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

I ignore her – not really meaning to be rude, but – I can’t help myself as I walk to the back of the room

and push open the door to the kitchen. The avocado green fridge and stove are exactly as I remember

them. Except, I didn’t know that I did remember them.

I hear footsteps behind me. “Familiar, is it?”

I turn to see Alden standing there. I look at him with wide eyes.

He looks around at the kitchen. “We couldn’t keep you out of here,” he says, “your mother, the maids,

or me. You always wanted to come in and pull out all of the pots and pans. Pretend you were cooking.

Or just bang on them.”

I just stare at him, bewildered. I was only five when we went to live with David – it was certainly old

enough to remember something. How did I remember nothing?

Alden indulges me for a moment and then nods back towards the living room. “Come,” he says. “I want

to introduce you to some people.”

I follow, still staring around at the house. My house, where I lived, as a small child. As I consider it, I

realize that they are not unhappy memories – I have no feelings of fear or trauma attached to this

place.

Which, I suppose, is a good thing.

Alden leads me into the sitting room, my guards following closely behind. When we enter, I’m surprised

to see a woman sitting there with a boy at her side and a baby in her lap.

“Fay,” Alden says, putting out a hand to me. “I’d like to introduce you to Tristin, my wife.” I blink at the

woman, surprised. Why had no one mentioned to me that my father had remarried?

“How – how do you do?” I ask, fumbling over the words.

She doesn’t reply, simply giving me a cold look. She’s a beautiful woman, petite, with dark hair and

large hazel eyes. Her full pink lips are pursed with dislike.