Sold To The Mafia Don Chapter 174 ~ Jace

The funny thing about peace is that it feels strange when it finally arrives.

For the first ti in years, I wasn’t boarding a plane to handle a deal or settle a feud. There were no n with , no briefcases of weapons, no plans spinning in my head. Just one woman who was my wife sitting beside in a first-class cabin, laughing softly at sothing on her phone.

And sohow, that felt like power too.

Mira had her hair pulled up in a loose bun, a few curls escaping and framing her face. She wore one of those flowy cream tops that made her skin glow even more under the cabin lights. She wasn’t even trying, but she owned every space she walked into, mine included.

I should have been checking emails or reading the paper like a civilized man, but no. I just sat there, my eyes fixed on her, pretending I wasn’t completely undone by how easily she existed next to .

"You’re staring again," she murmured, not even looking up.

"Maybe I like what I see."

She turned to , smiling in that quiet, knowing way. "You’ve been staring since we left the house."

"I’m allowed. You’re my wife." I shrugged.

She chuckled. "Still doesn’t make it less weird."

"Then get used to it, mia cara," I said, leaning closer until she t my eyes. "Because I don’t plan to stop anyti soon."

Her cheeks flushed a little, and I caught the subtle way her fingers gripped the armrest tighter. God, I loved doing that to her. I loved watching er try to keep her composure when all I wanted was to ruin it.

She looked out the window then, her voice soft. "It’s strange, isn’t it? Going sowhere for sothing other than running or hiding."

I reached for her hand. "You deserve this. Every bit of it."

Her fingers slipped through mine easily, her thumb tracing lazy circles across my skin. "You make it sound like a vacation."

"It is," I said, smirking. "A very romantic one."

"Romantic?" she repeated, half-amused, half-skeptical.

I leaned in close enough for her to catch my whisper. "You’ll see."

Her laugh was low and breathy, the kind that made forget where we were for a second. I pressed a kiss to her temple, and she sighed like that single touch steadied her.

For the rest of the flight, I watched her until she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder, her lashes brushing her cheek, the soft rhythm of her breathing against my neck. There was sothing sacred about it. It was like watching peace finally take human form.

I didn’t even realize I was smiling until the stewardess passed by and gave a knowing look. I ignored her.

Mira shifted slightly, mumbling sothing in her sleep, and I whispered back, "I’ve got you."

I ant it.

<

By the ti we landed in Lisbon, the sun was just beginning to set, streaks of gold spilling across the skyline. The city was alive, bustling, loud, beautiful in a way that felt untouched by everything we had been through.

The car ride from the airport was quiet, filled with the hum of the city outside. Mira pressed her face to the window, eyes wide with nostalgia.

"I missed this," she said softly.

"I can tell."

She turned to , smiling. "You’re really going to let drag you through bakeries and supplier etings?"

"I’ll survive." I smirked. "Besides, I want to see the Mira everyone talks about . The one who terrifies her managers but still makes them fall in love with her pastries."

She nudged playfully. "You’ll be bored in an hour."

I smirked. "Doubt it."

When we reached the first bakery, she was out of the car before I could open her door. I followed, hands in my pockets, watching her slip right into her elent like she’d never left.

The staff spotted her imdiately. They froze for a second, wide-eyed, then rushed forward with smiles and excitent. Mira greeted each one of them by na. She hugged the manager, checked the display cases, straightened a tray that was slightly off-center all within the first five minutes.

I stood near the door, unseen but not unnoticed, watching her move through that space with quiet authority. Her energy was different here. She confident, compose and unshaken.

This was her world.

And I’d never been prouder to be standing in it beside her.

She sampled pastries, gave feedback, asked about sales. The staff hung on her every word. There was no trace of the woman who used to tremble when chaos hit. It was just Mira, sure of herself, sure of her purpose.

When she finally turned and caught watching, she smiled. It was that radiant, effortless smile that made forget to breathe for a second.

"What?" she asked, laughing softly. "You’re staring again, Jace."

"I’m allowed," I repeated like I was stating the obvious- which I was. I could stare at her all day and night and it would never bore .

She shook her head, walking over. "You look like you’re plotting sothing."

"Maybe I am."

"And what’s that?"

"Trying to figure out how I got lucky enough to end up with you."

Her laughter faded into sothing softer. "You’re ridiculous."

"Completely," I said, taking her hand. "But I’m still proud of you, Mira. You built sothing beautiful. You beca soone stronger than I ever imagined."

Her eyes softened, shimring under the warm shop lights. "We both did."

Maybe she was right. But as I looked at her commanding the room, radiating quiet power, I knew sothing else too.

Our separation had hurt like hell. But it had built her. It had built us.

It stripped away every illusion we had ever had about love and left only what mattered loyalty, strength, and the kind of devotion that doesn’t break even when everything else does.

I cupped her cheek and kissed her, right there in the middle of the bakery, uncaring who saw.

Her hand curled around my wrist, her lips soft and familiar against mine.

When we pulled apart, she was smiling again - that little smile that told she knew exactly what she did to .

"Don’t tempt in public, Romano," she whispered.

"No promises," I murmured back, taking her lips yet again.

~

Later that night, as we stood on the balcony of the hotel overlooking the river, she leaned against , her hair slling faintly of sugar and vanilla.

Below us, the city glowed with gold lights reflecting on the Tagus like scattered stars.

I wrapped my arms around her waist and rested my chin on her shoulder. "You’re really sothing, Mrs. Romano."

She humd, her voice sleepy but warm. "I know."

I laughed quietly. "Cocky now, huh?"

"Only when I’m right."

I pressed a kiss to her neck, breathing her in. "You’re always right."

And for the first ti in a long ti, there was nothing left to fight. No blood, no betrayal — just us, and the simple, steady rhythm of a love that had survived it all.