Page 57 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
Too bad for me, my heart decided to grow legs and walk around in the form of a five-foot-nothing beauty with brown eyes and a smart mouth.
The rage building inside me is a familiar friend. I want to burn Kozlov’s world to the ground. Want to teach him what happens when you threaten what’s mine. But fury makes men stupid, and stupid men end up dead or in federal prison.
Fighting another mafia is like playing chess with grenades. One wrong move and the whole board explodes. We can get away with a lot if we’re careful, but start a full-scale war on the streets and the FBI comes knocking.
I can’t afford that. Not now.
This is exactly why I need that alliance with the cartel. More men, more resources, more ways to crush the Bratva before they become an even bigger problem. Right now, they’re not just trying to kidnap my wife—they’re intercepting shipments, costing me money, testing boundaries like toddlers seeing how far they can push before daddy loses his shit.
The cartel knows how to handle interference like that. They have methods that make the Bratva’s body-part deliveries look like love letters.
But I’m running out of time to secure that alliance. Which means I’m running out of time to tell Mia the truth about who she really is.
The thought sits in my stomach like a lead weight.
She has no idea her entire life is built on a lie. No idea that the parents who raised her aren’t her blood. No idea that her real father runs one of the most powerful cartels in Mexico, or that I’ve known about her connection for weeks.
No idea that I married her to use her.
No matter how carefully I handle this revelation, it’s going to shatter her. And the selfish part of me—the part that’s gotten addicted to the way she looks at me like I hung the moon—wants to delay that moment as long as possible.
“Dad? You there?”
Dario’s voice snaps me back to reality. I’ve been quiet too long, lost in thoughts of all the ways this could go wrong.
“Yeah, I’m here. Get rid of the guy once you’ve squeezed every useful detail out of him.”
“How do we respond to the kidnapping attempt?”
Usually, I’m the picture of decisive leadership. My men want confidence, the certainty that their Don has everything under control. It makes them sleep better at night.
But Dario is my son. My heir. If I’m going to teach him anything, it’s that even leaders don’t always have immediate answers.
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “We have to be smart about this. Let me think.”
After we hang up, I drain my coffee and head upstairs. Not to the master bedroom, which is still too empty, too cold without her warmth. Instead, I retrieve the key to the guest room and let myself in.
She’s sprawled across the bed like a starfish, dark hair fanned across the white pillow, one arm dangling off the edge. The sight of her sleeping steals what’s left of my breath. Even unconscious, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I sit carefully on the edge of the bed and brush a strand of hair from her face.
Her eyes flutter open, and for one perfect moment, she looks at me with the same sleepy happiness I’ve grown addicted to. Then reality crashes back in, and her expression shutters like a door slamming shut.
Fuck.
“Good morning,” I say, keeping my voice gentle.
She sits up, pulling the covers with her, and I notice she’s wearing her own pajamas again. The little cotton shorts and tank top she had on when I first brought her here. I have the sudden urge to burn every piece of sleepwear she owns, force her to sleep in nothing but my scent and my touch.
“Morning.” Her voice is scratchy, vulnerable.
I disappear into the bathroom and return with a glass of water. She watches me like I might bite, but accepts the drink. I wait until she’s finished before sitting beside her again.
“Listen, Mia. You’re going to have to forgive me for last night.”
Her eyes go wide, and her hands clench the blanket like it’s a lifeline.
“Is that supposed to be an apology?”
