Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Dad
Chapter 194

Kent does precisely what he's told over the next few hours, signing papers and obeying instructions - standing, sitting, waiting, not giving anyone an ounce of trouble and saying as little as possible. Inside, his mind churns, wanting desperately to consider every single possibility and how he'll react in any situation. But he forces himself to still inwardly as well, knowing that it's impossible for him to know. That instead, his best option - his only option is to remain calm and vigilant so that when it's time to act he can avoid panic.

Kent's breath comes cool and easy as he is loaded into the transport van with two other convicted criminals, all headed to the state prison for their longer-term sentences. As the guard uses a chain from the van's floor to link Kent's ankle shackles, stomach chain, and the cuffs around his wrists, Kent takes note of everything: the driver up front, the cop car that's going to follow behind. From what he knows, it all seems like a standard prisoner transport.

He smirks, just slightly, at the singular cop car and everyone getting ready to move. Looks like the kid had no luck trying to convince the state to make any changes.

After the two other convicts - in orange jumpsuits, like he is - are secured in the row behind Kent, the guard joins the driver up front and slams the door. After a few seconds, the van starts off and Kent takes a deep breath in through his nose, his shoulders tensing despite his determination to keep calm.

Because...something's going to happen any second. He can just feel it.

But as those seconds pass...god damn it, but nothing happens. Kent's shoulders slump in his bewilderment. Was...was Ivan just mistaken? Was he mistaken? Did whatever Fay and Daniel were planning fall through?

While the drive started out with tension and anticipation, Kent has to admit that...well, he's kind of bored. One of the prisoners behind starts to snore loudly and Kent turns to glance at him. They're about thirty minutes into the three-hour drive to the state prison, off the highway for the moment, making some kind of connection through farmland. Kent grimaces a little at the sleeping prisoner's loud snores and then sighs, kind of wishing he could sleep too - because if nothing's going to happen, he might as well get some

rest -

Out of nowhere, the blaring sound of a truck's horn breaks through the peaceful white noise of the transport van's engine -

Kent's eyes go wide as his head snaps toward the sound - he is barely able to gasp in shock and surprise before the eighteen-wheeler slams into the side of his van, hurling it across the road -

The driver screams and the guard and the prisoners do as well -

Kent just clenches his teeth and braces for impact as the transport flies through the air, glass and debris flying everywhere.

I take a little sip of the breakfast mimosa that Daniel made for me, grimacing a bit at the taste of the sparkling cider mixed with orange juice. I scowl at it, thinking that today of all days I should at least have a cocktail before what's coming next. I shift the direction of my scowl to my stomach, thinking stupid baby.

But then I run a hand over my belly, because I don't mean it. I'm actually growing much fonder of the baby now that I can feel it moving more. It's not an absence or a sickness now, but instead a little somebody that comes by to say hello. Which is nice. "It is good to see you becoming a mother, Fay," my father says, smiling at me from across the table as he takes a bite of sausage from his brunch plate.

"Is it?" I ask, putting my drink back down and turning my head towards him. I don't bother to put on the fake smile that I'd usually paste on my face at moments like this. It's not necessary anymore.

"A delight," he confirms, nodding to me. Then he waves his fork towards my plate of mostly-untouched food. "Though I'd like to see you eating more - you should put on more weight. Give me a nice, fat, healthy grandchild."

"You're right," I murmur, looking at my full plate of food. "I'm just not...feeling very hungry today."

Daniel, next to me, nudges me with his elbow. "You really should eat," he says quietly, and I know that he's right. But I just nod to him with a little grimace because, honestly, anything I put into my stomach right now isn't going to stay down. And for once, it isn't morning sickness.

"So," my father says, taking a deep breath and putting his fork down for the first time in about half an hour. "You asked me for this private little breakfast. What is it you'd like to speak to me about?"

I look up at Daniel, who nods to me. Solemnly, I nod back. It's time.

I take a deep breath and turn my eyes to my father, letting him see my true expression for the first time in months. Maybe ever, honestly.

"It's a big day, father," I say, cold. "We came here to celebrate."

Daniel stands now, moving to the sideboard behind my father where a bottle of champagne is chilling. Then he pours three glasses, his back turned to us.

"Celebrations!" my father says, pleased, reaching for the glass that Daniel carries to him. But then my father hesitates as Daniel hands me my own glass and sits back in his seat with his own. "But...Fay, should you be drinking? It isn't good for the child." "Oh, a sip won't hurt," I say, raising my glass of champagne to consider it. Then I turn my eyes back to him. "Though I hope you and Daniel will drink deeply. It's a big day."

Daniel raises his glass then, initiating a toast, and he mumbles some useless words about family, and happiness, and the future. My father, pleased and interested, leans forward and clinks glasses with us. As I suggested, he and Daniel drink deeply, emptying their glasses as I simply take a sip and place the flute on the table away from me.

The champagne fizzes on my tongue, dry and sharp. But I ignore it, staring at my father.

"And what are we celebrating," he says, leaning back in his chair and resting his folded hands comfortably on his belly. "Just familial happiness? Or something more specific?"

I speak quietly, obliging him to lean forward to hear me. "We're celebrating your retirement."

"My retirement?" he says, surprised, and then he laughs, thinking it's some kind of joke. He leans back in his chair and smiles at me. "What do you mean, daughter?"

"I mean," I say quietly, making him lean forward to hear me, "that today is the day you step down as the head of the Alden family, father. Congratulations - you've had an incredible run. You've truly built an empire, father." I take a moment to consider him, my eyes flicking up and down over his face, his body, his hands.

"Or," I continue, "if you haven't built it, you have at least cleverly acquired all of the pieces, stolen them from those who actually did the work. Truly - it is impressive. We can celebrate that."

The smile falls from my father's face as he realizes that I'm quite serious, and that not everything I've said is a compliment. "What is this," he says slowly, turning his attention to Daniel now. "What the hell are you doing?"

"No," I snap, my voice ringing through the room. "You look at me. I did this."

My father slowly moves his eyes back to me, his breath hissing between his teeth.

"What?" he seethes, and then he begins to cough, just a little.

I settle back in my chair, watching him carefully. "Your move against Kent was masterful, father, it really was. It was bold, and fast, and effectively eliminated your biggest rival while neatly transferring his criminal empire to your hands. It was effective. But you made one critical mistake."

My father's face reddens now and he shakes his head, not understanding, his eyes again going to Daniel - which lights a fire in me.

I slam my hand on the desk. "Stop," I command, and his eyes shoot back to me, wide with surprise.

Then, slowly, I stand and lean forward, ensuring that I have his absolute attention. "You underestimated me, father. Not Daniel. Not Kent. Me."

"Sit down, girl," my father growls, starting to realize that something serious is actually happening here. But then he starts to cough harder, his face turning red.

I stand up straight now, raising my chin, letting my actions speak for me. Because I patently refuse to be told what to do - not by this man, this greedy snake.

"I suggest you sit still and listen," I say quietly, looking at him evenly, feeling more calm in this moment than I have for the past few weeks combined. "The more you move, the faster your heart beats, the worse it will get."

"What?" he growls, working to get to his feet, but then he stumbles a little, finding that his body betrays him. He falls back into his chair.

"She's not kidding," Daniel says beside me, lifting his fist to the table and opening it to place the tiny bottle where my father can see it. "This is the good stuff. You'll be dead in minutes. Faster," he says, shrugging, "if you encourage it."

My father, his eyes going wide with fear as he realizes that this is very, very real. Frantic, he starts to look around for his phone, but I just take a deep breath, letting him figure out that it's gone. Because of course Daniel snatched it earlier, when my father was busy stuffing his face with food.

We have thought of everything - everything. Dozens of sleepless nights turning over every scenario, every escape, every way out. I have considered every possibility and defended against it. The result?

There is no way out of this for my father except the very thin avenue that Daniel and I have paved for him. But still, I understand that he has to figure that out for himself.

So I wait, patient, while my father realizes his phone is gone, and realizes that he has no way of getting out of his chair. He opens his mouth and lets out a wide shout - a scream, even. But no one comes.

Of course they don't. Fiona is already in control. Everyone who didn't turn to her side is dead, or currently dying.

"Are you finished?" I ask, my voice bored.

My father growls low in his throat as he glares at me. "I'll have you killed for this," he rasps.

"No, daddy," I say, leaning forward to hold his gaze. "That's what I'm doing to you."