Sold To The Mafia Don

Chapter 226 - 36 ~ Mira

There were certain moments in pregnancy when your body felt like it needed eight hours of sleep, but your mind insisted on running laps instead.

Tonight was one of those nights.

I was lying in bed, curled against Jace while he slept. His hand rested protectively on my bump, warm and steady. His breathing was calm finally. After days of stress, travel, meetings and panic, he was actually resting.

I should’ve been resting too.

But I couldn’t.

Every time I closed my eyes, a heaviness settled on my chest. Not fear. Not exactly. More like unease with a pulse.

Like something was moving in the shadows, circling us. Watching.

I shifted slightly, trying not to wake him. He murmured something in his sleep, his arm tightening instinctively around me.

That alone made my heart soften.

I pressed a small kiss to his knuckles.

He deserved this peace.

So I forced myself to lie still and to breathe slowly. So I could at least give him at least a few hours without me worrying him.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I frowned.

At this hour? I thought.

I reached for it carefully, angling the brightness down and leaning away from his sleeping form.

A new message flashed across my screen from an unknown number.

Unknown: Did you enjoy your strawberries today?

My breath stopped.

For a moment, I just stared while my mind raced with reminders.

The grocery store.

The whispers.

The phones pointed at me.

I swallowed and read it again.

Strawberries.

Another message arrived instantly.

Unknown: Pink suits you better than fear.

What?

My stomach tightened.

I clicked the number. It was unregistered and there was no picture.

One more message came in before I could think.

Unknown: Careful now. Wouldn’t want you tripping again. The world is watching. :)

My pulse stumbled. I felt my heart thump in my ears.

I squeezed the phone harder, fighting the sudden chill running through my body.

The world was watching.

It was a reminder. It was also mockery.

A threat dressed like commentary.

My hand drifted protectively over my bump, the movement instinctive. My daughter was probably asleep. She didn’t move. .I took a slow breath and sat up, slipping my legs over the side of the bed.

I didn’t want to alarm Jace.

Not yet.

Not when he was finally resting.

I padded quietly toward the balcony and stepped outside, closing the glass door behind me. The cool night air brushed against my skin, and for the first time today, I didn’t pretend the world felt normal.

It didn’t.

I looked out at the dark horizon glittering with city lights. Everything looked calm from up here — beautiful, even — but I knew better.

Something was shifting beneath the surface.

My phone buzzed again.

I flinched.

This one wasn’t from a number.

It was from Instagram.

A tagged photo.

I opened it.

Someone had snapped a picture of me in the store, one I hadn’t noticed from a distance, while I was choosing strawberries.

The caption read:

"The mafia wife looks nervous. What is she hiding?"

The comments underneath made my throat tighten.

She looks guilty.

Imagine being married to that monster...

Hope the baby is safe.

She’s complicit.

Complicit.

That word hit harder than all the others.

Another notification popped up.

Twitter this time.

Then a Facebook post.

Then a gossip blog.

The same photo spreading faster than the air could settle around me.

I pressed my fingers to my forehead, trying to breathe through the rising ache.

This wasn’t just gossip anymore.

This was coordinated. It was intentional and targeted. They were coming for me.

My phone buzzed again.

A new text.

Unknown: Sweet Mira. Sweet enough to crush.

I froze.

Crush?

My heart kicked painfully against my ribs.

I covered my stomach with both hands, smoothing the fabric of Jace’s hoodie as if to shield the life beneath it.

No.

No.

I shook my head over and over.

I would not let fear take root here, not in my chest, not in my home, not near my child.

I straightened my back and wiped the dampness from my eyelashes.

I read the message again.

Once.

Twice.

And something inside me, the part that had walked into a forced marriage, survived violence, built a business, fought through rumors and danger and snapped back into place with a quiet steeliness.

I typed back.

Me: Cowards hide behind blocked numbers. Try again.

I hit send.

The three dots popped up immediately.

Typing.

My heart climbed into my throat.

Then stopped.

The dots vanished.

No reply came.

No new messages.

Nothing.

And that silence...

That was worse than the words.

I stepped back into the bedroom, closing the balcony door quietly behind me. Jace hadn’t moved. He was still asleep, still holding the pillow where I’d been lying, his brow relaxed for once.

I watched him for several long seconds.

And whispered to myself,

"We’re going to be fine."

Not because things were fine.

But because I had no other choice.

I crawled back into bed, settling gently against him. Immediately, his arm pulled me closer, even in sleep, his hand sliding instinctively over my belly.

I laid my head on his chest, listening to the slow, steady beat beneath my ear — the anchor to everything in my world.

Even with my eyes closed, the words on my screen lingered like smoke in the back of my mind.

Sweet enough to crush.

I exhaled shakily, brushing my thumb over the back of his hand.

They could try.

But they would learn quickly:

I was not soft fruit to bruise.

I had been broken before.

I had rebuilt myself.

I had risen.

And now, I carried a life inside me — one I would protect with every piece of myself.

No matter who came for us.

No matter who watched.

No matter who whispered in the shadows.

Tonight, I let myself rest against him — even if rest didn’t fully come.

But tomorrow...

Tomorrow I would tell Jace.

And the world would not be ready for what he’d do next.