Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Dad
Chapter 263

"All right," I say, quietly stroking the little dog's ears, noticing the deepening of his breathing as he starts to fall asleep - probably a very puppy reaction to all the stress. "You've got my attention, Ivan. By force. But all right, tell me about this offer."

"I can't," he says, shaking his head a little. "That's for her to say."

"Who?" I ask, tilting my head to the side.

"You'll find out," he says dryly. Then he sits up, trying to peek out the back tinted windows. "I think we're almost there."

"Ivan," I hiss, leaning forward. "What the f**k is going on? Like, why are you even in Italy? Running someone else's errands?" "What?" he asks.

"Seriously," I say, gesturing towards him with an open palm. "This is - so not your style. You're the errand boy, going to kidnap me and bringing me to someone else? This is very much not the mafia boss who blocked the road with his Lamborghini, nor is it the kinda- sexy police man who was all," I shrug a little, "all stuck up and straight laced. And bossy."

Ivan tries to fight it, but he smirks a bit at this. He can't help it. I burst into a grin. "Well," he says, shaking his head at me. "If this isn't my style that's not my fault. That's yours." "What?" I ask, sitting up straight.

"Yeah," he says, leaning forward again to glare at me. "Someone got me put on leave from the NYPD because I botched the Lippert escape so badly. I was very much under suspicion for why I asked half the police force to meet me across the state." I can't help it. I burst into a laugh and then smack my hand over my mouth.

"Yeah," he says, shaking his head at me. "Real funny, Fay. Just my career down the drain."

"But it was just leave!" I say, tossing an apologetic hand out towards him. "They didn't fire you."

"And when they bring me back, if they ever do, I'll be on desk duty for the rest of my life. They'll never trust me ever again."

And suddenly I do feel guilty about that. Because I never meant to ruin his life. Just...get him out of my hair. And rub his nose in it a little bit.

"So why are you here?" I ask quietly, shaking my head, not getting it.

"Consider it freelance work," he says on a sigh, narrowing his eyes. "I found someone a little higher up whose plans intersected nicely with my own." "Higher up?" I ask, curious.

"FBI," he says, his voice a little superior as he delivers the news. My eyes go wide with shock.

But I shake my head, dismissing it, needing more information. "Wait, plans? Ivan...what are you planning?"

"What I've always been planning," he replies. "Nothing has changed, Fay. I'm still working to bring Lippert and the mafia down."

"Why," I exclaim, almost shouting in my exasperation. "Just let it be, Ivan! You're letting this vendetta control your life - just let it go. Find a nice girl, settle down," I sit back against the wall, letting my eyes flick over him. "Go have...little blonde police babies. Or whatever."

"It's all very easy for you to say, Fay," Ivan says, sighing at me. "Because you got what you wanted. Me? I'm still hungry for it."

I sigh too, rolling my eyes. But we don't have a chance to get into it any further, because suddenly the car rolls to a stop.

Ivan stands up in the back of the van, looking down at me calculatingly. "Are you going to do something stupid? Like...run, or whatever?"

"Ivan, I don't know where we are," I say, exasperated, "and I don't speak Italian -"

"You don't speak Italian yet?" he exclaims, baffled.

"And," I continue, moving on without acknowledging his rude remark, "I'm crazy pregnant. So even if I did want to run? I'm not getting far."

"True," he says, offering a hand. When I take it but still struggle to get to my feet, he helps me, being very patient and, frankly, delicate with me as I stand and settle the little puppy in my arms.

"Are you seriously taking the puppy?" he murmurs, looking down at me like I'm crazy.

I gasp and look up into his face. "Are you suggesting I just let him go!?"

"Fay, this is serious -"

"He'll die!"

"Oh my god," Ivan sighs, and then he leans forward and knocks on the door, which slides open. A plain dark-haired man stands there, pointedly not looking at us. Ivan murmurs something to him in Italian as we climb out. "Wait, you speak Italian?" I ask, confused and a little impressed.

"Fay, do you seriously think I went undercover in the mafia without speaking Italian?" He rolls his eyes at me.

"Well, who is he?" I ask, looking back at the man, who turns away from me.

"He's just a driver," Ivan says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and moving me forward. "Temporary hire. The less he knows, the better, and vice versa."

"Temporary hire," I murmur, confused and turning back to him. "Wait, aren't you FBI now? Don't you have better resources than this?"

"Just," he sighs and rolls his eyes at me, "can you just get inside, Fay? Before you begin your interrogation? God, I forgot how annoying you can be -"

"I never annoyed you," I mutter, narrowing my eyes but starting to look where I'm going. And I'm shocked to suddenly realize that we're at some sort of...Italian version of a cheap road-side motel. What? In such a beautiful country, how did Ivan land here? Ivan doesn't respond to me, though, instead moving forward to a door tucked into the corner of the building. He glances at me once before he sighs and raises his hand, knocking.

Fear begins to rise in me now and I tighten my arms around the puppy. Because while I'm not afraid of Ivan - honestly, even after everything, I know he's not going to hurt me -

...I have absolutely no idea what's behind this door. Or who. Or why they're here.

"Come in," calls a voice from inside and something in me passively realizes that it's a woman's voice.

Ivan twists the knob, pushing the door open, and gestures me in in front of him, blocking my exit behind. I look up at him, scared, my face silently pleading for him to tell me that it's okay.

But he just shakes his head and nods inside the door. "Go, Fay," he says, his voice defeated.

And I bite my lip, and turn, and take two steps into the room.

Ivan closes the door behind us as my eyes focus on the woman standing across the room with her back to us, her shining red hair falling to her shoulders. My eyes sweep over her, taking in her crisp white shirt, her pencil skirt.

But my jaw absolutely falls open when she turns around because...

God, fuck, because it could be a mirror.

Or, at least some weird, cursed mirror from a fun house that shows me what I'm going to look like in twenty-five years.

My mouth goes absolutely dry as she smiles, a cold, dark thing, and looks me up and down.

"Well," she says, assessing. "You turned out prettier than I thought you would, with that man as your father."

Her voice is what seals the deal. It rings somewhere in my memory - from back in the days when I had a mother.

All the blood rushing from my brain, from my face. When I do speak, the word stutters lamely from my lips, shocked, haunted, and alone. "M-mom?"