Sold To The Mafia Don

Chapter 223 - 33 ~ Mira & Jace

I didn’t remember falling asleep.

One moment I was curled on the couch with my phone clutched to my chest, heartbeat thudding too loudly in my ears... and the next, someone was brushing their fingers softly over my cheek.

I blinked fast, trying to figure out if I was dreaming.

But then I heard his voice.

"Mira."

That was all he said. With his voice low, rough and breathless — like he’d sprinted straight from the airport to the living room.

I lifted my head and there he was....

Jace stood in front of me, travel-tired, dressed in the coat he probably didn’t even bother buttoning. His hair was slightly messed from the wind, the collar of his shirt tugged open like he’d yanked at it. His eyes... God...those eyes held everything at once. Fear. Relief. Something close to heartbreak.

He looked like a man who’d been underwater for days and finally found the surface.

I pushed myself upright without thinking, and he was already there, dropping to his knees in front of the couch, hands cupping my face like he needed physical proof that I was real.

"Mira," he breathed again, forehead pressing lightly to mine. "I’m here. I’m here."

My throat tightened painfully.

I didn’t want to cry, at least not right away, but the moment his hands touched me, my chest gave out.

"You came home early." My voice scraped out small.

"I practically ran onto the jet," he murmured, thumb stroking under my eye. "If it was a public flight, I wouldn’t have cared who I shoved. They could’ve arrested me mid-flight, I wouldn’t have noticed."

That earned a shaky laugh from me, but a tear fell anyway. His thumb caught it before it even hit my cheek.

He pulled me gently into his chest, arms wrapping around me so tightly I felt his heartbeat hammering against my shoulder. He smelled like cold air and the kind of worry only he could feel.

"I’m okay," I whispered into his shirt.

His arms tightened. "You weren’t."

"I—"

"No," he said quietly, voice cracking at the edges. "I should’ve been here."

Something in me softened at that.

Because he sounded like he meant it with every fiber of his being. Not dramatic. Not guilty. Just... honest.

I slid my hands along his jaw, guiding his face up so he would look at me. His eyes were red around the edges, like he hadn’t slept.

"Jace. I’m fine now," I said softly. "I promise."

He didn’t answer immediately.

He just looked at me with this expression that made my chest warm and ache at the same time. Like he was memorizing my face, counting my breaths, checking every inch of me for signs I’d been hurt.

He kissed my forehead.

Then my cheek.

Then my jaw.

Slow, reverent, like I was something fragile but precious.

And then he stood and scooped me carefully into his arms, ignoring the sound of my startled breath.

"Jace—"

"Hush," he whispered, holding me close. "You’re going to bed."

"I was on the couch."

"You’re going to bed," he repeated, like that was the end of the conversation.

I rested my head against his shoulder while he carried me through the quiet hallway. I could feel the tension slowly leaving his body, not all of it, but enough that his breathing eased.

When we reached the bedroom, he lowered me gently onto the bed, covering me with the soft blanket from my side of the wardrobe.

He didn’t step away.

Not even for a second.

He sat beside me, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair.

"Is your head hurting?" he finally asked.

"No."

"Your back?"

"No."

"Your chest? Your stomach?"

I shook my head, but the concern didn’t fade from his face.

If anything, it deepened.

"You scared me," he said quietly.

"You scare me sometimes too," I whispered back. "So now we’re even."

His mouth tugged slightly — not a full smile, just a tiny pull at the corner.

Then he leaned forward and kissed my hand for a long moment like he needed the reassurance more than I did.

Jace’s POVI should’ve been here.

The thought repeated itself in a loop, each echo landing heavier than the last. Seeing Mira curled up on that couch — exhausted, shaken, trying to be brave even when fear was written all over her — something clawed at my chest.

I’d been gone three days.

Three fucking days.

And somehow the world had tilted enough to make her feel unsafe again.

I sat on the edge of the bed, brushing hair away from her face while she watched me like she was trying not to worry about me worrying.

"Lie down with me," she whispered softly.

I didn’t hesitate.

I stretched out beside her, pulling her carefully into my arms. She tucked her head under my chin, fingers sliding lightly across my shirt like she needed the contact as much as I did.

Her breathing slowed first.

Then mine followed.

But sleep didn’t come.

My mind was too loud.

Too sharp.

Too full of images I couldn’t shake.

The headlines.

The teaser.

The board meeting.

Her panic-stricken voice on the phone when Tomas told me she nearly collapsed.

The way she held her stomach like she was protecting our daughter from the world.

My jaw clenched until it hurt.

This wasn’t a mistake anymore.

This wasn’t random.

This wasn’t noise.

Someone was pushing, strategically and cruelly.

And Mira — my Mira — had become the easiest place to aim.

I looked down at her sleeping face.

Her lashes still glistened faintly, like she’d cried before she called me and the damn call went straight to voicemail.

I felt my chest twist.

She shouldn’t have to fear anything.

Not when she’s carrying our child.

Not when she was finally learning peace.

Why did I always ruin good things with my bloodied past? My family history would always be a shadow over me?

No. I shook my head, vehemently disagreeing with my thoughts.

Not when I promised her a life free from the shadow of everything I used to be.

I brushed a finger across her cheek, soft enough not to wake her.

"I’m here," I whispered. "I’m not leaving again."

I wasn’t sure about that. But I just had to reassure her that at least for tonight I wasn’t going anywhere.

Her hand moved unconsciously, catching my shirt in a loose grip.

And that was it.

The final straw.

The silent plea I didn’t know I needed.

Something solidified inside me.

Whoever was behind this — Isabella, her puppet master, the ghosts from the old world — they had crossed a line I didn’t know I had.

And now?

Now I would end it quietly and strategically without ever letting this woman feel unsafe for another second.

I pulled her closer, letting her warmth steady the sharp edges inside me.

When she breathed out, her breath touched my neck, soft and trusting.

It made me close my eyes and eel something close to prayer. It made me vow fiercely that nothing would tear this family apart.