Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 7

Davina's POV:

The familiar creak of the front door hinges as I pushed it open felt jarringly out of sync with the turmoil raging within me. The warm, comforting scent of Mom's lavender potpourri, usually a balm to my frayed nerves, now felt like a suffocating reminder of the normalcy I was being forced to abandon.

My mother, Lydia, was settled in her usual armchair in the living room, the soft glow of the table lamp illuminating the worried lines etched around her eyes as she looked up from her well-worn paperback. The moment her gaze landed on me, her brow furrowed deeper, her green eyes, the same shade that often mirrored my own anxieties, widening with immediate concern.

"Davina, sweetheart? What in heaven's name happened? You look like you've been crying," she said softly, her voice laced with the familiar maternal worry that had been a constant hum in the background of my life. She reached out a hand, her touch gentle and questioning.

I managed a weak, shaky smile, a pathetic attempt to mask the raw terror that still clung to me like a shroud. "Oh, yeah, mom. It's... it's about Dad." The words felt heavy and inadequate, a gross understatement of the horrifying events that had just transpired.

Her expression immediately tightened, the softness replaced by a guarded wariness, a familiar residue of years spent navigating her volatile relationship with Malcolm. "Malcolm? What is it? Nathan called a little while ago, but he was being deliberately vague. Just said there was some trouble at the hospital."

The weight of Ezra's chilling warning pressed down on me, a suffocating gag on the truth. I couldn't tell her. Couldn't expose her to the brutal reality of the beating, the crushing debt, Ezra's menacing threats, or the sickening degradation he had planned for me. Their safety, he had made terrifyingly clear, depended on my silence. So, I carefully constructed a half-truth, focusing on the one aspect I could share without immediate danger.

"He... he wasn't well, Mom. He's in the hospital." My voice trembled slightly, betraying the carefully constructed facade. "He looked... not good at all. And... he was really angry that I was there. He told me to leave."

Lydia's face crumpled, a familiar blend of sadness for me and a deep-seated resentment towards my father. "Oh, Davina. I'm so sorry, dear. That sounds just like him. Even in a crisis, he manages to be cruel."

Just then, Lexi ambled into the living room. Dexter, as usual, trailed a few steps behind her, his perpetually sullen expression clouding his features.

"What's all the gloom?" Lexi asked, her eyes, usually bright and cheerful, scanning my face with genuine concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

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