To say I was worried was an understatent.
For every second after I heard Jace’s car drive out of the villa’s gates, my heart beat faster.
It didn’t matter how many tis I reminded myself he was careful, calculated, and capable of surviving anything.. the worry didn’t go away.
I stood by the window long after the convoy had disappeared down the hill, arms wrapped around myself like that could sohow hold in the anxiety building in my chest.
"He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself," I said out loud, trying to sound convincing.
Even to , it sounded weak.
The villa was quieter than usual that morning. The air felt heavy, and yet the silence had this strange softness to it. Maybe it was because Donna Carla had finally dozed off after breakfast, or maybe it was because the guards were on edge and no one dared make a sound.
I poured myself another cup of coffee. It was the fifth one, if I was being honest and then I tried to focus on the tiny things that kept sane. The birds outside the window. The soft hum of the wind through the cypress trees. The sll of coffee filling the room.
I thought about baking again, like old tis, but there wasn’t much to bake for here. The kitchen staff always looked confused when I tried to help. Apparently, Don Romano’s wife wasn’t supposed to knead dough or worry about burnt croissants.
Hours went by and still, I needed a distraction, so I tried anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, I had flour in my hair, dough on my fingers, and a frustrated sigh escaping my lips.
"This would be easier if you were here," I muttered, rolling my eyes at no one in particular. "You and your stupid perfect face."
I was halfway through scolding a lump of dough when my phone buzzed on the counter.
My heart jumped into my throat.
The screen lit up with one na. T
Jace.
I snatched it up imdiately. "Jace?"
"Did you miss that much already?"
His voice low, smooth and teasing. It washed over like a sigh of relief.
"Don’t do that," I exhaled shakily, trying to suppress the excitent that ca with hearing from him. "Don’t sound so casual when you just left for sothing you won’t even tell about."
He chuckled softly. "If I told you, you’d worry even more."
"Too late for that." I muttered.
"I figured." I could hear the smile in his voice.
There was a beat of silence, and then his tone softened. "I landed. Everything’s fine. You don’t need to worry, princess."
I leaned against the counter, closing my eyes. The tension in my chest eased a little just hearing his voice. "Promise?"
"I don’t make promises I can’t keep." He said.
I smiled faintly. "You already said that."
"And I ant it." His voice dipped lower, quieter now. "You should eat sothing. And stop pacing. Lucas would call if there’s an update."
"You always know what I’m doing, don’t you?" I asked, half teasing, half serious as I suspiciously looked around.
"Of course. I always know."
I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway. "You sound confident for soone who’s supposed to be in another country."
"Confidence keeps alive," he replied simply.
There it was... the quiet steel in his voice that always made my heart ache and swell all at once.
"Be careful, Jace," I whispered.
"I will. Now go back to pretending you can still bake."
My jaw dropped. "How did you—"
He laughed quietly. "You forgot there’s a cara in the kitchen, mia cara. I saw the flour on your face."
I gasped, heat rushing to my cheeks. "You’re spying on now?"
"Just keeping an eye on what’s mine." He chuckles
I wanted to argue, but my heart was already doing sorsaults. "You’re impossible."
"And you love it."
I could hear movent on his end. I heard so voices, car doors, soone saying "Boss, we’re ready."
My chest tightened again. "You have to go, don’t you?"
"Yeah." His rasp grated my ears.
"Jace—"
"I’ll call when it’s over," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "Try not to worry too much, alright?"
"Can’t make promises I can’t keep," I murmured.
He let out a soft chuckle. "Touché."
The line went quiet for a second, then he added gently, "I love you, Mira."
My throat closed up. "I love you too."
The call ended, and I stood there for a long mont, staring at the silent phone.
Outside, the wind had picked up again. The olive trees swayed like they were whispering secrets to one another.
I brushed the flour from my hands, took a slow breath, and whispered to the empty room, "Co back to , Jace. Please."
Then, like every other ti he left, I pretended I wasn’t terrified.
~
The rest of the day went by slower than usual.
I tried to stay calm, to keep my mind occupied with little things, but every ti I looked at the clock, only a few minutes had passed.
Jace’s call replayed in my head over and over again the sound of his voice, the quiet confidence, the way he’d said "I’ll call when it’s over."
Those words had stuck to like glue.
What was "it"?
What exactly was he doing that he couldn’t tell ?
I tried to breathe through it. He’d said he was safe. I should have believed that.
But belief doesn’t always quiet the noise in your head.
By evening, I’d lost count of how many tis I walked to the balcony just to stare at the driveway like maybe I’d see his car suddenly appear. I kept forgetting he was in another country and would not be back that night.
The guards stood at their posts, stiff and alert. Even they looked more tense than usual with fewer casual smiles, more scanning.
The villa felt wrong.
Too still. Too expectant. Like the air itself was holding its breath.
I gave up pretending I wasn’t restless and decided to check on Donna Carla.
If there was one person who never lost her balance, it was her. Even shot and still recovering, she carried herself like a queen.
I knocked softly and peeked into her room.
"Co in, Mirabel," she said without looking up from the book on her lap.
How she always knew it was , I’d never figure out.
"I brought tea," I said, holding up the tray one of the maids had left for her.
She gestured for to set it down.
"Thank you, dear. You look worried."
I gave a nervous little laugh. "Do I?"
"You’re pacing like a woman waiting for news she doesn’t want to hear."
I sank into the armchair near her bed. "You can tell?"
"Please," she said dryly, lifting a brow. "I’m a mother. I invented that look."
That actually made smile. It was a small, fleeting one.
She watched for a mont before turning her gaze to the window. "He hasn’t called again, has he?"
"No." My voice ca out smaller than I intended. "He said he’d call when it was over. That was hours ago."
She humd softly. "If he promised he would, he will. My son is many things, but he doesn’t go back on his word."
"I know."
I stared down at my hands, fingers fiddling with the edge of my sleeve. "It’s just... I hate not knowing. I hate that he always feels the need to protect from everything. Like I can’t handle the truth."
"You can handle it," she said simply. "But he’s not protecting you from the truth, Mirabel. He’s protecting you from the burden of it."
That made go quiet.
She turned to again, her sharp eyes softening just slightly.
"Jacopo carries more than you think," she continued. "He’s been doing that since he was a boy."
I looked up at her, curious despite the knot in my chest. "What was he like? As a child?"
A slow smile curved her lips. "Curious. Fearless. And far too stubborn for his own good. I rember once he snuck into one of Vittorio’s etings, he couldn’t have been more than nine, just to prove he was ready to take over the world."
I laughed a little, picturing a smaller version of Jace in one of those serious suits, probably wearing that sa sharp expression he had now.
"What happened?" I asked.
"He got caught, of course," she said with amusent. "And instead of crying or apologizing, he sat at the table, folded his arms, and said, ’If I’m going to be the Don one day, I might as well start learning now.’"
I shook my head, smiling. "That sounds exactly like him."
"Vittorio didn’t know whether to scold him or laugh. But I think, deep down, he was proud. Jacopo had the kind of fire you can’t train into a person. It’s just there."
Her expression softened with sothing else. It seed like nostalgia, maybe even regret.
"But that fire... it cost him things too."
"What do you an?"
She sipped her tea, thinking. "When his father died, everyone expected him to beco a monster. And for a while, he tried. He thought ruthlessness was the only way to survive. But he never enjoyed it the way Vittorio did. He’s always been... different. Colder, yes, but also gentler than he wants people to believe."
Gentler.
The word lingered in my mind.
It was true. I’d seen it in the way he held when I cried, the way his hand lingered on my back just long enough to steady , the quiet tenderness he tried to hide under all that steel.
"He hides it well," I murmured.
She gave a small, knowing smile. "He has to. The world he lives in doesn’t forgive softness. But you, Mirabel..."
Her gaze caught mine. "You’re the only one who gets to see that side of him. Don’t forget that."
I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotion.
Sotis I forgot that being loved by Jace ca with its own kind of power and its own kind of weight.
We sat in silence for a while after that. The rain outside had stopped, but the clouds hung low over the hills.
When she began to nod off, I quietly got up, took the empty teacup, and slipped out of her room.
Back in the hallway, everything felt too still again.
I checked my phone for what must’ve been the hundredth ti. Still nothing.
Hours passed.
I barely tasted my food at dinner. Then I sat by the window, staring out into the darkness, clutching my phone like a lifeline.
The silence pressed harder now.
My chest tightened as I rembered what Donna had said earlier.
He carries more than you think.
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he carried too much and wouldn’t let be there for him.
"Please co ho to in one piece," I whispered into the night as a tear dropped on his photograph on the screen.
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