Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Dad
Chapter 179

My father leads me to a little sitting room just off the dining room, built for little chats like this. We settle on a sofa where we can still see most of the action at the party, and where, indeed, I have a direct view of Tristin, who glares daggers at me while she holds my baby sister on her lap. Romulus leans across her, stealing a piece of chocolate from her plate, about which she doesn't notice or doesn't care.

She's too busy hating me.

I grimace a little, but turn my attention to my father, who focuses on me.

"What is wrong, daughter," he says, raising a hand to my cheek and cupping my face softly in his palm. "I can see that you are worried."

"It's nothing," I say, laughing a little and raising my hand to cover my father's, pretending a fondness and affection that belies the rage that burns in me whenever I look at this man.

Because I have not forgotten, not for a moment, what Ivan told us: that my father was the one who, alongside him, sold Kent out. That in exchange for his information, my father was also able to pass a significant number of his crimes onto Kent's shoulders, adding them to the Lippert rap sheet and wiping them off his own.

And that, though Ivan's sudden departure from the city's drug scene devastated it and has resulted in a great deal less heroin on the streets of our fair city - which was, in retrospect, probably part of his plan - that my father has absolutely benefitted from this lack, as well as the vacuum in businesses that was left when Kent was arrested.

My father is now, hands-down, the Mafia King now that Kent has been dethroned.

And yet here he is, looking down at me like the kindest, gentlest man who has ever lived - so concerned for his daughter's happiness he'll do anything in the world to help her.

And suddenly, quite suddenly, as I look up at him I want nothing more than to bare my teeth and to use them to rip out his throat for taking my world from me, from Daniel, from Kent.

But I have work to do before I can savor that particular pleasure.

"Please, daughter," my father says, taking his hand from my face and wrapping it around my shoulder. "I want to make you happy. I know that the rug has been pulled out from under you - that your wedding was hastily done, to account for the miracle growing in your belly. It makes sense that you are worried - please, let me help you, as a wedding gift."

I look down at my hands, demure, twisting my fingers together and pretending to hesitate.

Even though there's no hesitation in me at all. This is precisely what I was waiting for.

"Well," I say, looking up at him, shy. "I-I admit that...well, father," I say now, all in a gush, "you know I love Daniel - I don't want you to think that I don't -"

"Of course, of course," he says, placating, "anyone who looks at the two of you couldn't help but see it, plain as day."

Yeah, I think. Anyone who hasn't seen him with Jerome. Inwardly I roll my eyes, but outwardly I press on with my act.

"Well, he's so good to me father, and so kind, and thoughtful, but..." I take a deep breath and look fully up into my father's face, "I don't think he's very good with money."

My father nods slowly, making soft understanding noises and encouraging me to tell him more.

"Kent left us some," I say, speaking of him as if he's dead - which is how I want my father to think of him as well. "But - you know it's all tied up in legal issues. We have plenty to get by," I continue hurriedly, "but...it's not enough. Not for forever. Especially..." I look down at my stomach now, letting him fill in the blanks.

"Not enough for the child's future," he says, understanding.

I nod, agreeing even though inwardly I laugh. Daniel and I still have the greater part of four million dollars in cash, alongside my beach property and whatever it is that Daniel has in Europe. If a single baby can't be raised on this?

Well. Let's just say that I'm glad Tristin is a bit of a high-maintenance wife, at this point. I make a mental note to thank her at some later date.

"So what would you have me do, Fay," my father asks, his voice friendly and kind, pleased at the prospect of being able to do something for me, for his grandchild.

"I wondered," I say, turning my head and looking up at him like he's my saving grace, "if you could...teach him? Just a little bit? His father - Mr. Lippert," I say, laughing inwardly at my use of the name, "didn't teach Daniel very much about the ways of...business." I heavily emphasize the last word of my sentence, making it impossible for my father to not hear "business" as "mafia."

My father lifts his chin and hums, arching a brow as if he thinks Kent a great fool.

I press on.

"Do you think you could teach him?" I ask, as if I just came up with the idea now, a bright new thing. "Just a...just a little bit?" I say eagerly, pressing my hands to his arm. "Just to get him started?"

My father hesitates, perhaps not wanting to take a Lippert into his business, but then his eyebrows raise as he perhaps considers the closer ties he'd have to the Bianci family if he takes Daniel under his wing. "Well, perhaps," my father murmurs. "In some small way..."

But I snatch my hands away, suddenly hesitating, and my father turns to me, asking me what's wrong.

"I don't..." I whisper now, glancing over my shoulder as if afraid Daniel will hear me. "I don't want Daniel to go to...jail. Not like...his father. So....is there a part of your business? That would be...safer?"

My father nods, considering, perhaps running through the rolodex of industries that he has under his name. The greatest share of his profits come from running in the drug trade, I know - but I want Daniel nowhere near that.

"I could...perhaps put him somewhere in waste management," my father says, considering, but I screw up my face in distaste, making my father laugh. "Ah, the little bride does not want her husband coming home smelling of trash?"

"I don't think he'd like it very much either," I say, shaking my head. "Daniel is picky, and I don't want him to hate it. Do you have anything...nicer?"

"Well, you would not have him in the clubs, would you," my father sighs, speaking of the dozens of bars and strip joints that he owns around the city. Again, I shake my head. That's not it. Come on, dad...

"Or," he says, his eyebrows suddenly going up. "We do have the investments in shipping..."

I gasp a little in pretend inspiration and my father looks at me, a smile starting.

"Daniel really likes boats," I say, nodding eagerly, pretending as much as I can to be a stupid little girl. My father laughs and wraps his arm around me, pleased.

"So, the boy likes boats does he? Well, they aren't sailing ships - they're shipping vessels, the kind with big metal containers and lots of goods."

"What kind of goods?" I ask, curious, and my father begins to rattle them off. I listen with half an ear, my mind already moving on to the next parts of my plan. Because with Daniel as a shipping magnate? Or, at least with his fingers in the game?

Well. From there, I can get started.

"Do you think that would please you, Fay?" My father asks, giving my shoulders a little squeeze.

And I look up at him with a big, beaming smile. "Yes, father," I say, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "More than you know."

"Than it shall be done," he says, heaving himself up from the couch and then offering a hand to me, which I take. "Come, let's go offer your new husband a job."