Page 22 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
“Right.” Luca grins, and for a moment he looks like the kid he used to be instead of the soldier he’s become. “Keep your secrets, old man. For now.”
They leave, and I’m alone with the aftermath of blood and chaos. The house feels too quiet, too still. Like it’s holding its breath.
I head upstairs, and with every step, anticipation and dread twist together, a slow burn under my skin.
Living with a woman again—it’s going to change everything. I haven’t shared my space since Carlita died over twenty years ago. That marriage was business. Arranged. Clinical. We had separate rooms and came together only when duty demanded it.
She gave me two sons and asked for nothing in return. When cancer took her, I held her hand as she slipped away, and I felt...grateful. Grateful she’d been a good mother. Grateful she’d never expected love from me.
This thing with Mia is different. Dangerous. There’s fire between us that could burn down everything I’ve built, and I find myself wanting to fan the flames just to see how bright they’ll burn.
I reach our bedroom door and pause. Something’s wrong. The air feels different. Too quiet.
I push the door open.
The room looks normal. Bed made, lights on, everything in its place. But Mia isn’t here. The bathroom is empty. The balcony is vacant.
Her suitcase is gone.
“Goddamn it.”
I grab the nearest thing—a crystal vase—and hurl it at the wall. It explodes in a shower of glittering fragments, but the destruction does nothing to ease the fury clawing at my insides.
She ran. The moment my back was turned, she fucking ran.
A glint of gold on my nightstand catches my eye, and my heart stops.
Her rings.
She left them behind like a slap to the face. Like everything between us meant nothing.
I pocket the rings, and my hands are shaking. Not from anger this time. From something deeper. Something that feels dangerously close to panic.
Mia is out there, alone and unprotected. Kozlov proved tonight that he can get close to my home, close to the people I care about. If he gets his hands on her...
The thought sends ice shooting through my veins. She has no one to defend her. No training. No weapons.
My phone is in my hand before I fully realize I’m moving. Shaw picks up on the second ring.
“I need you to track a phone,” I tell my tech expert. “And check all flights to LA in the last hour.”
She thinks she can run from me. She thinks distance will keep her safe.
She’s wrong on both counts.
Mia is mine—wedding ring or no wedding ring, willing or not. She thinks three hundred miles will keep her safe from me. She’s about to learn how wrong she is.
The hunt begins now.
9
MIA
Going backto my regular life after marrying a mafia don feels like stepping out of a fever dream.
It’s Monday morning, and I’m exhausted as I drag myself out of bed. The flight from Vegas was only an hour, but I didn’t sleep a wink last night. Every sound in my crappy LA apartment had me on edge.
The neighbor’s TV. A car door slamming. Someone’s late-night Uber Eats delivery.
