Sold To The Mafia Don Chapter 149 ~ Mira

We left before dawn.

There was sothing cleansing about moving while the world was still asleep. It as if the danger couldn’t catch up to us if it didn’t have ti to stretch and wake.

Tomas had arranged everything: a single black SUV, two backups, a handful of n who didn’t speak unless spoken to. They packed in silence like thieves rehearsing a daylight robbery.

Jace didn’t give ti to be sentintal. He took my hand as we stepped out, and the warmth of it steadied more than the desert air or the rumble of the engine. He looked like a man who had already decided to burn whatever stood in his way; the set of his jaw said it all. Still, there was a softness when he glanced my way, a little nod that said; We’ll keep each other, even if the world demands otherwise.

Donna Carla was wrapped in a cream shawl that made her look small. She’s been smaller since the hospital, the shooting took sothing from her that dicine couldn’t replace, but her eyes were still sharp, still dangerous in their own way. She refused to be carried; she refused to be coddled. She decided she would go with us as an equal, and in the way only a matriarch can, she set the rules before we left.

"No visitors. No phones beyond what the guards need. You sleep. You eat. You watch." Her voice was weak, but it held iron. Even that fragile voice could cut a man down if she wanted.

We drove for hours. The city thinned out into highways and then into rolling hills dotted with vineyards and small farms. The further we went, the less I felt like I belonged in the life I had stumbled into. Part of wanted to laugh at that. , who used to get flour on my apron and call it a day, now tucked into a leather seat between a Don and his donna, watching the world blur outside.

Tomas handled logistics like a general. "We’ll stay three nights at the safe house north of here," he said, briefing Jace quietly in the front. "Then we move to the villa. Nobody knows about the villa but and the Don. It’s out of state and off-grid. No caras, no traceable utilities. It’s purely self-contained. Staff is local, loyal to the family, not to nas."

Jace nodded, giving the smallest smile when he saw my face. "You’ll like it," he said. "It’s quiet."

Quiet. I didn’t know if that word should comfort or scare .

The villa was everything the word "hidden" promised. A long, tree-lined drive that swallowed the SUV, a wrought-iron gate that folded apart soundlessly, and a house that looked at once lived-in and abandoned — all stone and dark wood and a wide porch that faced a lake glassy as a mirror. There were olive trees, a small patch of wild roses, a vegetable garden that looked as if soone loved to plant things by hand. It could be a postcard if you ignored the n with earpieces and rifles tucked under their jackets.

We settled into a rhythm the way people do when they’re forced to pretend: routines that quiet the mind. Tomas and a handful of trusted n set up a security periter with checkpoints at the road, drone sweeps until night, guards on rotation. They installed scramblers to block signals. I watched it all with a strange calm. I wanted to understand everything; I wanted to be useful.

Donna insisted on seeing the property with a cane, insisting she could do more than sit in a chair. She shuffled slowly, her eyes cataloguing everything, giving orders to the staff like she already owned the place. For soone who almost died a little over a week ago, she was ferocious in the most ordinary ways. She called a gardener over and lectured him about pruning the roses. "Life is in the details," she told him. Then she looked at , one of those old-woman smiles that contained a thousand stories. "You’ll have to learn to make polenta right."

I wanted to say yes and an it. I wanted to believe we were safe long enough to learn how to make polenta like a Romano. That night, sitting on the porch with my feet tucked under , the lake spread in silver and stars, I let myself be small for a second. Jace sat close, his shoulder warm and heavy against mine.

"I love seeing you look so at peace," Jace’s voice startled as I turned around to face him.

"Wish I could say the sa for you." I teased him as he pulled up.

We shared a laugh that felt like permission to be both ridiculous and human.

The villa’s nights were long and padded in the quiet. I learned quickly how security felt like a blanket — both warm and heavy. Every door had a code. Every staff mber had a story, eyes a little too practiced. Tomas checked the guest logs like a priest and crossed nas off like absolution. I watched him work and admired the way he could be rciless when he needed to, a fact that made both comforted and uneasy.

Donna’s recovery surprised . So hours she rested like a woman exhausted, and in others she exploded with the energy of soone who had lain in a bed and dread of revenge. She told stories from her youth in bits when she felt good — small mories of markets, of dresses stitched in haste, of hiding children during tis that felt endless. She told she had loved once, and the way she said it made realize love had always been far more complicated in their world. It didn’t just bring warmth. It brought alliances and debts and knives hidden under couches.

I wanted to ask her about Alejandro. But even I knew that was a forbidden topic for now. Jace was still awkward about ut.

Night fell, and with it, the shadows reminded we were still small children on the run. The radios buzzed once, then again. Tomas appeared at the threshold with a look I knew too well. His eyebrow rose.

"A car on the north road," he said. "License plates don’t show. They turned off the main road and ca through the fields."

The blood drained from my face. Jace was up like a spring, with a quiet order and a rifle in his hands.

They moved like caged predators, efficient and terrifying. I stood in the doorway watching them and felt the old panic rise, but sothing steadier reminded : I was here. I’d chosen this. I could help. We had to be better than afraid.

When the n returned, they reported that the car had turned around and left. No footprints. No approach. An intimidation maneuver. It was a ssage.

We all exhaled, together and separate. Jace ca to then, and the tiredness in him made my chest ache.

"Listen to ," he said softly. "We move as one. We keep our circle small. We never speak of location. You stay with at all tis when we go out." He pressed his lips to my temple as if sealing the promise. "And if anything happens, you run. No questions."

I wanted to protest. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t a fragile thing to be carried. But I stepped into his arms instead and let my fingers lace through his. "I know," I whispered.

That night, I slept like a person who knew the wolves were outside but had found a place to lay their head. It was a strange blessing. I had safety held together by violence and loyalty, by guns and hands that would kill for you without blinking.

I didn’t know how long we’d stay. Weeks, months, a flash before the storm returns. But for now, in the quieted compound with its olive trees and lake and the little wild roses, I let myself believe in a fragile thing: that we could breathe for a mont, learn the edges of one another, and prepare for the burn that was surely coming.

"Do you think we’ll be ready when the war cos?" I asked him.

Jace’s hand closed over mine in the dark. "We always are."

I tried to believe that.