Page 22 of Mafia Don's Twisted Union

Whoever that man was, he’s not done with me yet.

Chapter 10

Carlito

The Venetian Rooftop Terrace hums with life, the polished stone tiles gleaming under the late morning sun. Vendors and staff move with purpose, unpacking crates and arranging the space according to Mia’s meticulous designs. The once-empty venue is transforming, every detail a reflection of her vision and the high stakes of tomorrow’s gala.

I step onto the terrace unannounced, my eyes sweeping over the activity. Near the center, Mia stands with a small group of decorators, her hazel eyes focused as she gestures toward a centerpiece display. Her calm yet commanding presence stands out against the bustle, a sharp contrast to the frantic energy I’ve encountered from less capable planners in the past.

“Mia,” I call out.

She turns, her expression shifting as she recognizes me. A faint smile touches her lips before she tucks it away, her professional demeanor slipping into place.

“Carlito,” she says, her voice steady as she approaches. “You’re early.”

“I like to see things before they’re finished,” I reply, letting my gaze drift across the terrace. “Easier to spot problems that way.”

Her brow arches slightly, a subtle challenge in her expression. “So far, the problems have been minimal. We’re ahead of schedule.”

“Good,” I say, my attention lingering on the skyline for a moment before returning to her. “Leo’s still looking into that man you mentioned from the vendor meeting.”

Her faint smile fades, replaced by a shadow of concern. “Any leads?”

“Not yet,” I admit. “But we’ve tightened security. You’re safe here, Mia.”

Her shoulders ease, but only slightly. “Thank you,” she says softly. “That’s... reassuring.”

I nod, noting the resilience in her tone. She’s stepped into a world of power and danger without truly understanding the stakes, yet she holds her ground.

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The terrace is alive with coordinated chaos as Mia leads me through the walkthrough. Her voice cuts through the commotion, steady and sure, as she outlines the details. We pause near the bar setup, where staff arrange rows of gleaming glassware.

“This placement ensures easy access for guests while keeping the flow natural,” she explains, gesturing to the layout. “We’ll use accent lighting to draw attention without overwhelming the design.”

“Practical,” I say, scanning the setup. “You’ve accounted for guest traffic patterns?”

She nods, her confidence evident. “Based on the guest list, there should be minimal congestion.”

“Good.”

A faint curve of satisfaction touches her lips at my response, though she doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, she straightens her blazer and moves on, pointing out the entertainment area and seating arrangements.

Her poise impresses me. Though I sense traces of nervous energy beneath her polished exterior, she carries herself with an assurance that I rarely see in people navigating this kind of pressure.

The walkthrough flows smoothly until a commotion near the vendor entrance interrupts the rhythm. A truckload of deliveries has bottlenecked at the loading area, crates spilling into thepathway. A flustered staff member waves his arms, helpless as the scene escalates.

“I’ll handle this,” Mia says, her tone firm.

Before I can respond, she strides toward the chaos, leaving me to watch her with growing interest.

Mia moves quickly, her heels clicking against the stone tiles as she approaches the delivery area. The harried staff member steps aside, relief flickering across his face when she takes charge.

“What’s the issue?” she asks, her voice calm but commanding.

“The crates weren’t labeled properly,” he stammers, gesturing toward the cluster of boxes blocking the path. “We didn’t realize they were for separate vendors until—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupts, her tone decisive. “Let’s clear a path first, then sort out the labels. Focus on what’s urgent.”

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