Sold To The Mafia Don-Chapter 195 - 5 ~ Mira

The first thing I noticed was that the house felt different when he was gone.

Not empt. It was just quieter. Like it was holding its breath.

So when I heard the front door open, I didn’t even think. I didn’t waddle. I ran. Well... as much as a six-months-pregnant woman could run, which was really just a determined fast shuffle that probably looked hilarious.

He barely got the door shut before I collided with him.

Jace let out a low breath and wrapped his arms around me instantly. They were strong, steady, grounding and I just wanted to melt into him. His coat still held the faint cold of New York air, but underneath it was him. Warm. Familiar. Home.

"You’re back," I said, my voice muffled against his chest.

"I told you I’d be home before dinner," he murmured into my hair.

"That was hours ago," I tried to sound annoyed, but I was already melting into him.

He chuckled softly, the quiet kind that rumbled in his chest. "Traffic. And my mother wouldn’t let me leave without five containers of food."

I squealed. I loved our chef here but the chef in New York knew how to throw it down in the kitchen for real and I looked forward to the treats. Two of our helps were already bringing the stuff in and I was so eager to dig in.

Jace chuckled at my excitement. That was when I leaned back just enough to look at him. His eyes were tired but not in a physical way. It was something deeper. Something heavy.

And there it was.

There was a subtle shift in the air.

The kind I could always feel with him, whether he spoke or not.

I rested my palm against his cheek, brushing my thumb along the faint stubble there. "Hey."

He didn’t look away. He didn’t hide. But he didn’t speak either.

Which told me enough. Something was wrong. Something was coming.

But right now I didn’t want to give it a name.

I just wanted him.

"Come inside," I whispered, threading my fingers through his, as I pulled him further in. "The baby has been dramatic all day. I think she missed you."

That made his entire expression soften. Fully. Completely.

He followed me into the living room, loosening his coat and dropping it on the sofa. I sat down carefully, adjusting my bump, and he kneeled in front of me like he always did, like my belly was a shrine he visited daily.

His hand slid over my skin in that protective and reverent manner I still couldn’t get used to no matter how often he did it. .

Our daughter kicked once, strong and impatient. Daddy was home and she was happy to hear him.

Jace’s face lit up, softening into that expression I only ever saw when he looked at her. Or me.

"There she is," he whispered. "Causing trouble already."

"She takes after you." I teased him.

"Impossible. She’s too sweet to be me. Or maybe she is cause she’s always fighting."

His little ramble made me laugh, really laugh, and something eased inside my chest.

I watched him for a moment. The way his jaw held tension. The way his shoulders didn’t fully relax. The way his eyes kept drifting though not far, just away. As if part of his mind was still elsewhere.

"Your mom is doing well?" I asked gently.

He nodded. "She is."

"And Alejandro?"

His jaw clenched.There it was again.

I raised my brow. "Jace."

"No." He shook his head.

I laughed softly. "You didn’t even let me speak!"

He looked away, shaking his head. "I don’t like him."

"You’ve never liked him." I smiled.

"And I never will."

I reached over and stroked his hair lightly. "Why?"

He went silent. Probably not in discomfort but reflection. .

"He’s calm," Jace said simply.

"And that’s bad?"

"That’s dangerous." He said.

I knew what he meant. Men who were loud, aggressive, dramatic they were predictable and easy to disarm. Even easy to kill.

But quiet men?

Still water?

Still water always hid deep things.

Quiet men were ticking timebombs too.

I slid my fingers into his hair and made him meet my gaze. "Your mother is happy."

He swallowed once. "I know."

"She deserves someone who sees her. Who chooses her. After everything she lived through."

His eyes flickered in understanding, woundedness and memory all blending together.

"I don’t need you to like him," I said softly. "I just need you to trust your mother. She’s not fragile."

That made him exhale.

"I do trust her," he admitted after a moment of reluctance.

I leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "Then trust that she chose right."

He didn’t argue. But he didn’t agree either.

Which was perfectly understandable. Some things take time.

His hands slid up my sides. I loved the warmth that came with it.

"I missed you." He said.

I smiled. "You were gone for less than twenty-four hours."

"Too long." He sighed.

The honesty that always undid me.

I cupped his face gently and kissed him.

"Come to bed?"

"Yeah," he whispered, standing and lifting me without asking, even though I could walk perfectly fine. "Let’s go to bed."

I just knew our staff had seen enough of our lovey dovey drama. Thankfully the walls of our bedrooms were soundproof so they didn’t have to hear my loud moans every now and then.

He carried me through the hallway, ignoring my protests and dramatic sighs, placing me down carefully against our pillows.

I sent him to take a shower before coming to lay on these new sheets. When he was done, looking all fresh, he laid beside me, one arm under my head, the other resting over my belly, his palm warm and steady.

He was finally relaxed. That slow unwinding, I felt it happen. It was the kind only love could coax out.

I pressed my face into his chest. He pressed a kiss into my hair.

Neither of us spoke about the shadow following him home.

Not tonight.

Tonight, there was only warmth and breathing and the gentle rhythm of our daughter moving inside me.

Because right now, the world was quiet.

And he was home

Everything else could wait.