Forced To Marry The Mafias Son

Chapter 01

I heard a crash. I turned around, startled, to see that Mom had dropped her only vase-water and dead flowers scattered across the floor like broken memories.

"Mom, are you okay?!" I called out, stepping away from the strange man who still stood frozen at the door.

I rushed to the kitchen, pulling a rag from underneath the sink. Dropping to my knees, I began cleaning up the shards of glass, sopping up the water and tossing the wilted flowers into the trash can as I went. The air felt heavier now, like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Mom stepped around me, almost like she'd forgotten she had just dropped something. Her voice was shaky, but not weak. "Felix? Is that you?"

"Yes, Darcy. It's me," the stranger said, his voice low and unsure.

Then it happened-something that shocked me to my core. Without hesitation, Mom raised her hand and slapped the man hard across the face. The sound echoed through the house like thunder.

"How dare you come back here after nine years! Nine years without so much as a phone call!" she shouted, her voice trembling with rage.

I stood up slowly, my legs stiff from kneeling. Nine years? My stomach twisted. Wait... wasn't that when-

I looked at him again, really looked. He had my eyes-those same familiar amber-brown eyes staring back at me like a mirror. He had Tanner's black hair, and the fair skin that ran in our family. My chest tightened.

No. It couldn't be. But it was.

This man... was my father. The one who abandoned us. The one who walked away and never looked back.

Fury boiled in my veins. I clenched my fist without thinking-glass still in my hand. A sharp sting followed. Blood dripped down my palm, but I didn't care. My heart was pounding too hard, filled with hate and confusion.

"Cassandra, you're bleeding!" Dad-no, Felix-exclaimed.

I looked down at the blood seeping through my fingers. He had no right to care.

Mom turned sharply. "Cassandra, give me that rag!" She snatched it from my hand, tossed the shards in the garbage, and rushed to the sink. Hot water poured from the faucet as she soaked the rag and came back to me.

Kneeling in front of me, she gently pulled the glass from my hand and wrapped the hot rag around it. "Don't scare me like that," she whispered, her voice soft now. But I was barely listening.

He was still there. The man responsible for every ache, every tear, every unanswered question growing up. My hands trembled with the urge to strike him like Mom had-only harder.

Dad stepped in, finally closing the door behind him like he belonged here. Like he ever did. "Are you okay, Cassandra?"

Before I could even think of a response, Mom stepped in front of me. "Who said you could come in?"

He ignored her completely, looking at me again. "Cassandra, are you okay?"

That was the final straw.

This was my moment-the one I used to dream about. I'd imagined yelling at him, getting in his face, screaming about how much pain he caused. But instead, my stupid passive-aggressiveness kicked in.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I mumbled.

What? No! Why did I say that? Why did my mouth betray me like this?