Page 7 of Mafia Don's Twisted Union

Carlito’s gaze holds mine for a moment longer, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, with a sharp nod, he turns his attention back to the cityscape outside the window. It feels like a dismissal, but I stay seated, unsure if I’m meant to leave or wait for further instructions.

Just as I’m about to stand, he speaks again. “Bianca told me you’re adaptable. That you can handle challenges most people can’t.”

The unexpected remark catches me off guard. “She’s generous with her praise,” I reply carefully.

“She’s honest,” he counters, his tone firm. “But I’ve learned not to take anyone’s word at face value.”

I swallow, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “That’s fair. I believe actions speak louder than words.”

His lips curve into something that almost resembles a smile—sharp, fleeting, and gone before I can fully register it. “Good. Then you’ll have no problem proving yourself.”

The room falls silent again, the tension thick and palpable. I rise slowly, sliding my portfolio back into my bag. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Marcelli,” I say, my voice steady despite the knots tightening in my stomach.

“Carlito,” he corrects, his gaze flicking to me.

“Carlito,” I echo, his name feeling foreign on my tongue.

As I turn to leave, his voice stops me mid-step. “Mia.”

I glance back, my hand hovering over the door handle.

“Don’t disappoint me,” he says, his tone a perfect balance of warning and expectation.

My chest tightens, but I nod. “I won’t.”

The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The hallway feels cooler, less suffocating, but the weight of the meeting lingers.

Carlito Marcelli is nothing like I expected. Bianca’s descriptions barely scratched the surface of the intensity he radiates. Commanding is an understatement. Intimidating is more accurate.

I walk through the pristine corridors of The Wynn, my heels echoing against the polished floors. As I head toward the exit, I replay the meeting in my mind—his sharp gaze, his deliberate words, the way he seemed to size me up with every response I gave.

I didn’t crumble under the pressure, but I can’t help wondering if I impressed him enough.

The midday sun greets me as I step outside, its warmth a stark contrast to the icy focus of Carlito’s presence. I pull my phonefrom my bag, intending to jot down notes from the meeting, when a text from Bianca pops up on the screen.

“How did it go? Did Daddy scare you? ;)”

A small laugh escapes me despite the tension still coiled in my chest.Scare me?That’s an understatement.

I type back quickly:“It was... intense. But I’m still standing.”

Her reply is instant.“Told you he’d like you! You’ll be fine.”

I hope she’s right.

Chapter 4

Carlito

The gilded entrance of Caesars Palace feels almost ostentatious against the clean, precise lines I favor, but I have to admit it fits the stakes of this gala. The ballroom, with its grand columns and sprawling ceiling painted like a fresco, radiates opulence.

Mia walks beside me, clutching her notebook and glancing around with a sharp eye. She looks calm on the surface, but I notice the subtle way her fingers tighten around her pen. Nervous energy. She’s keeping it contained, but it’s there.

“This space has potential,” she says, her voice steady but thoughtful.

I nod, gesturing toward the high windows lining the far wall. “The natural light is a strength. But it also highlights flaws.”

She follows my gaze, her brow furrowing as she studies the space. “Strategic lighting can balance that, especially duringthe evening hours. It’s about emphasizing the grandeur while masking imperfections.”

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