Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Father by Caroline Above Story
Chapter 0075

Chapter 0075

The next day, I go down to the kitchen in my riding clothes and wait. And wait.

I have my breakfast with Daniel, waving him off as he goes to class, and then have about five more tiny

cups of espresso as I wait so me more.

I’m practically buzzing when Kent finally deigns to come into the room, which is, as usual, busy with

activity.

He doesn’t even look at me as he sweeps through the room, stopping to check on those cooking this

morning, and then heading to the back corner, where the older captains sit. He joins them and consult

for awhile, making plans for whatever their next move is.

I grit my teeth, realizing that I’m going to have to wait a little longer. To pass the time, I cross to the

espresso machine to make myself another cup.

Forty-five minutes later, Kent walks swiftly past me, headed for the door.

Pissed – I know he saw me sitting here, I know he’s doing this on purpose – I stand up and call after

him.

“Kent!” I call.

He stops in his tracks and then slowly turns to look at me, an eyebrow raised. Otherwise, though, his

body gives no indication of what he’s thinking or feeling.

“Can I get a ride, please?” I ask. “To the stables?”

Kent’s eyes flick over me and then he gives a little laugh. “No time today,” he says as he pushes

through the door. “Maybe tomorrow. If I’m feeling generous.”

I glare at the door as it swings shuts.

God damnit. This was my real punishment.

Finishing my tiny cup of coffee, I head upstairs and get changed, opting for a comfortable pair of

leggings and a sweater. Then, I flop onto my bed, realizing that I have…absolutely nothing to do.

I sigh, glancing over at my books, but not wanting to read them. It’s moments like this when I really

miss Fiona. She was always a bright spot in my day, making me laugh, filling up my time by dressing

me up and playing with my hair like her own little human-sized barbie.

Sitting up, I wonder about where she is now. I hope she’s okay, that she got somewhere safe. That

she’s happy, living a good life.

It’s so strange, realizing someone you’d come to love is your biological family in the moment when you

say goodbye to them. Fiona was good to me perhaps because I am her cousin. She taught me so

many skills that I’ve found useful already in this mafia life, skills I’m not sure I truly appreciated until

now.

I wonder, too, if she was also giving me hints about how to defy Kent. Considering that she was,

apparently, here the whole time as a spy herself –

Perhaps she was preparing me to take her place.

I pale a little at the idea, still not knowing – not really – where my allegiances like. With Daniel,

certainly, but between Kent and my father, the true real powers at play here?

Whose side was I on? Perhaps neither.

But Fiona. She was the one who showed me, first, that there’s more to this house than meets the eye.

And that if I’m sneaky, I can replace some really interesting – and potentially useful – stuff in the house’s

most under-explored corners.

A wicked little smile crosses my face then.

Well. If Kent won’t keep me out of trouble by taking me to visit my horse, then I guess…trouble it is.

I bounce out of bed, putting on my slippers, and head out into the hallway.

I look both ways, realizing that I actually know very little about this house. There’s a linen closet next to

my room, and then on the other side there’s Daniel’s room. Beyond that is the room that Fiona used,

and then some other guest rooms.

I blink, realizing that – really – I have no idea where Kent sleeps.

A smirk crosses my face as I wonder if he hangs from the rafters like some kind of evil bat. That would

suit his personality, for sure.

Thinking of the rafters, though, my eyes travel up the next set of stairs, which wind slowly upwards

beyond my room.

I had asked Fiona, once, where they went, but she had dismissed the question off-hand, telling me

there was nothing up there but a whole bunch of junk in storage.

I consider this for a second, mulling over her words. What kind of storage, though? Especially if all of

the family heirlooms and photo books were kept downstairs in that little room in the basement…what

the hell did they keep upstairs?

Suddenly curious, and feeling bold – and frankly, bored – I look around for any evidence of prying eyes

and then tiptoe forward, heading up the steps without a sound.

Surprisingly, there isn’t even a landing at the top. Instead, there’s just an ugly brown plywood door, its

shabby material clearly at odds with the fine woodworking in the rest of the house. This, clearly, was

installed late.

I reach out a hand, firmly grasping the round knob, and give it a twist – but it doesn’t budge.

Disappointed, I drop my hand and screw my mouth to the side. I make a mental note to ask Daniel

what’s up there and, also, to look up some basic lock picking methods on the internet.