Sold To The Mafia Don-Chapter 198 - 8 ~ Jace

Mira fell asleep before we had even cleared the bakery district.

Her head had been leaning against the window at first, city lights reflecting in her eyes. Then slowly, gently, she shifted toward me, resting her cheek against my shoulder like it was the only place in the world that made sense.

I adjusted my arm around her without waking her.

She sighed, a soft, tired sound that hit me in the chest harder than any bullet ever had.

I looked down at her.

Her lashes were still damp from the last hour, even though she had tried to hide it. Her breathing was steady now, but I could still feel the tension in her. She had not let it reach the surface, but I saw it. I saw everything she tried to carry alone.

She had always been like that. She was strong, quiet and stubborn in her own gentle way. She held her fear inside her chest like it was something she had to manage on her own, something she didn’t want to burden me with.

But she didn’t understand that her fear was mine too.

I brushed my thumb slowly over the back of her hand, careful not to wake her.

The driver kept his eyes ahead, silent. The guards in the following car stayed close behind us, headlights steady in the rear mirror.

Everything around us looked normal.

But normal could be deceiving.

I replayed the delivery in my mind. The box. The shoes. The note.

She will be beautiful.

Those words weren’t a threat in the obvious sense. Not a promise of violence. Not a declaration of war. They were worse.

They were personal.

They were intimate.

They were someone stepping into a space that belonged to only us.

Someone wanted to be close.

Close enough to watch.

And the thought made something cold and sharp settle inside me.

I leaned back in the seat, one hand still holding hers, and texted in the group line I reserved for serious situations only.

Jace: Double outer perimeter. No patterns. Rotations randomized.

Jace: I want facial recognition running on every recorded person entering a three-block radius around the bakery.

Tomas: Already in progress.

Marco: Setting up remote units tonight.

Jace: Track recycled delivery routes. Any temp drivers hired in the last 3 weeks. I want names and faces in my inbox by morning.

I put the phone away.

The car turned into the neighborhood and passed through the security gate. Guards nodded as we rolled through, but I stopped watching them.

I was watching the shadows.

Every rooftop.

Every parked car.

Every reflection.

I carried Mira out of the car when we arrived. She stirred faintly, but never woke. I pressed a kiss to her forehead before I laid her gently on our bed.

She deserved rest.

She deserved peace.

She deserved a life not stained by ghosts.

I stood there for a long moment, just watching her breathe. The way her hands instinctively curled near her stomach. The way her expression softened when she slept.

My wife.

My life.

My entire fucking world.

I moved quietly through the room and stepped out into the hall where the night-guard waited.

"Tomas," I said.

He approached immediately. "The footage?"

"Send it to my office."

He nodded.

"And the bakery?"

"Two units on rotation. Discreet."

I exhaled. Good.

But it wasn’t enough.

"Listen to me carefully," I said. "No one touches her. Not even with a look. If someone is testing me, they are preparing for something bigger. I want to see the move before they make it."

Tomas nodded, jaw tight. "Understood."

I went downstairs.

The house was quiet, dimly lit, the kind of quiet most men would find comforting.

To me, silence always meant something was moving underneath.

I opened my laptop in the office and began scrubbing through the external security feeds. I paused the footage on the bakery doorstep. The delivery driver barely lifted his head. His walk was steady. Controlled. Too controlled.

That wasn’t a delivery boy.

That was someone trained.

Someone was waiting and watching.

Testing distance and reaction time.

He didn’t send a message.

He delivered one.

I zoomed in on his hands. No tremor. No hesitation. His posture was too upright. Civilian cover with military discipline.

Professional.

But not someone I recognized.

Which meant new players.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand over my jaw.

Someone wanted me to know Mira was reachable.

Someone wanted me rattled.

Someone wanted me to feel fear.

And they were about to learn something very important.

I do not fear losing.

I fear nothing for myself.

But for her?

For her, I would burn the world before I let a shadow touch her.

I checked the time and saw that it was past midnight.

I closed the laptop and headed back upstairs.

The hallway was softly lit. The moonlight filtered through the curtains. Everything felt still.

When I entered the bedroom, Mira was still asleep, curled slightly on her side, hands resting over our daughter.

I removed my shirt and slid into bed behind her, sliding my arm around her, careful, gentle, steady.

She sighed and melted into me instinctively, like even asleep she knew where she belonged.

Her fingers curled around my wrist.

"Jace?" she whispered, half-dreaming.

"I’m here," I murmured against her hair. "Sleep."

She relaxed again.

I rested my hand over her stomach.

Our daughter moved beneath my palm—a soft, slow shift of life.

And something inside me softened.

I wanted to keep them safe.

I wanted to build a life full of mornings and pancakes and sunlight and laughter.

I wanted to see Mira smile every day for the rest of my life.

But wanting wasn’t enough.

I had made enemies long before I ever learned how to be a husband.

Before I ever imagined being a father.

Before I ever understood what it meant to have something to lose.

And now I had everything to lose.

Which meant I would protect them with everything I was.

Even the parts of me I thought I left behind.

As I held her, sleep didn’t come easily.

But my mind was steady.

Focused.

Cold.

Whoever was watching us... whoever thought they could come close...

They had no idea what they had just started.

Because this time I wasn’t fighting for power.

I was fighting for my family.

And I don’t lose the things I fight for.

Ever.