Page 41 of Mafia Don's Twisted Union

“We’ve got a problem,” Leo says without preamble. “Russo’s crew is making moves near the property tied to Mia’s inheritance. I think they’re testing our defenses, but it’s only a matter of time before they escalate.”

A curse slips from my lips. “Double the security detail. I want eyes on every inch of that property.”

“Already on it,” Leo replies. There’s a pause, then his tone softens. “How’s Mia holding up?”

I glance toward the hallway, where the sound of a door closing tells me she’s shut herself in her room. “She’s... frustrated,” I admit. “And she’s starting to ask questions I can’t answer yet.”

“Carlito,” Leo says cautiously, “you can’t keep her in the dark forever. She’s smart. If you don’t tell her the truth, someone else will.”

I clench my jaw, the weight of his words settling heavily on my shoulders. “I’ll handle it,” I say firmly, though the knot in my chest tightens.

Leo hesitates, then sighs. “Just don’t wait too long. Russo’s playing a long game, and Mia’s at the center of it. She deserves to know what’s at stake.”

The call ends, but the tension remains.

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That night, I sit in the armchair near the window, watching Mia as she sleeps. Her features are soft in the glow of the city lights, but a crease mars her brow, even in rest.

She doesn’t know the full extent of the danger she’s in, and it’s my fault. My decision to keep her in the dark is meant to protect her, but now I wonder if it’s only pushing her further away.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as a single thought burns in my mind:

She’s mine to protect. But how do I keep her safe from a war she doesn’t even know she’s in?

Leo updates me that Russo’s crew is making bolder moves, setting the stage for an inevitable confrontation that could expose everything.

Chapter 19

Mia

The penthouse feels like a maze of secrets, each room holding something Carlito doesn’t want me to see. After he left for a meeting with Leo late this morning, I found myself drawn back to his study.

The door had been left unlocked, and I told myself I wasn’t snooping—I was just... trying to understand.

Now, hours later, I’m sitting at his desk with the pile of documents spread out in front of me. The folder I found last night lies open, its contents arranged like a puzzle I don’t know how to solve. My hands tremble as I pick up one of the letters again, my father’s familiar signature glaring up at me.

Richard Caruso.

I trace the ink, the name Matteo Russo leaping off the page like a curse. This isn’t just business correspondence—it’s a warning.My father’s carefully worded letter discusses a property dispute, calling it a “delicate matter” that needs “immediate resolution.”

I flip to another page, my mother’s handwriting scrawled in hurried lines:“Richard, I don’t trust him. Be careful.”

My chest tightens as I stare at the words. My parents—my loving, ordinary parents—weren’t ordinary at all. They were involved in something dangerous, something they tried to shield me from my entire life.

The wave of nausea hits again, sharp and sudden. I press a hand to my stomach, trying to steady myself. It’s been happening for days now—this strange, uneasy feeling that I keep blaming on stress.

I shake it off and return to the papers, desperate for answers. The documents detail financial transactions, property deeds, and a tangled web of correspondence between my parents and Matteo Russo. But the pieces don’t quite fit together, leaving more questions than answers.

The faint creak of a door makes me jump. My heart pounds as Carlito steps into the study, his dark eyes narrowing when they land on the scattered papers.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his tone calm but edged with suspicion.

I freeze, my hands hovering over the documents. “I was just—” I start, but the words catch in my throat. “I needed to know more. About them. About what’s happening.”

Carlito’s gaze sharpens, his expression unreadable as he steps closer. “You shouldn’t be going through those,” he says, his voice low.

“Why not?” I counter, standing to meet his gaze. “They’re my parents. This is my inheritance. I have a right to know what’s going on.”

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