Claimed by the Mafia Don Chapter 46: Los Angeles

ZOE DEAN’S POV

The mont the plane’s wheels hit the runway, a soft jolt ran through the cabin. My chest rose with a quiet sigh — part relief, part exhaustion. Finally. L.A. The view outside the window looked bright and alive, so different from Santiago’s calm rhythm. Sohow, it already felt like a fresh start... or maybe I just needed it to feel that way.

The flight attendant’s cheerful voice ca through the speakers, thanking us for flying and reminding everyone to collect their belongings. I tuned her out halfway through and unbuckled my seatbelt. My legs ached from sitting too long, and my mind — well, that had been restless for weeks.

When I finally stepped out into the terminal, the air felt lighter, cleaner. I rolled my suitcase behind , scanning the crowd for a familiar face. Nothing yet. People moved in waves — rushing, chatting, dragging their luggage. I was just about to reach into my handbag for my phone when a high-pitched voice cut through the noise.

"Zoe!"

I turned, my heart instantly lifting. "Aunty Gina!"

There she was — beaming, waving from across the crowd. She looked exactly the sa, maybe even more radiant than I rembered. Her hair, that sa white shade she shared with Mom and , was tied into a high ponytail, and her brown eyes sparkled when she smiled. Dressed in jeans and a sky-blue T-shirt, she looked like the definition of warmth.

I didn’t even realize how fast my feet were moving until I collided into her arms.

"Oh, my baby!" she squealed, hugging tight — so tight I could barely breathe. "Gosh, I’ve missed you!"

I laughed, muffled against her shoulder. "I missed you more, Aunty."

When she finally pulled back, she took a step back to look at — really look at . Her eyes did a quick scan from my hair to my shoes, then back to my face. And then she broke into another grin.

"You look so good, my dear. Look at you!"

I groaned playfully, rolling my eyes. "Aunty, please."

"No, I an it!" she insisted, still beaming. "You look chubby and fresh. I love it! Tell the secret later, hmm? But first— let’s get you ho."

Her laughter was contagious, and I found myself smiling genuinely for the first ti in weeks. I grabbed my suitcase and followed her to the parking lot. Her little black BMW was parked not too far away, gleaming in the sunlight. We loaded my bags into the trunk, and soon, we were driving off into the city.

The silence that filled the car wasn’t uncomfortable. The radio played so light pop music in the background, and for a while, I just watched the passing streets — palm trees, sunshine, wide roads. L.A. felt big. Bigger than my thoughts, maybe big enough to swallow them whole.

"So," Aunty Gina said suddenly, eyes still on the road, "how’s Santiago? Been a while since I visited."

I shrugged. "Santiago is... Santiago." My voice sounded casual, though inside I felt that pinch again. "Nothing much happening."

"And you?" she glanced at briefly, smiling softly. "How have you been, sweetheart?"

I hesitated before answering. "I’m fine." It was my go-to response — easy, vague, safe. At least I’m trying to be fine, I added silently.

She humd like she didn’t quite believe but didn’t push. "Well, I’m so happy you’re here. I’m going to feed you so much you’ll forget what you previously looked like."

That made laugh, the sound surprising even . "You sound like Mom."

"Good!" she said proudly. "Your mother always said food makes one look good."

We both chuckled, and I asked, "How’s Paul?"

"Oh, he’s good. He stayed ho to make dinner. You’ll see — he’s been experinting with recipes lately. I told him not to burn the kitchen before we got back." Her tone was teasing, but her eyes softened. "I’m really glad you’re here, Zoe. I’ve been worried about you."

I smiled faintly. "You don’t have to worry so much, Aunty. I’m okay."

She sighed. "I can’t help it. It’s in my DNA."

That made smile again. That was so Aunty Gina — all heart and worry wrapped in one person.

The rest of the drive was quiet except for the music. I leaned my head against the window, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. Maybe Fredda was right, I thought. Maybe I should stop overthinking and just breathe. Treat this like a vacation. A real break.

***

By the ti we reached Aunty Gina’s house, it felt like stepping into a mory. The cozy living room slled faintly of cinnamon and fresh laundry. Paul greeted with his usual warm grin, and their two-year-old ran straight into my arms. I kissed his chubby cheeks until he started giggling — and honestly, it felt good to laugh like that again.

Dinner was loud and full of stories — Paul’s work, Gina’s neighbors, the baby’s new obsession with crayons. They were both so normal, so happy, that I felt a pang in my chest. I missed this. I missed family.

Afterward, I retreated to my old room — still exactly as I’d left it years ago. Sa pastel curtains, sa photo of Mom and Aunty Gina on the dresser. It was comforting... and a little heartbreaking.

I’d barely gotten into bed, scrolling through my phone aimlessly, when there was a knock at the door.

"Co in," I called, already knowing who it was.

Aunty Gina peeked in, her smile gentle. "Hope I’m not disturbing?"

"Of course not," I said, sitting up. She walked in and sat on the edge of my bed, looking around the room like it held old mories for her too.

For a mont, neither of us spoke. The silence felt full — heavy, but not in a bad way. Finally, I asked softly, "Is sothing wrong?"

She shook her head. "Not really. I just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable. That you’re... fine."

Her tone gave her away. I smiled a little. "I’m fine, Aunty."

She took my hand, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. "You can tell if sothing’s wrong, you know. You called out of the blue, said you wanted to co visit... I just figured sothing must’ve happened."

My throat tightened. She always saw right through .

For a long mont, I didn’t speak. Then, I sighed. "It’s just... things haven’t been easy lately."

Her expression softened instantly. "Oh, honey..." She squeezed my hand gently. "Tell everything."

So I did. Bit by bit, I told her what had been happening — the pain, the confusion, the things I hadn’t said aloud in months. She listened quietly, not interrupting once. And by the ti I finished, tears were already slipping down my cheeks.

Aunty Gina pulled into her arms, rubbing slow circles on my back. "It’s alright, my dear," she whispered. "It is well with you. It will be."

For the first ti in a long ti, I actually believed her.