Sold To The Mafia Don

Chapter 207 - 17 ~ Jace

The moment the office door clicked shut behind me, I stopped moving. I had gone to check on my wife even in the middle of the call with Tomas.

As I went back into the office,I just stood there, staring at the dark hallway like it had something to tell me. Mira’s silhouette had disappeared behind the corner a few minutes ago, but I could still feel the faint tremor in her voice, the one she tried to hide when she told me she was fine.

She wasn’t fine.

She was holding something in.

And I felt that shift. I noticed the subtle tightening of her shoulders when she glanced at her phone. The way she tucked it face-down on the table. The way she avoided my eyes for half a second before forcing a smile.

Mira never looked away from me unless she had to.

I inhaled slowly, steadying my jaw as I headed back toward the living room.

She was curled on the couch, one hand on her bump, the other loosely holding the throw blanket over her legs. She looked peaceful from afar, but I could see the faint tension in her posture. Like her body was here, but her mind was somewhere else entirely.

She lifted her head when she sensed me. "Done with your call?"

"Mhm." I nodded and walked over. "Everything’s handled."

Her expression softened in that gentle way that always made the air around me quiet. "Good."

I sat beside her, letting my fingers brush over her thigh before resting my hand on her bump. She relaxed under my touch — but not the way she usually did. Her shoulders were still a little tight.

"Are you tired?" I asked.

"A little." She leaned into my arm. "Long day."

Her voice was light, but her eyes flicked briefly toward the dining table. Toward the phone she’d left there.

I pretended I didn’t notice, because pushing her now would only make her close off more.

"Come here," I murmured.

She settled against me like instinct, head against my chest. I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer, stroking her side slowly, hoping the tension would ease out of her muscles.

For a quiet minute, it did.

Mira smiled, but she wasn’t fully present. It was faint but I knew her better than I knew my own reflection.

"What’s wrong?" I asked quietly.

She hesitated. Just a second too long.

"Nothing," she finally whispered. "I’m okay. I promise."

That word — promise — always meant the opposite.

But I nodded anyway, brushing a kiss against her hair. If she wanted to hide this for a bit, I could play along. For now.

Her breathing eventually evened out, slow and steady, and I realized she was close to falling asleep. Her hand slid down from her stomach until her fingers found mine. I laced them together.

And that was all it took to anchor me.

My wife.

My daughter.

Both safe in my arms.

At least physically.

Emotionally?

Mira was drifting, even if she didn’t realize it herself.

I didn’t want to burden her. I didn’t want her worried or scared. Pregnancy alone came with enough weight. She wasn’t built for war not the kind that happened in the shadows.

"Sleep," I murmured against her forehead.

She exhaled slowly, letting herself lean fully into me at last. "Stay with me."

"Always." I assured her.

I adjusted the blanket around her and watched her drift into sleep. Her breathing softened, her body relaxed inch by inch until the last remnants of tension melted away.

Only then did I slowly, carefully pull my phone from my pocket.

The screen lit up with a string of messages.

TOMAS: We traced the upload.

TOMAS: It wasn’t paparazzi.

TOMAS: The photographer was hired.

TOMAS: Anonymous contractor, temporary ID.

TOMAS: Working on the origin.

My jaw tightened.

Someone watched us.

Someone paid for those angles.

Someone wanted the world to look at us again.

I typed one message back.

Jace: Call me. Secure line.

I shifted Mira gently until she lay against the cushions, making sure she stayed asleep before slipping into the hallway.

Once the door clicked behind me, I answered.

"Tomas."

"Boss." His voice was low. Controlled. But I could hear the tension beneath it. "We pulled the image data. The photographer used a burner device. He was positioned two stores down from you — that place sells women’s hats, the empty one."

My mind immediately replayed yesterday. That storefront had been strangely still. Lights off. No movement inside.

"Someone hired him," I said.

"Yes."

"Who?"

"We don’t know yet. The payment was masked through three shell companies. But boss—"

I waited.

"Those shells link back to an Argentine network."

My hand stilled.

Argentina. That was also Massimo’s territory.

Old alliances.

I inhaled slowly, quietly.

"They’re testing us," Tomas continued. "Seeing how close they can get."

This testing was too overwhelming. I didn’t need it right now. Why couldn’t I just live a normal peaceful life like every other civilian out here?

I had never been so frustrated by my mafia status until now.

For a moment, the hallway felt too still. Too quiet.

Was this random press interest?

No.

Not with the photographer hiding that carefully.

Not with the payment trail linking back to foreign hands.

This was the beginning of something — the kind that wasn’t loud, but sharp. A silent warning.

"Keep digging," I ordered. "And tighten the perimeter around the bakery. Discreetly."

"Yes, sir."

I hung up.

Silence filled the hall again, but my mind wasn’t silent anymore.

I hadn’t felt this shift in years. That change in the air that meant someone had cut a thread they should’ve left alone.

But I couldn’t bring this to Mira.

Not like this.

Not when she was already holding something back.

She didn’t need more fear.

I returned to the living room, expecting her to still be asleep.

She wasn’t.

She was awake again, sitting upright. All my shuffling must have woken her and I immediately felt guilty.

"You left," she said quietly.

"Just stepped out," I replied, walking back to her. "Didn’t want to wake you."

She looked at me a little too closely, as if searching for lies.

"What’s wrong?" she asked.

Everything.

Nothing she needed to know.

Not tonight.

"Come," I said softly, taking her hand. "Let’s go to bed."

She stood slowly. I scooped her into my arms without warning. She gasped, instinctively holding onto my shoulders.

"Jace— I can walk."

"I know."

"Then put me down." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"No." I said.

She blinked a few times, fighting off the sleep in her eyes. "Why?"

"Because I feel like carrying my wife." I leaned in, brushing my nose against her cheek. "Don’t ruin it."

She melted.

Just like I knew she would.

I carried her upstairs and laid her gently on the bed. She watched me as I settled beside her, pulling her close until her head rested over my heart.

A long silence settled between us. It was heavy with our worried thoughts. Thoughts we foolishly chose to keep away from each other.

Then she whispered:

"You’re tense."

I closed my eyes for a few seconds, trying to relax

She always saw too much.

"I’m fine."

She didn’t argue. She just tucked her leg between mine and threaded her fingers through mine.

"Whatever it is," she murmured. "We’ll be okay."

I kissed her forehead. "Sleep."

But I didn’t.

Not for a long time.

Hours passed with her heartbeat against my chest and my mind racing in quiet circles. I stared at the ceiling, at the shadows shifting across the walls, and felt that old, familiar pull — that instinct that warned me storms were forming.

But this wasn’t like the old threats.

This one wasn’t trying to break me.

It was trying to stain the future I built for her.

For our daughter.

For the life I promised them.

That made it worse.

Much worse.

I eventually eased out of bed and stood by the window, watching the dark street below.

There was no movement, no cars passing either.

Everything looked safe. But peace had never fooled me.

My phone buzzed again.

TOMAS: One more thing.

TOMAS: The photographer didn’t capture the photos alone.

TOMAS: Someone else was there... observing.

My pulse sped up.

Jace: Who was it? Any trace?

A long pause.

TOMAS: We don’t know. None at all.

TOMAS: The angle shows... they were watching you, not her.

That was all I needed to read.

My chest tightened.

Because the truth was simple: I could stop a bullet. I could end a threat. I could dismantle an empire. But I couldn’t protect her from pain. Or fear. Or the world’s hunger for blood and stories.

I pressed a hand against the windowpane, cold glass meeting skin.

Someone was circling us. Fine. I’d let them.

But they needed to understand one thing:

I don’t lose what I love.

Not again.

Not ever.

I looked at Mira one last time. She was my anchor, my peace, and the reason I no longer knew how to breathe without softness in my chest.

Then I whispered to the shadows:

"Come for me if you want.

But stay away from my family."

And somewhere in the dark outside, I swore I felt something watching back.