Sold To The Mafia Don

Chapter 206 - 16 ~ Mira

Twenty four hours later...

After a busy day at the bakery and a long walk afterwards with my husband, the house felt different tonight.

Not in a bad way. More like everything had softened around the edges, the kind of softness that only came after a day full of laughter, teasing, and the two of us dragging half the street’s attention everywhere we walked.

I still felt the warmth of Jace’s hand in mine.

I still felt the weight of his arm around me while he made me sit down for the hundredth time.

And I still felt that strange fluttery calm sitting in my chest. It was the kind that only came when the world slowed enough for me to actually breathe.

By the time we got home, the sun had already slipped behind the hills, leaving a faint pink glow through the living room windows. I lowered myself into the couch, letting out a soft exhale as I eased my legs up.

Jace always pretended he didn’t notice, but he absolutely did.

Before I could get comfortable, he placed a pillow behind my back, then another beneath my feet.

"Better?" he asked.

"Mhm." I hummed and nodded.

I tried not to smile too much, because if I did, he’d triple the amount of pillows.

He stood back, eyes scanning me with that quiet intensity he only wore when he was trying not to hover.

"You want water?"

I shook my head.

"Tea?"

"No."

"Fruit?"

I shot him a playful glare. "Jace. I’m fine."

He didn’t look convinced. He hovered near the edge of the sofa, hands braced on his hips like a man preparing for a lecture from the doctor he already disliked.

"You walked too much today," he muttered. "A lot more than yesterday."

"I walked like a normal human being." I retorted. Besides, the doctor told me to get more steps in. I hadn’t been exercising a lot.

"You walked like someone who’s six and a half months pregnant and pretending she’s not." He said

I reached out and tugged his sleeve, pulling him down next to me. "Sit. Relax."

He didn’t relax, but he did sit close. Too close.

The kind of close that made my entire body recognize his before my mind caught up.

I leaned my head against his shoulder, breathing in that familiar mix of cedarwood and his cologne that somehow never faded. His hand instinctively found my bump, fingers splaying gently over the fabric of his shirt — yes, his shirt. I hadn’t even bothered changing into maternity wear when we got home.

This was just more comfortable.

And I didn’t feel like being constricted by waistbands that pretended they were soft but secretly felt like they were judging me.

"You okay?" he murmured.

"Mhm." I nodded again.

"Your feet hurt?"

"A little." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

He moved before I could blink, kneeling on the floor in front of me, lifting one foot into his hand like it weighed nothing.

"Jace—"

He cut me off immediately. "Don’t argue."

"I’m not helpless."

"I know. But let me spoil you."

And that...

Well...

That was my weakness.

Because whenever he said it like that with hisvoice low, eyes warm and hands gentle, all my defenses melted.

He massaged slow circles into the arch of my foot, then switched to my other foot, concentrating like he was defusing a bomb. I watched him, my chest tightening with something too deep to hide.

No cameras here.

No whispers.

No reporters with long lenses hiding behind racks of baby dresses.

Just us.

It still amazed me, sometimes, how easily the world quieted when he touched me.

"You’re staring," he said without looking up.

"You’re kneeling." I giggled trying to fight the naughty reminders that came with him being in this position.

"Pregnant women deserve devotion." He winked.

I choked on a laugh as I caught on to the double meaning behind his words. "You’re silly."

He finally glanced up, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. "And yet you refuse to wear your own clothes."

I shrugged. "Yours are softer."

"Mine are bigger." He countered.

"That too."

He finished the massage and settled beside me again, one arm slipping behind me so he could pull me against his chest. I melted into him without hesitation, my body always found him like it had been designed for only one place.

We stayed like that for a few minutes breathing in sync.

Then our daughter kicked.

He froze as he felt it. No matter how many times she did that, Jace always marveled.

"There she is," I whispered.

His palm flattened against my stomach, waiting with his breath held.

Another kick — firmer this time.

Jace’s entire face softened. "Oh she’s a strong girl."

"She’s you." I grinned.

He shook his head. "No. She’s stubborn. That’s you."

I poked his ribs lightly. "I’m not stubborn. You are!"

He snorted.

I lifted my chin so I could see his face better. His expression was full not dramatic, not overwhelmed, just full. Full in the way that meant he was soaking in the moment because he didn’t trust the world to give him many simple ones.

"You’re thinking again," I murmured.

"Always."

"Tell me." I said as my thumb traced his forehead, trying to ease the furrows.

His eyes flicked to mine, dark and unreadable for a heartbeat. "Just... grateful. That you’re here. That she’s here."

Then he paused for a second before speaking again.

"That today was good."

It was simple.

And somehow overwhelming.

I curled my fingers around the back of his neck and pulled him into a soft kiss, nothing heated, nothing desperate, just slow, warm and grounding. I didn’t care that the staff could see us, especially as the chef was making dinner in the kitchen. They must have gotten used to the PDA by now.

"I love you," I whispered.

His forehead pressed to mine. "I know. But I love you more."

He always said it like that, not cocky, not dramatic, just full certainty.

His hand returned to my bump. "Are you tired?"

"Not really."

"Want to rest on the couch?"

"Only if you’re here with me."

"Always."

He shifted us gently until I was lying half across him, head on his chest, his hand drawing small circles over my stomach.

I heard him breathe slow and peacefully. But the peace didn’t last.

Not fully.

A faint flicker of something, maybe instinct or intuition pulled at me. Something was off.

I opened my eyes and glanced around the dim living room.

Everything was quiet.

Everything was normal.

But I still felt it — that subtle prickling beneath the skin, like someone had touched a cold fingertip to the back of my neck.

I swallowed, forcing the tension down.

Not tonight.

Not when everything felt fragile and warm and perfect.

Jace’s hand paused. "You stiffened."

I shook my head quickly. "Just thinking."

"What kind of thinking?"

"The pregnant kind."

He huffed a soft laugh and kissed the top of my head. "Sleep, Mira."

"Only if you do."

"Fine," he murmured, tightening his arms around me. "But I’m not letting go."

"Good. I’m not moving."

He rested his cheek against my hair, and I let my eyes close.

The uneasiness lingered in the background, faint, like the smoke left after a flame.

But surrounded by his warmth, it was easier to pretend it wasn’t there.

Dinner was served and we ate in comfortable silence, though he received work calls every now and then. I watched him closely as his expression changed every now and then.

When Tomas called, I said hi over the phone. Ariel was with him. Apparently they had settled their scores and were back together. I loved it for them.

But Jace left the dining area soon afterwards and I heard the door of his home office click shut. Whatever they wanted to discuss was confidential and now my curiosity had spiked.

I tried to stay out of mafia business ever since I got pregnant. I didn’t need the stress and overthinking and things had been pretty much rosy until weeks ago.

Instinctively, my palm went to my bump. My baby moved a lot lately. It was a warm reminder that she was healthy and doing well inside me. It was the best feeling ever and I couldn’t ever put it into words how it felt.

I reached for my phone only because it buzzed for the third time, vibrating against the table like it had something important to say. Jace was still in his office. So I grabbed the phone lazily...

And froze.

A notification flashed across the screen.

Trending: "ROMANO HEIR ON THE WAY? JACE ROMANO SPOTTED BABY SHOPPING WITH PREGNANT WIFE."

My stomach flipped but not in the cute pregnancy way.

I clicked it. And there they were.

Pictures.

At least ten of them.

Me in one of Jace’s oversized shirts, cheeks flushed from walking, hand resting on my bump. Jace carrying three bags in one hand like they weighed nothing. My smile tilted toward him. His gaze fixed on me instead of the sidewalk.

We looked... happy.

Domestic.

In love.

But the captions didn’t see that.

"Is the infamous Romano empire softening?"

"From mafia bloodlines to baby bottles — what does this mean for the future?"

"Inside the quiet transformation of LA’s most feared man."

My heart sank.

And then I saw the article header, written in bold black letters that stole the air right out of my chest:

"THE ROMANO FAMILY: A PAST DIPPED IN BLOOD, A FUTURE BUILT ON SCANDAL."

My throat tightened as I scrolled.

I saw old allegations, rumors and speculations about "illegal assets" funding our businesses.

A blurry screenshot of Jace with Don Castillo years ago.

A photo of Donna, even younger, standing beside men I knew were no longer alive.

And worst of all, I saw my bakery in Lisbon.

"Sweet Mira Bakery — funded by clean love or blood money?"

I felt my hand tremble around the phone.

No.

Not again.

Not after everything we fought through.

Not after rebuilding our lives from ashes.

A tear hit the screen before I even realized I was crying.

I swiped it away angrily.

My mind raced quickly.

What if my customers saw this?

What if my investors pulled out?

What if my staff got harassed?

What if Jace blamed himself?

What if—

A sudden kick jolted me back.

My daughter.

She moved sharply under my palm as if reminding me she was there alive, safe and needing me steady.

I inhaled shakily.

"Okay," I whispered to her. "Okay, baby. I’m here."

But the truth was, I didn’t feel here at all.

I felt exposed.

Unprotected.

Like someone had peeled open the quiet life we’d been building and held it up to the sun for strangers to dissect.

Voices from the hallway made me flinch, but it was just the staff cleaning up and discussing as usual.

Jace.

He always sensed when something was wrong with me and if he came out now and saw the article, the night would shatter.

I wasn’t ready for it to shatter.

Not yet.

I locked my phone, placed it face-down on the table, and curled my hand over my bump again.

My baby kicked gently, softer this time, almost like reassurance.

I closed my eyes, swallowing down the ache in my chest.

Everything was fine.

Everything was okay.

Everything was under control.

At least... that’s what I whispered.

Even though a part of me already knew that this was only the beginning.