Claimed by the Mafia Don Chapter 55: Ask For His Help

ZOE DEAN’S POV

A loud yawn slipped out of before I could stop it, stretching my arms above my head until my muscles trembled. My body felt strangely light this morning — the kind of lightness that cos after releasing sothing heavy you didn’t even realize you’d been carrying. Maybe it was the travel. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was... him.

Either way, I felt good. Warm. Rested.

I rolled to my side, fully intending to steal a few more minutes of sleep — and froze.

Nero’s face filled my vision.

For a heartbeat, my brain short-circuited. What—

Then it rushed back in a slow, spreading warmth: Thailand. Last night. Him.

It had been so long since I woke up next to him that my heart did sothing embarrassing in my chest — a fluttering little leap that I tried, and failed, to ignore. A smile crept onto my face before I could stop it.

God, I had missed this.

I had missed him.

Missed waking up to his annoyingly perfect face instead of the masked, hard expression he wore as the mafia Don. Here, asleep, he looked softer... almost boyish. Peaceful in a way I rarely got to see.

My hand moved before my mind caught up. I reached forward and brushed my fingertips along the edge of his jaw, tracing the slight shadow of stubble. His skin was warm. Familiar. And for the first ti in a long ti, I let myself actually feel that.

After a mont, I pulled my hand back — or tried to.

"Do that again," he murmured, voice husky and thick with sleep. His eyes were still closed, lashes brushing his cheeks.

I blinked.

He’s awake?

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, but I didn’t move. Not until his eyes finally opened and found mine.

There it was — that lazy, seductive look that had always, always lted no matter how hard I tried to pretend otherwise. Warm. Intense. Like he saw straight through everything I tried to hide.

"Good morning," I whispered, trying (and failing) to sound unaffected.

"Good morning, girlfriend," he teased, giving that smile — the one reserved only for .

The butterflies in my stomach betrayed instantly. "How was your night?" I asked, hoping I sounded normal.

He studied for a long mont, then the corners of his mouth lifted again. "I slept well. Only because you were here beside ."

Heat rushed straight to my cheeks. I couldn’t help it.

He didn’t look away. If anything, he leaned closer, eyes dropping briefly to my lips. Before I could think, before I could breathe, he brushed a soft kiss against my mouth.

Just a whisper of a kiss — but it shocked enough that my eyes flew open wide.

He chuckled at my reaction, low and pleased. "I’ve been aning to do that since I set my eyes on you."

My heart didn’t know whether to jump or stop completely.

But before I could say a single thing, his phone rang. The shift was imdiate — his expression snapped into the familiar Don frown, his voice slipping into business mode as he answered.

"Hello, Damien."

Silence, except for the deep, steady sound of his breathing as he listened. Then:

"We’ll et you at xico."

I blinked. xico?

I didn’t say anything yet — but confusion already tangled itself around my thoughts.

"There is soone I need to et there," he added into the phone, then paused again. "Okay. See you there."

The mont he hung up, I was already staring at him, questions swirling wildly. He looked at like he knew — like he expected every single one of them.

"Are we..." I swallowed, suddenly feeling small. "...leaving?"

"Yes." No hesitation. No softening.

"To xico? Why?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

He smiled, slow and deliberate, and moved closer until his hand settled on my waist. My heart stumbled.

"We’re going to see your father."

I went still. Completely still.

"My... father?" The words were thin, fragile. It felt like my brain had to fight its way through shock before I could breathe again.

Nero nodded once.

I didn’t understand. Not even a little. Why xico? Why my father? What did any of this an?

My voice trembled before I could steady it. "Are you... still going on with the revenge?"

That was what all this had been about. Right? The reason he disappeared. The reason he broke and himself in the process.

He didn’t answer imdiately. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead — slow, lingering, almost reassuring.

"I need to ask for his help."

His help?

My father?

None of it made sense. The questions piled up so fast it felt like my chest couldn’t expand fully.

"His help?" I repeated, more confused than ever.

"Yes." He nodded again, steady and calm, like he wasn’t dropping a bomb on my entire morning. "I’ll tell you everything later."

He brushed his thumb gently against my hip — a small, grounding touch.

"Right now, we need to get ready for our flight."

My mind was still spinning, but his tone left no room for argunt. No space for unraveling.

xico.

My father.

Revenge.

And Nero — asking for help.

Everything inside shifted at once.

********

STEFANO RUSSO’S (NERO’S) POV

Somchai’s butler moved back and forth between the house and the car, packing our luggage neatly into the booth. I barely watched him. My eyes kept drifting—almost against my will—to where Zoe stood with Emily by the car.

She was laughing at sothing Emily said, her shoulders relaxed, her face soft in the morning light.

Peaceful. That was the word for her.

And she didn’t even try—she just carried peace around like it belonged to her.

I liked that about her. Maybe more than I should.

My mind flicked back to this early morning, to the look on her face when I told her we were going to xico... to see her father. Shock. Confusion. A little fear. I expected it. It wasn’t exactly news anyone would take well.

But I had to do it. I needed answers.

"Nero."

Somchai’s voice ca from behind , steady and calm, the way it always was. When I turned, he was wearing that composed expression again—collected on the outside, but I knew him well enough to see what was underneath.

He didn’t want to leave. Not like this. Not without clarity.

I didn’t speak until he stepped beside . "Do you think you can manage my father?" My tone was cold, almost flat. With everyone except Zoe, it always was.

Somchai didn’t flinch. "I’ll manage him. You can be rest assured."

I nodded once. I trusted him—he’d always handled my father better than anyone else. This ti wouldn’t be different.

He swept his gaze around the driveway before asking, quieter this ti, "Are you sure about going to Zoe’s father?"

"I am," I answered, no hesitation.

"You know this will be dangerous, right? Zoe’s father... he’s a deadly man in his own right."

"I know." I exhaled slowly. "But I need to find the real murderer. The one who killed my mother."

Somchai gave a short breath, almost a sigh. "What did Zoe say about it?"

I tightened my jaw. "I haven’t explained it to her."

"But you will."

A muscle ticked in my cheek. "I don’t have a choice. Zoe is... always curious."

He gave a small, understanding nod. "Hmm."

We stood there for a mont—two n who had seen far too much blood and far too many truths.

"I just hope this goes well," he murmured.

"I’m just hoping her father might actually be innocent," I replied quietly. Part of wanted that more than I cared to admit.

"We’re not certain yet," he reminded.

"That’s why I need to ask," I said. "I need to know."

Somchai nodded slowly. "I understand."

"Young master Russo, your ride is ready," Somchai’s butler announced, stepping toward us.

"Alright." I drew in a breath that felt heavier than it should. "I have to go now. I’ll be in touch."

Somchai didn’t say anything else—he just bowed his head slightly in that respectful, unspoken way of his. The kind that said Be careful without needing to say the words.

I turned toward the car. Zoe was already inside, waiting for .

And for a brief second before I reached the door, I allowed myself to hope—just a little—that this trip wouldn’t break her trust in .