Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Father

Chapter 285

As subtly as I can, I sit back in my chair, lifting my glass of wine to my lips and pretending to take another sip as I slip my gaze towards Daniel, who is already looking at me with his eyebrows slightly raised. I flick my eyes away quickly, not wanting to give anything away, but grateful that he, too, sees what is happening.

Slowly, Kent turns his head towards Natalia. “I seem to be doing fine as a bachelor, no?” he asks, and I’m surprised to hear a little bit of an Italian accent come into his voice, perhaps harkening back to his younger years when he spoke Italian with her every day. Those days when he fell in love with her, and told her about it, and asked her to marry him, all in that language.

But I smirk a little, inwardly, to think that they’re all speaking in English at this dinner for my sake. I still have a little power here, even if she’s trying to take it all.

“You are doing all right,” Natalia replies, leaning even closer to Kent and letting her eyelids drift down so that she’s looking up at him through her lashes. “But with the right woman, Kent? You could do so much better. Be so much more relaxed.”

And I feel the inner urge to bare my teeth at her as Natalia slips a hand onto Kent’s shoulder and then lets it drift, ever so casually, down his back – the fond kind of gesture that could be friendly but which we all know in this moment is so, so much

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turns his attention back to his meal and picks up his knife and fork as he takes a deep breath. His voice is different now – harsh, controlled, as he begins to cut at his chicken. “I’ve decided never again to marry, Natalia,” he informs her, and then looks around the table

al me.

her hand away from

on her lips. “You will change your mind. You just need to… pick the right woman.”

in after a moment, breaking the awkwardness in his own particularly

anything at all, instead sitting in my seat, stewing silently at Natalia’s gall. Clearly, clearly, she thinks that she is the “right woman.” And

I act…maybe a little

a little

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be discreet, I slide my hand off of my lap and move it across the few inches that separate me from Kent. Hardly daring to breathe lest it attract someone’s attention, I slip my hand across the fabric

tense as I squeeze his leg, letting him know, not so subtly, that he’s mine, not hers.

he’d damn well