Page 3 of Mafia Don's Twisted Union

Serene. Controlled. Just the way I like it.

On my desk lies a leather-bound portfolio. Bianca had spoken about Mia Caruso with the kind of enthusiasm that rarely leaves her lips.Talented. Adaptable. Someone even you’ll respect, Daddy.

Respect is earned, not handed out. I learned that the hard way.

I flip the cover open and begin my review. The first project listed is a charity gala, its design sleek and restrained, perfectly balanced between elegance and sophistication. Every detail reflects careful thought.

The second spread showcases a vineyard wedding, its simplicity elevated to art. No unnecessary flourishes, no desperate attempt to impress. Just clean, deliberate choices.

“Interesting,” I murmur, turning the pages.

Bianca’s glowing descriptions painted Mia as extraordinary, but this portfolio shows something even rarer: someone who understands the value of restraint.

I lean back in my chair, my gaze drifting to the far wall where old photographs of past successes hang. My businesses thrive on precision, on control. The gala Bianca has tasked Mia with isn’t just a celebration—it’s a statement. A declaration to our competitors and associates alike that the Marcelli name remains unshakable.

And in my world, perception is as powerful as reality.

My hand brushes the edge of the folder as my thoughts shift to another gala from years ago. One that should have been a triumph but ended in betrayal. A trusted associate sabotaged the event, tarnishing my reputation and fracturing business alliances.

The lessons from that night carved themselves into my bones: trust no one, verify everything.

I turn another page in Mia’s portfolio, studying her notes. They’re thorough, direct, and confident.

Confidence is a double-edged sword. It can drive success or fuel arrogance. I’ll determine which side of that blade Mia falls on when I meet her.

The soft knock at my door interrupts my thoughts. Leo steps in, his steady presence grounding. “You’ve gone through it?” he asks, nodding toward the portfolio.

“I have,” I reply, closing the folder. “It’s promising.”

Leo’s lips twitch into a faint smirk. “High praise, coming from you.”

“She’ll be tested,” I say, rising from my chair. “Schedule the meeting for tomorrow morning. The Wynn. Private dining room.”

“She’s already received confirmation,” Leo says, his tone amused.

I glance at him, raising a brow. “Good. Let’s see if she lives up to Bianca’s hype.”

Leo chuckles softly, lingering by the door. “She’s got talent. Bianca’s usually right about these things.”

“Talent isn’t enough,” I say, my voice cold. “We’ll see if she has the backbone to match it.”

Leo nods, reading the finality in my tone, and steps out, leaving me alone once more.

The night settles around me, my office bathed in a soft glow from the desk lamp. My focus sharpens. The gala will be perfect, every detail scrutinized. And Mia Caruso?

She’ll either rise to the challenge or crumble under the weight of my expectations.

I stand and move to the window, my reflection faintly visible in the glass as the last light of day gives way to night. The villa is silent, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the faint rhythm of the fountain outside.

This is how I like it—quiet, controlled. But tonight, my thoughts are anything but.

The name “Mia Caruso” lingers in my mind. Her portfolio revealed someone meticulous and adaptable, traits I value. But paper only tells half the story. People can be deceptive, hiding flaws beneath a polished surface. The gala demands more than technical skill. It demands someone who can thrive under pressure.

I know the type—fragile egos disguised as confidence, all smiles until the cracks show. I’ve worked with enough people to spot them a mile away. But what intrigues me about Mia is the restraint in her work. Restraint speaks to discipline. Discipline suggests someone who can weather a storm.

Bianca’s voice echoes in my mind:“You’ll like her, Daddy. She’s different.”

Different. I’ve heard that before. Promises of loyalty and competence that always came with hidden agendas.

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