Kent sees the blade just in time, whipping up his hand to intercept it.

The blade slips between his fingers and then drags down his palm, cutting his skin, but just the surface. Growling, Kent grabs Fay’s fist and twists, trapping the knife between their palms, wrenching her wrist back so that she feels the bones grind together.

Fay cries out, her body bending to follow her wrist, desperate to keep it from snapping. Kay holds her at his mercy as she gasps for pain and looks up at him with wide eyes. His anger turns to mercy in that moment and he huffs a laugh at the girl.

She’s just a frightened little thing.

“Clever girl, carrying a knife” Kent says. “To bad you don’t know how to use it. But we’re not going to do that again, are we, Fay?”

Fay nods, desperate, and Kent lets her go. Fay falls back against the table, gripping her wrist with her other hand, hissing with relief. She looks around on the floor for her knife, but it’s still in Kent’s hand. Quietly, he slips it into his pocket.

Kent takes a moment to study this delicate, beautiful girl. His second in command had wanted to come to this club tonight to check on some business, but Kent’s eyes had gone immediately to Fay as Dean dragged her across the floor to the black door of the Champagne Room.

Kent had known, instantly, that this meant trouble. He had moved on instinct, following her into this room, saving her from that low life.

But now he was in a bind. Dean was a punk, but he wasn’t unconnected. He ran the best strip club in the city and he used his gang connections to exploit his dancers and take their cash. Kent couldn’t take one of his girls away without making waves with Dean’s boss.

If the other bosses knew how quickly Kent had acted to save her, they would see Fay as a weakness, something they could threaten to get what they wanted.

Kent ground his teeth, knowing that there was only one option now. If he didn’t protect her now, she’d be dragged right to the bottom of the underworld, fast.

Kent snaps his head to his second and nods to the girl in front of him. Then, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room.

Behind him, Kent can hear Fay’s protest as his second heaves her over his shoulder in a fireman carry and then quickly follows Kent.

“What? Hey!” she exclaims, and then “Please!”

Kent turns to glare at his second, who gives Fay a rough shake. She shuts her mouth, then, though Kent hears a whimper escape her lips. He steels himself against the sound.

It’s a work of minutes to get out of the club. Nobody says a word to stop the Mafia King from carrying a girl out the front door.

Kent’s black Escalade is waiting out front, his second’s behind it. For safety, Kent never has less than two cars in his entourage.

Fay’s little cry of fear is cut off as the second places her, not very gently, on in the front seat of the first car and then slams the door. Kent goes around to the driver’s side of the Escalade as the second moves to the other car.

Kent’s mind is whirring as he opens the driver’s door and climbs in, making plans for what to do with this unexpected new burden. He peels out onto the road, not looking at her.

A few streets later, he’s surprised by the sound of her voice.

“Where…” she says, her voice breathy.

Kent’s gaze snaps to her, taking in her wide, beautiful eyes, the movement of her throat as she gulps in fear. He sees her jump, almost, at the force of his glare. But then she steels herself.

“Where are you taking me?” she demands.

Kent returns his eyes to the road.

“Please let me go,” she says. “They’ve got my sister back there – I don’t know what they’ll do to her!”

Kent makes a note of it in his mind.

She tries again. “Please let me go,” she whispers, “I didn’t mean any harm at the prison – or here – I don’t know what I did –“

“You didn’t do anything,” he says, turning onto a side street.

Her voice is frantic when she tries again. “Are you…are you taking me to a brothel?”

Kent turns to stare at her, his brow furrowed with disgust and confusion. She’s shaking like a leaf in his front seat. “Why would I take you to a brothel, Fay?”

“To make me…work there. Pay off my debt. My sister’s debt.”

Kent shakes his head again, laughing a dark little laugh. He just saved this girl from Dean, and here she is accusing him of doing precisely what Dean was going to do. Shaking his head, Kent concentrates on the traffic.

Truly, this girl was too delicate for his world.

Kent sees Fay moving in the seat next to him, dipping to the floor to grab something, but assumes she dropped a piece of her jewelry.

It’s quiet for a moment until – click click – he hears the whirring of a mechanism next to him. What was that – a lighter?

Frowning, he turns and is shocked to see Fay with a lit lighter, bringing it so close to her perfect face that he can smell the delicate peach fuzz of her cheek burning –

“Stop the car,” she demands, her voice shaking, flinching at the pain of the lighter against her skin -

“Fay!” He roars.

“Stop the car!” she yells. “Or I swear to god, I’ll burn myself!”

“Fay, you idiot” Kent barks, slamming on the breaks. The car skids to a violent stop and Fay flies forward, slamming her ribs into the dashboard, slipping down to the floor.

Kent works to control the car’s skid, ensuring they don’t hit any other cars, that they’re not rammed from behind, and then throws the car in park, spinning towards the girl.

She’s moaning in pain, her eyes shut, pressing one hand to her ribs. Kent grinds his teeth, frustrated, glancing over her to determine if anything is truly damaged –

No, she’s okay, any injuries superficial -

“Fay, what the hell was that,” he grinds out as he reaches into the back of the car for a metal box he keeps there for moments like this, with uncooperative captives.

She speaks with her eyes closed, still pressing her hand to her ribs. “If you’re going to make me a prostitute,” she whimpers, “then I don’t want to have this face – maybe you’ll let me work off my debt some other way if I’m disfigured –“

Rolling his eyes, Kent works quickly, pulling a rag out of the box and soaking it in the clear liquid. Then he reaches a hand behind Fay’s neck to hold her head steady.

Her eyes fly open as he presses the rag firmly against her nose and mouth. She struggles away from it, but he holds her steady with a practiced hand.

When she goes limp, Kent gently lets her body settle against the seat. Kent turns back to the road and puts the car back in drive, his cut palm smarting at his angry grip on the wheel.

God damnit, this girl was already more trouble than she was worth.

As he drives, Kent feels something in his pocket. Remembering the tiny switchblade, he pulls it out, studying it between glances at the road. So tiny, delicate – so very much like Fay.

She’s got an edge to her, too, he thinks, even if she doesn’t know it herself. He never would have thought that a girl like Fay would have a switchblade hidden in her bra. A mistake that almost cost him a scar on his face, he thinks, a smirk pulling at his lips.

He glances at Fay, again, resting on the floor of his car. What a strange little woman – full of contradictions, full of life.

Despite himself, he is drawn to her.

Frowning at the thought, Kent flicks open the switchblade, studying it.

At a red light, he looks closer, noticing writing along the razor’s edge. He brings it close to his eye.

To my sharp-tongued Victoria, whose words cut as deep as this razor. Love always, Lorenzo.

Shocked, Kent stares at the blade in his hand, and then deftly returns it to his pocket. He drags a hand down his face.

Victoria. Lorenzo. Fay.

Suddenly, he knows exactly who this girl is.

I’m in a daze, half in consciousness, half out of it –

I hear a moan – did that come?

I open my eyes, frowning. Where’s the car? I close my eyes against the warm yellow light of the room. I want to wake up, but I feel sleep pressing me back down –

A prick at my finger – I jump at it, pushing away the hands that hold my arm –

“It’s all right,” a woman’s soft voice says. “All done now…”

Then, a man’s voice – I swim out of the darkness, propelled by fear. I know that voice.

“…to the lab, I want fast processing. I want it compared to the bloodline…”

I shake my head, groaning. I blink, looking around the finely-furnished room. I don’t know this place.

I push myself up until I’m seated with my feel curled beneath me on a chaise lounge. I notice that I’m still wearing my club outfit, but someone has buttoned a man’s white shirt over top of it. As I put my weight on my hands, I feel pain in my finger. I look down to see a Band-Aid on it. What –

Suddenly, a hazy memory comes back to me – a woman taking my blood, Lippert telling them to take it to some lab –

Panic seizes me - I must be somewhere on Lippert’s property. I grip the fabric of the couch, looking around for some kind of escape. There are windows, but they look out on tree tops – we’re certainly on the second floor or above –

Horrible images flood my mind – what the hell does Lippert want with my blood? Is he selling it? Does he want the sample so that he can let his cronies on the black market know my blood type so they can better bid on my organs!?

My hands anxiously fly to my hair, tangling in it. I stare at the door. Maybe if I just run –

The door swings open and I hold my breath.

Kent Lippert stands in the doorway, studying me as I stare at him. I know what he sees – a feral, frightened creature, ready to spring.

But he doesn’t laugh at me, or scare me any further. After a long moment, he just closes the door behind him and walks forward.

My breath comes faster as he approaches, as he reaches in his pocket, brings forward – oh my god – a knife –

I flinch back away from it and he sighs, continuing to hold out his hand.

“It’s your knife, Fay. I’m just returning your property.”

I go still, glancing between his face and the knife in his hand. My mother’s knife. I leap forward to snatch it out of his palm, but he yanks it away, putting out his other hand to halt my movement. His hand lands squarely on my chest and he gives a tiny shove, pushing me back onto the lounge.

“Easy, Fay,” he says, his voice all authority. “I’ll give it back. I just want you to answer some questions first.”

I stare up at him, totally freaked out.

“And if you don’t answer my questions, Fay Thompson,” he says, leaning forward to loom over me, his voice merely a whisper. “I’ll flush this knife down the drain, and you’ll never see it again.”

I clench my jaw and nod, my eyes on my mother’s knife, desperate to get it back.

“Where did you get that knife, Fay Thompson?” he asks, straightening up and putting the hand with the knife in his pocket.

“My mother,” I say softly, twirling a stray strand of my hair around my index finger. Why does he keep saying my last name like that? “She gave it to me.”

He nods slowly, thinking. “When did she give it to you?”

“In her will,” I say. “My dad told me to carry it always, to remember her, and for protection.”

Lippert cocks his head to the side, curious. “And who, precisely, is your father?”

I snap my eyes up at him, frowning. Why does he care who my father is, but not my mother? “None of your business,” I snip. “He’s a good person – you can’t hurt him –“

“Fay,” he says, smiling down at me, a little cruel. “In this town, I can hurt whoever I want. You think you are trying to delay me by holding back his name, but with every minute you hesitate, that’s one more minute of pain. For you. Or him. Or your sister.”

My eyes widen in horror at the threat.

He smirks at me, a smug cat that has trapped its supper. “Their names, Fay.”

“David and Janeen Thompson,” I murmur, not knowing what else to do. “Please,” I say, begging now. “Please don’t hurt them. They’re good people – they’re not involved in…“

In whatever this is. But what is this, anyway? Why am I here?

He nods again and takes his hand out of his pocket, offering the blade to me. I snatch it out of his palm. Then, he turns to leave the room.

Desperate, I play my trump card. “Please!” I shout after him. “Please don’t hurt them! Daniel wouldn’t want you to!”

He pauses at the door, still for a moment. Then, slowly, he turns. “Daniel?” he asks, his eyes close upon me.

I nod vigorously. “Daniel, your son? He’s…” I bite my lip, suddenly embarrassed. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Kent laughs then – a real, shocked laugh. He wipes a hand down his face, shaking his head. “My son Daniel is your boyfriend,” he says, repeating my words and looking up at the ceiling in disbelief.

I nod again, biting my lip against the tiny white lie – he’s not my boyfriend anymore, after all. But I’m desperate for this to work.

“Well isn’t that…serendipitous,” he says.

Kent is still for a moment and then strides across the room, back towards me. When he gets to the lounge he grabs me by the elbow, pulling me to my feet, shaking me so that I pay attention to his words.

“Fay, you little fool, don’t you know who you are?” His voice is angry, as if frustrated by my incompetence.

“I’m – I’m –“ my face is lost in confusion – I just told him who I am –

“Who you are, Fay. Haven’t you ever asked any questions about your mother? Your biological father?” He shakes my arm again as if trying to jog my memory.

My mouth falls open in shock, confusion. How did he know David’s not my biological dad?

Kent is standing close to me now, glaring down into my face. I feel my lower lip tremble traitorously and I pull it into my mouth, desperate not to show weakness. Kent’s eyes flick to my mouth as I do so, watching the action. Slowly, he exhales and, for an instant, pulls me closer.

But then he lets me go.

“Fay, your dad has been keeping secrets from you. The woman who owned that knife was Victoria O’Leary, the mistress of Lorenzo Alden.” He looks me up and down, letting go of my elbow and crossing his arms.

“We did a DNA test,” he continues, “against a secure sample about an hour ago. Your name isn’t Thompson, it’s Alden. Fay Alden. And your father has been looking for you for a long time.”

I feel myself sink onto the couch, my breath leaving me. I stare into the distance, dazed.

Never – I had never really thought about the identity of my biological dad, never felt any need or desire to. There was one picture of me as a baby with my mother, standing next to a strange man, but I was never really curious -

But could it be –

My memories of my mother are of a bright, laughing woman, hair as red as mine – how could she –

My mother? A mafia mistress? Me, the daughter of a don?

Suddenly there’s a piece of paper from my face. I take it from Kent’s hand with shaking hands and see the confirmation there. Blood sample from patient A is a biological match for paternity with patient B, identified as Lorenzo Alden.

“This is…this is my blood?” I breathe, looking up at Kent. He nods down at me, serious.

“You’re lucky I found you, Fay,” he says, again crossing his arms.

I come back to myself a little at his words and glare at him. Lucky enough to be harassed in a strip club, thrown over someone’s shoulder, and kidnapped?

He sees some of the irony in my expression and the corner of his mouth lifts, barely a smile.

“This is valuable information, Fay,” Kent continues. “If Dean had been the one to find out, he’d be sending pieces of your DNA – maybe a finger – to Alden as ransom. But Alden is my ally – I’ll have you reunited with your father soon. In one piece.”

I crumple the paper in my hands, tossing it to the ground. “DNA doesn’t make a father – I don’t want to be ‘reunited’ with a stranger –“ I stand up, trying to get out, but Kent blocks my way.

“You’re in my world now, Fay,” he says. “And in this world, your DNA means more than anything, family means more than anything. And for me? It’s personal.”

I look up at him, distracted from my mission to get to the door. “How the hell could this be personal for you? My DNA doesn’t match yours, thank goodness.”

I try to push past him but he puts out an arm to stop me, pulling me against his chest so I can’t go any further. Then he wraps his fingers in my hair, tilting my head back, obliging me to look up at him.

“Because, the day she was born, Alden’s daughter was promised to my first-born son. Looks like it was no mistake that fate brought you to Daniel,” he says, his eyes roving over my shocked face.

“In a few months’ time, you’ll be married to him.”