Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Dad
Chapter 172

Too early the next morning, the guard bangs his nightstick against the bars of Kent's cell, making him jump awake. "Lippert," the guard says, yawning. "Visitor."

Kent stands, wondering what the hell could be going on. He doesn't say a word, though, knowing better than to ask. Instead, he simply stands and walks to the door, waiting for them to open it.

A short, silent walk talks Kent down the hallway with the interrogation rooms, and he raises his eyebrows when he realizes that he's being walked past them. So, he thinks, curious. An actual visitor this time...

Kent's eyebrows raise even further when he sees Daniel alone in the large visitation room, meant to accommodate a series of guests visiting inmates all at once. Daniel's sitting slumped in a chair, his head hanging, his hair mussed. And he looks like absolute shit.

The guard holds the door open for Kent and nods inside. "Ten minutes," he says, his voice clipped. "No touching, no gifts. If the kid brought any paperwork, he leaves with it." Kent nods and walks a few feet into the room, the door closing behind him as he crosses the room to his son.

"What the hell happened to you," Kent says, kicking the leg of his son's chair and making Daniel jump.

"No touching, inmate," a voice says from the room's loudspeaker. Kent waves to it and steps away from his son, sitting down across the table as Daniel raises his head.

"Hey, dad," Daniel says, giving Kent a pained little smile and wincing at the bright lights of the room. "I missed you too."

"Seriously, Daniel?" Kent says, leaning forward and studying him, sniffing at the scent of whiskey which seems to be pouring out of his pores. "Are you - are you hungover?"

"Yeah, that's an...understatement..." Daniel murmurs, sighing and running a hand through his hair.

Kent is almost shocked at the smile that cracks on his own face as he studies his son, who looks absolutely shattered. "You're supposed to look like this after your bachelor party," he murmurs, laughing a little now, "not your wedding."

"So, you heard about that?" Daniel asks, looking up at him with a little bit of surprise.

Kent doesn't answer, just waits.

"Yeah well," Daniel sighs, a corner of his mouth lifting in amusement. But even that small gesture makes him wince. "Most wedding receptions aren't planned by Janeen Thompson."

Kent's smile grows now as he starts to figure it out. "Did she take you to the strip club?"

Daniel frowns at him and then laughs lightly. "How the hell did you know that?"

Kent shrugs, shaking his head a little. "I've met her. She's...vivid. Did she take you to the one she works at in the city?"

Daniel shakes his head. "She doesn't work there anymore. She started at a new one, down by the beach." He grimaces. "It is...seedy, to say the least. But drinks were..." he stretches his hands above his head and sighs, clearly exhausted, "very affordable."

"I left you and Fay enough money in your accounts to afford a nice restaurant on the night of your wedding," Kent says, frowning now in disapproval. "You couldn't give her a nice dinner, like she deserves?"

Daniel pauses and then raises an eyebrow at his father. "Really dad? You're going to lecture me now on what Fay deserves?"

Kent, his temper flaring, opens his mouth to say something sharp but Daniel waves a hand between them, clearly not having the energy for this fight. "Let's just forget it," he murmurs. "Please, dad. It's not worth it."

Slowly, Kent closes his mouth and studies his son. They're silent for a long moment. "How is she?" Kent asks.

Daniel takes a deep breath and answers on the exhale. "She's...," but then he stops, shaking his head. "It's been a lot, dad. It's hard on her. And it's not like you two left things on the best terms."

Jaw clenched, Kent looks to the side, frustrated and ashamed. But old habits die hard, and he works to keep his emotions off his face.

But Daniel has been able to read his dad for a long time. He sees all of it.

"Anyway, that's not why I'm here," Daniel says, sitting up with a groan and pulling two envelopes out of his pocket.

Kent freezes and glances up at the loudspeaker. Daniel again waves a dismissive hand.

"It's fine," he murmurs, yawning. "They cleared it. Just paperwork." He tosses it on the table between them.

"What is it," Kent asks, reaching for them. But he freezes when he sees the sealed envelope with his urologist's address on top.

"Go ahead," Daniel says, unable to keep his voice from being so bitter. "I already know what it says. Your doctor was a little too easy to bribe to break doctor-patient confidentiality - you should probably get a new one. But you should know too - they're your results." "I don't need to see them," Kent sighs, pushing the envelope away.

Daniel just rolls his eyes at him. "Seriously, dad?" he asks, leaning forward and apparently forgetting his hangover in his anger. "You punched the shit out of Jerome - nearly broke his jaw - because you were so convinced that you couldn't be the dad and that Fay was lying to you. And now you don't even want the results of the test you rushed out of the house to get?"

Kent glares at his son. "I said I don't need it."

"Your sample showed evidence of viable sperm," Daniel snaps, grabbing the envelope off the table and shoving it back into his pocket. "Another reason to fire that doctor. So, unless you have other concerns about Fay, you should stop treating her like shit and believe her when she says she's only sleeping with you."

"I said," Kent growls again, "I didn't need it."

"Well, you've got it now. So would you fucking call her?"

Kent clenches his jaw and turns his face away. "I don't have phone privileges," he sighs.

"Oh," Daniel says, a little awkward now. He had assumed...

They're quiet for a long moment, but Kent glances at the clock and realizes that time is running short. "What's that," he asks, nodding towards the other envelope.

"Draft of a plea deal," Daniel says, looking up again and burping a little, turning a bit green as he does.

"Jesus," Kent mutters under his breath, glaring both at the envelope and at his hungover son. Then he pushes the document away from him. "I don't want this either."

"All of your lawyers agree, dad," Daniel says, leaning forward to glare at him. "You're going away for life - you could even get the death penalty if you don't agree to what they're offering -"

"I didn't do half these crimes, Daniel," Kent growls, meeting his son's eyes. "The only way I have a chance of getting out of this is if I can convince a jury to listen -"

"This isn't Twelve Angry Men, dad!" Daniel snaps, banging a hand on the table. "You are not getting out of this on reasonable doubt! Even if you didn't commit half those crimes, you still did the other half! What the f**k do you think half of a life sentence is, forty years? Is that seriously what you want, to get out of here when you're eighty, to meet your f*****g kid when they're middle aged?"

Shocked, Kent sits back in his seat, staring at his son.

"Just..." Daniel sighs, frustrated as hell and feeling like he might barf at any second. "Would you please just take the deal, dad?"

"Is it any better?" Kent snaps, glaring at his kid and then looking down at the envelope. "Are they seriously offering less than forty years?"

"If you're willing to...talk," Daniel says, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers, "about the Russians. They're willing to give you twenty."

Kent blanches at the number, but then he shakes his head.

"It's still too much. I need to walk."

"You are not listening -"

"YOU," Kent snaps, pounding his hand flat on the table. "Are not listening!"

Daniel, to Kent's surprise, just groans and covers his face with his hands, leaning so far back in his chair that it tilts onto its two back legs.

"God, dad, why are you so stubborn? Would you...would you please just at least open the envelope? Consider it?"

Confused, but slightly persuaded at this strange request, Kent grabs the envelope off the table and tears it open. He pulls out the paper inside, looking through what his lawyers think is the best they can offer.

"I can't take this," he murmurs, shaking his head, still believing that a full acquittal is the only way to go.

"Read the last page," Daniel sighs, still leaning back and covering his face with his hands.

Confused, Kent does so, frowning at the legal language that doesn't seem to spell out anything special...

But then, there at the bottom, a few words are written in Fay's slightly chaotic cursive script.

Take the deal, Kent.

He stares at them, shocked. And then, almost before he can stop himself, he runs a finger over the ink, tracing the letters she wrote.

Slowly, he lowers the paperwork to the paper and looks up at his son. Daniel, having leaned forward again without Kent noticing, stares right back at him.

"What's going on," Kent asks, stern. Because...why does Fay have anything to say about this? Why is she involved?

"Honestly, dad," Daniel says, "she's keeping me in the dark too. But you either trust her, or you don't."

Kent takes a long minute to sit back in his chair and think.

"One minute left," the voice announces. "Say your goodbyes."

"Dad..." Daniel says, spreading his hands wide, pleading.

"Fine," Kent snaps. "I'll do it."

And then, on some impulse that neither of them could describe - because they've never done it before in their lives - father and son suddenly stand and throw their arms around each other, hard. "I love you, dad," Daniel murmurs into Kent's shoulder.

"Hands off!" the loudspeaker blares. "No touching!"

"I love you too, kid," Kent whispers back. "Tell her, too."

"We said hands OFF!"

"Nah," Daniel says, pulling back a little now to smile at his dad. "I'll leave that to you."

Then, as the guards burst through the door to separate them physically, Kent feels a sharp pain at the back of his head and gasps, pulling away from Daniel and staring at him in shock.

As the guards grab him by the arms and pull him forcibly away from his son, Kent watches in confusion as Daniel takes the tuft of hair held between his fingers - pulled out from the roots - and tucks it into the pocket of his pants.