Claimed by the Mafia Don Chapter 13: The Mafia

ZOE DEAN’S POV

The jet sliced through the sky as if it were gliding toward a secret. Below us, the world looked unreal—patches of gold and green cut by narrow roads, cloaked by forests that looked like sothing out of a painting.

Inside, though, it wasn’t quiet or magical. It was war.

At least, that’s what our ga of UNO felt like. Cards flew like daggers across the polished table, accusations louder than the hum of the engines.

"You draw four again?" Benny’s voice cracked with betrayal.

I grinned, not bothering to hide the mischief curling at my lips. "Play or cry."

What they didn’t know was that I was better at this ga than all of them combined. My father had made sure of it.

’Don’t trust the smile, trust the hand,’ he used to say when I was little, stacking cards with ruthless precision. The mory sent a shiver down my spine. My father wasn’t a man I liked rembering. He belonged to a past I kept locked away, a life I wasn’t proud of.

Emily threw her head back and laughed, her voice carrying across the cabin. "Not the UNO reverse combo!" she mocked, clutching her stomach.

Nero sat quietly, sunglasses still on, watching the chaos with an amused half-smile. He’d been kicked out of the ga earlier, but he didn’t look the least bit disappointed. With his arms stretched across the seat and his champagne in hand, he looked like a king on his throne.

And for so ridiculous reason, I felt proud. Proud that he found entertaining. Proud that my father, of all people, had taught at least one useful skill.

"UNO!" I yelled, holding up my last card like a trophy.

But Benny slamd his card down before I could blink. "Out!"

"What—wait, what?!" I sputtered, staring at his empty hand.

He leaned back with a smug grin, wrapping his arm around Emily, who imdiately lted against him. "While you were busy admiring Nero," he teased, "I was busy playing to win."

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "I wasn’t admiring Nero," I shot back.

Nero scoffed, sipping his drink like he was above it all.

Soon after, music filled the jet—soft Afrobeat rhythms that seed to calm the cabin. Emily curled into Benny’s shoulder, already half-asleep. They looked like kids wrapped in blankets, untouched by the world outside.

I smiled faintly.

I don’t rember when my eyes grew heavy, but when I woke, the atmosphere had changed.

The music was gone. The warmth of the ga, the laughter—it was gone too.

Nero’s voice was what pulled back.

Sharp. Low. Cold.

I blinked away the blur of sleep. He stood near the cockpit door, phone pressed to his ear, his body tense like coiled steel.

"Kill them all," he said, voice flat, deliberate. "I don’t want any survivors."

My breath hitched in my throat.

That wasn’t the Nero who teased . Not the one who bought things, who asked permission before kissing .

This was Don Nero. The man I had doubted was real. The mafia. The killer. The red flag I had ignored.

"I don’t care what’s being offered," he continued, his tone cutting like glass. "I just need this man dead. Don’t make do this myself."

He turned slightly. His gaze caught mine.

And for a mont, both of us froze.

His brows furrowed. A flicker of sothing—shock, maybe anger—passed across his face. He hadn’t wanted to hear that.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Finally, he muttered into the phone again, softer now. "We’ll land in a few hours. Do what I asked. I’ll handle the rest."

He lowered the phone slowly, almost reluctantly, and looked at .

My mind spun with questions, but my body wouldn’t move. Who was he ordering dead? Why? What had I gotten myself into?

"You okay?" he asked at last, his voice gentler, though the stiffness in his fra betrayed him.

I nodded, though the word stuck in my throat.

He let out a slow breath and moved toward , hesitant, like I was sothing fragile. He sat beside , eyes searching mine as though he could read every thought racing in my head.

"About what you heard..." He paused, words failing him.

I forced a breath in, then out, steadying myself. "It’s okay. I understand."

I didn’t. Not at all. But I knew better than to push him now.

His gaze lingered on , as if weighing the truth of my words. At last, he nodded.

"Co here," he said softly, opening his arms.

I hesitated only a mont before leaning into him. His warmth, his scent, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it grounded , even though it shouldn’t.

I should have been afraid. Terrified. This was the man who had just ordered people to be killed.

But I wasn’t.

And that scared more than anything.

I lted into him as the jet sliced through the clouds. Outside, everything looked peaceful, like nothing had changed. But I knew the mont we landed in Dubai, everything would.

****

STEFANO RUSSO’S (NERO) POV

After a while, Zoe’s steady breathing filled the quiet cabin, brushing against my ear like a rhythm I wasn’t sure I deserved to hear. She had fallen asleep against , and for a while I just lay there, still, my arms wrapped around her.

But earlier—earlier she had looked at .

The look in her eyes when she caught on the phone still replayed in my head. The way her eyes had widened, first with fear, then sothing else... curiosity, confusion, maybe disappointnt. That look had gutted . For a mont, it felt like the ground had split open and swallowed whole.

I had wanted to explain. God, I had wanted to explain how dangerous I was. But how does a man tell a woman he likes that he is everything she should run from? That he is not just flawed but ruined? How do you put into words the weight of blood on your hands?

I sighed, pulling her closer anyway, letting her warmth seep into like it could wash the stain off my skin. Maybe this was wrong. . Her. All of it. Maybe I was selfish for holding her when I should let her go. This little fantasy of mine—thinking I could have her, keep her—maybe it was ti to let it die.

Sleep found eventually, though uneasily.

. . .

We touched down at a private airstrip with the sun already burning against the horizon. The jet slowed, wheels scraping against the runway until it stopped completely. I stood as soon as the door opened, my body wired, restless.

"Let’s go," I said quietly, glancing back at Zoe.

She rose without a word, her expression unreadable, her eyes a mask. It stung more than I wanted to admit. She hadn’t been like this before. And I knew I was the reason she was.

We stepped out together, my hand wrapping around hers as if holding her could tether her to . No passport checks, no waiting lines. Just the warm bite of the air, heavy with the scent of flowers and herbs carried by the wind, and the long stretch of road ahead.

Emily muttered as she looked around, clutching Benny’s hand tightly. "Why does this place creep out? It feels like a desert."

Benny squeezed her hand, leaning close to reassure her. "Nero knows what he’s doing, babe." His voice was low, ant only for her, but I caught it anyway.

Zoe glanced at then, quick, searching, before turning her gaze toward the sleek black Range Rover waiting for us. I studied her profile as we walked. Her silence was louder than any question she could have asked.

The drive was quiet. Emily and Benny took the front while Zoe and I sat in the back. Her shoulder brushed mine, yet she felt miles away.

Outside, Dubai unfolded. Towers stretched skyward, glinting in the morning light. It was all sharp edges and glass reflections, beautiful but unforgiving. The last ti I had been here, it ended in blood. Now, I was back—for another job. Another ss that blurred the line between life and death.

Eventually, the city lted away, replaced by quieter roads that wound toward the water. When the car stopped, an endless stretch of ocean lay before us, blue and shimring under the sun.

As we stepped out, Zoe’s voice reached , soft, hesitant. "Where are we going?" Her eyes flicked up to mine, suspicion flickering there.

I forced a smile, gentle, the kind ant to reassure. "It’s a surprise."

We boarded a yacht that cut cleanly across the water, carrying us toward an island rising like a secret from the horizon.

And then she saw it.

The villa appeared first as a gleam of glass and steel, then it opened fully before us—a modern fortress, shimring in the light, its walls all glass, its presence commanding.

Zoe froze at the sight. "Is this real?" she breathed, wonder spilling from her voice before she could stop it.

I smiled then, softer than I’d ant to. "Yes, baby," I said, the word slipping out as naturally as air. "It’s real."

And for a mont, I let myself forget about what waited for here.