Page 97 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
The wind whips my hair around my face as we stand at the Kilauea Overlook. Lorenzo’s beside me, his gaze locked on the lava fountains shooting up from Halema’uma’u crater below. We arrived at sunrise to beat the crowds, and now, three hours later, we’re still mesmerized by the display. The view is insane. Molten lava bursting hundreds of feet into the air, the massive crater glowing like the earth’s molten heart has been split open just for us.
“This beats the hell out of Vegas,” I say, squeezing Lorenzo’s hand.
He turns to look at me, and his smile does that thing where it transforms his entire face. Makes him look less like a ruthless mafia don and more like a man completely gone for his wife.
He’s been different since we got to Hawaii four days ago. Lighter. The constant tension that usually lives in his shoulders has melted away. I make a mental note to drag his ass on more vacations because this relaxed version of my husband is addictive.
Of course, he still checks in with Dario every day. Old habits die hard when you’re running a criminal empire. But he’s been delegating more lately, finally accepting that the world won’t implode if he’s not personally micromanaging every detail.
It only took a few eye-opening conversations about what a controlling bastard his father was for Lorenzo to realize he didn’t have to run things the same way. The old don might have thought shouldering everything alone made him strong, but really? It just made him paranoid and isolated.
Lorenzo’s got Dario, Paolo, Santino—a whole support system of people who’d take a bullet for him. He just had to learn how to actually use them.
Good thing, too, because the Andrettis being weak is the last thing I want. I’m one of them now. Officially changed my name last week and everything.
Mia Becerra Cardenas-Andretti.
Yeah, it’s a mouthful. My father wasn’t thrilled about the hyphenation. He would’ve preferred me to ditch Lorenzo’s name entirely. But I wanted all of them. Each name represents a piece of who I am, even the Becerras.
They might not have been perfect at making me feel like I belonged, but they tried. They didn’t have to take in some random baby and risk the wrath of a cartel leader, but they did. And when I begged my father to leave them alone—actually got tears in my eyes thinking about him hurting them—he agreed to let them live their boring, safe lives in peace.
Turns out even scary crime bosses have soft spots for their daughters.
“The ranger said those fountains are hitting two thousand degrees,” Lorenzo says, never taking his eyes off the spectacle below. “Makes Vegas heat waves look like a joke.”
“You actually listened to the park ranger?”
His lips twitch. “I listen when it’s about something that could kill my wife.”
My heart does that stupid fluttery thing. We’re practically attached at the hip these days, but that rush when he looks at me? It’s not fading.
We stay at the overlook until the morning crowds get too thick, then head to our rental car. I suggested we explore more of the volcanic landscape, maybe do some of the shorter trails that showcase the different types of lava formations. Lorenzo agreed, though I suspect it’s more about indulging me than any real interest in geology.
“Where to next, Mrs. Andretti?” he asks as we drive along Crater Rim Drive.
The name still sends a little thrill through me. Not just because it’s his name now, but because of how he says it. Like I’m something precious he gets to keep.
“I read about this place called Devastation Trail. Sounds right up my alley.”
He chuckles, the sound low and warm in the car. “Of course it does.”
The trail turns out to be a short boardwalk through an area decimated by the 1959 eruption. It’s an alien landscape of cinder and sparse vegetation, stark and beautiful in its own way.
“You know,” I say as we walk among the skeletal remains of trees, “I keep thinking about what you said at dinner the other night. About wanting more kids.”
His hand stills in mine. “What about it?”
“Just...I never really thought about it before. Kids, I mean. I was always too busy trying to figure out my own life. But watching Dario with the twins, seeing how happy they make him...” I trace circles on his wrist with my thumb. “It doesn’t seem as terrifying as it used to.”
“You’d be an amazing mother,” Lorenzo says quietly. “You have this way of making people feel seen, valued. A kid would be lucky to have you.”
“We’d have to figure out the whole ‘daddy’s a crime boss’ thing eventually.”
He laughs. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Though I suspect our kids won’t lack for overprotective big brothers and uncles.”
The thought of tiny humans with Lorenzo’s eyes and my stubborn streak fills me with a kind of warmth I didn’t see coming.
After the boardwalk, we drive to the Thurston Lava Tube, a natural tunnel formed by flowing lava centuries ago. Walking through it feels like entering some primordial cathedral, all dripping stone and filtered light.
