Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 58

58 /70

Davina's POV:

The confrontation at my home had ripped the delicate tapestry of our lives apart, but for the first time in months, something honest was woven back in. After I left Dexter broken on the floor, the police were called—not by us, but by a horrified neighbor. The ensuing hours were a blur of hushed statements, Lexi's tearful relief, and my mother’s stunned silence.

The truth—about Dexter's affairs, his violence toward Lexi, and his vile attempts to assault me—had been laid bare. It was a lot for my mum to absorb, but seeing the bruises on her pregnant daughter’s face and witnessing her son-in-law's brutality broke through the stone wall of her judgment. By the time the police left, Dexter was gone. Kicked out by Lydia herself, who refused to let him back in the door.

Lexi, with a quiet strength that made me incredibly proud, declared she was filing for divorce. The child she carried would not be raised under a cloud of fear and deception. The terror had given way to resolve, and my sister was finally starting to breathe free.

In the midst of this chaotic fallout, my mother’s focus shifted entirely. She had lost me once to her judgment; she wouldn't lose me again. She clung to me, her eyes red-rimmed and pleading. "Stay, Davina," she insisted, her voice soft and broken, a sound I hadn't heard in years. "Please. Stay here. We'll fix this. We'll be a family again."

The embrace of my family, the scent of my childhood home, the quiet relief in Lexi's eyes—it was the balm I had desperately craved. For a few days, I stayed. I tried to explain what had happened, Malcolm, the debt, the blackmail. My efforts to keep them safe. I left the details out, as I knew it would crash my mom. I helped Lexi pack Dexter’s things. I cooked with my mother, the silent activity bridging the awkward gaps between us.

But the freedom felt hollow. In all these days, Ezra's men did not intervene. They stood silently around the house, keeping an eye on me. He hadn't called, hadn't texted, hadn't sent his men to drag me back. Maybe he trusted my word. I wasn't going to leave again.

The thought of walking away, of returning to the life of scraping by, of letting the debt languish while he protected me from the inevitable fallout of the underworld, seemed impossible. More than that, the truth was terrifying: I missed him. I missed the relentless pressure of his presence, the dangerous comfort of his control, the clarity that came with his brutal honesty. The safe walls of my family home felt too thin, too porous, against the real threats I now understood existed.

I knew my decision would hurt my mother, but I also knew I was no longer the girl who belonged here. I was now a creature forged in fire, stained by the knowledge of death, and bound by a debt and a desperate, terrifying love to a king of darkness.

"Mom," I said gently, stepping back from the suitcase Lexi was helping me pack. "I can't stay."

Lydia's face crumpled, the newfound happiness draining away. "But... why? Davina, you belong here. With us."

"The debt, Mom," I lied smoothly, offering the only excuse she would understand and accept. "I still owe him. I have to finish my work. Until the debt is cleared, I'm not truly free."

I hugged Lexi fiercely, promising to visit, to call, to be there for the baby. I embraced my mother, absorbing the silent plea in her tearful eyes.

Then, I walked out.

I knew Ezra’s men would be close. I had noted the discreet black sedan tucked down the street the day I arrived. I walked directly to it, my steps steady, my resolve firming with every stride.

The two guards inside immediately sat up straighter, surprised by my sudden appearance. They knew their orders were to follow, not interfere, but confronting them directly was a deliberate act of choosing my side.

I tapped sharply on the passenger window. The glass slid silently down, revealing the lead guard’s impassive face.

"I’m ready to go back," I stated, my voice devoid of emotion. "To the penthouse."

The guard merely nodded, a flicker of something—acknowledgment? respect?—in his eyes. He didn't question me. He simply relayed a message into his comm, a brief, whispered command before opening the back door for me.

I climbed into the plush leather seat of the armored vehicle. As the car pulled away, leaving the comforting scent of home behind, I watched my mother's figure shrink in the rearview mirror. The remorse was sharp, but the fear was gone, replaced by a strange, hard certainty.

The drive was silent and swift. When I entered the apartment, the guards at the door barely looked up. The penthouse was quiet, sterile, magnificent.

I found Ezra in his living room, staring out at the night-lit sea, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He wasn't surprised. He turned as I approached, his eyes intense. He didn't smile. He didn't speak. He simply set his glass down on the nearest table.