21. Mia

Chapter 21

Mia

The study is quiet except for the rhythmic ticking of a clock on the far wall. My gaze rests on the heavy wooden desk where I found the documents last night. The inheritance, Matteo Russo, the letters—they all weigh on me like an anchor, dragging me deeper into a reality I don’t fully understand.

I sit on the leather armchair, hands trembling against the soft fabric of my dress. After everything—my fainting spell, the pregnancy news, Carlito’s careful tenderness this morning—my mind hasn’t stopped spinning. But there’s one thing I know: I can’t avoid this confrontation any longer.

When Carlito finally steps into the room, the door clicking shut behind him, the tension feels palpable. He’s dressed sharply, as always, but there’s an air of weariness about him that I can’t ignore. His gaze meets mine, dark and guarded.

“Mia,” he says, his voice low and steady, “you should be resting.”

“Don’t,” I say, cutting him off. My voice is sharper than I intended, but I don’t back down. “Don’t tell me to rest. I need answers, Carlito. No more deflecting.”

His jaw tightens as he approaches, stopping a few steps away. “What do you want to know?”

I rise from the chair, closing the distance between us. “Everything,” I demand. “About the inheritance. About Matteo Russo. About the person who’s sending me messages, warning me about you. I’m done being in the dark.”

For a moment, Carlito doesn’t respond. His silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, almost reluctant. “You’re not ready for the truth, Mia.”

“Don’t patronize me,” I snap, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “Do you think I can’t handle it? That I’m some fragile doll you need to protect? I’m carrying your child, Carlito. I deserve to know what kind of world I’ve been dragged into.”

His eyes flicker with something—pain, perhaps—but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right,” he says finally. “You deserve the truth.”

I hold my breath as he steps closer, his towering presence both intimidating and reassuring.

“I’m not just the man you married,” he begins, his voice heavy with gravity. “I’m the head of the Marcelli family. A Mafia Don. One of the most powerful in Las Vegas.”

The words hang in the air, each syllable sinking into me like stones.

For a moment, I can’t move, can’t speak. “A... Mafia Don?” I whisper, the disbelief thick in my voice.

“Yes,” he says, his gaze steady on mine. “Everything I’ve done—every decision I’ve made—it’s been to protect you and Bianca. To keep you out of this world as much as possible.”

My knees feel weak, but I force myself to stay upright. The weight of his confession settles over me, suffocating and surreal.

Before I can process Carlito’s words, the sound of Bianca’s voice cuts through the air like a blade: “You’re what?”

Both Carlito and I turn toward the door to see Bianca standing there, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Her hands tremble as she clutches the edge of the doorway, her knuckles white against the dark wood.

“Bianca,” Carlito says, his voice calm but firm.

She steps into the room, shaking her head as if trying to process what she just heard. “You’re joking, right? A Mafia Don? This is some sick joke.”

Carlito straightens, his expression unreadable. “It’s not a joke,” he says evenly.

Bianca lets out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “So, all this time, you’ve been lying to us? To me? You’ve let us live in this bubble, thinking you’re just a businessman, while you’re out there... what? Running some criminal empire?”

“It was never about lying to you,” Carlito says, his tone steady but laced with an edge of frustration. “It was about keeping you safe.”

“Safe?” Bianca snaps, her voice rising. “Dario is dead, and you’re telling me this was all to keep us safe? How do you even say that with a straight face?”

Her words hit like a whip, and for a moment, the room falls silent. I glance at Carlito, whose jaw tightens, his fists clenching at his sides.

“I did everything I could to protect Dario,” he says quietly, his voice thick with restrained emotion. “But this isn’t about him. It’s about us. About making sure no one else gets hurt.”

Bianca’s laugh is bitter, filled with pain. “Us? There is no ‘us,’ Dad. You’ve been playing God with our lives, making decisions without telling us the truth. How do you expect me to trust anything you say now?”

“Bianca,” I say softly, stepping toward her.

She whirls on me, her green eyes blazing. “And you—how can you just stand there? He’s been lying to you too! He dragged you into this mess, Mia.”

Her words cut deep, but I force myself to stay calm. “I’m trying to understand,” I say, my voice steady but firm. “I don’t like being lied to, but I know Carlito wouldn’t have done this if he didn’t think it was necessary.”

Bianca scoffs, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Necessary? You sound just like him. Always justifying everything. But guess what? None of this feels justified to me.”

Carlito takes a step forward, his gaze fixed on Bianca. “I’ve made mistakes,” he admits, his voice low but resolute. “But every choice I’ve made has been to protect you and Mia. You might not understand it now, but I did what I had to do.”

Bianca shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. “You keep saying that, but all I see is chaos and danger. Dario is dead, and now I find out you’re part of the reason why. How am I supposed to be okay with that?”

Carlito’s expression darkens, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he steps back, giving her space to process her emotions.

Bianca’s gaze shifts between us, her anger giving way to something softer—hurt, betrayal, fear. “I need air,” she says quietly before turning and leaving the room, the echo of her footsteps fading down the hall.

The silence she leaves behind is deafening. My eyes linger on the doorway, my heart heavy with the weight of everything that just unfolded.

Carlito lets out a slow breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as he turns to me. “This is why I didn’t want you to know,” he says quietly. “Why I didn’t want any of this to touch you.”

I fold my arms, my gaze hardening. “You can’t keep using that excuse, Carlito. I’m not some fragile thing you can shield forever. You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle.”

His dark eyes meet mine, filled with a mix of regret and something deeper—something raw. “You’re right,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it doesn’t change the fact that this world is dangerous. The less you know, the safer you are.”

“Do you really believe that?” I ask, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, keeping me in the dark has only made things worse. I’m walking blind through a minefield, Carlito. I need to know what I’m up against.”

He hesitates, the conflict in his expression evident. “Mia,” he begins, but I cut him off.

“No more half-truths,” I say firmly. “You owe me the full story. About Matteo Russo. About my parents. About this inheritance. Everything. And those messages—who sent them?”

Carlito’s expression hardens, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—pain, maybe. “The messages,” he repeats, his voice low. “They’re from the same man who killed Dario.”

I flinch, the weight of his words sinking like a stone in my chest. “What?”

“His name is Dominic,” Carlito continues, his voice tense but deliberate. “He’s working for Matteo, trying to manipulate you into giving them exactly what they want.”

Dominic. The name feels foreign on my tongue, sharp and unfamiliar. But it’s what Carlito says next that sends a chill down my spine.

“Matteo isn’t just some rival businessman,” he says, his tone darkening. “He’s the head of a Mafia faction that has been at war with my family for decades. He’s my greatest threat—and now, he’s yours.”

I stiffen at his words, my chest tightening. “And Dominic?”

“Matteo took Dominic under his wing,” Carlito explains. “Not out of kindness, but to use him. Matteo saw your father as his greatest rival, and when Dominic came of age, he molded him into a weapon—a way to hurt your family from the inside.”

The room spins as I process his words. My brother. A weapon. The man who killed Dario.

“And my mother?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“She loved your father, but she struggled with the Mafia life they built together,” Carlito explains. “She tried to shield you from it, to keep you as far from their world as possible. That’s why they kept Dominic a secret—because he was already entrenched in it by the time you were born. They didn’t want you to follow the same path.”

I clutch the edge of the desk for support, my mind racing. The pieces are starting to come together, but they don’t form a picture I can understand.

“And my inheritance,” I murmur. “That’s tied to all of this, isn’t it?”

Carlito nods. “Your inheritance is tied to a key piece of property your father used to cement his power—land that Matteo has been trying to claim for decades. When your father died, it passed to you, but Matteo’s never stopped scheming to take it for himself.”

He pauses, his gaze softening. “Your father wanted to protect you, Mia. But in trying to shield you, he left you with a target on your back. That property isn’t just land—it’s a symbol of power, of legitimacy. If Matteo gets it, he’ll use it to tip the scales in his favor, and he won’t care what happens to you in the process.”

I feel the ground shifting beneath me, the weight of my father’s decisions and their consequences pressing down on my shoulders. “He wanted to protect me,” I murmur, more to myself than Carlito.

“Yes,” Carlito says softly. “But in doing so, he created something Matteo sees as leverage. That’s why Dominic is here—to finish what Matteo started years ago.”

The room feels smaller, the air heavier. I don’t know whether to feel angry, betrayed, or grateful. Maybe all three.

As the weight of his confession settles over me, a single thought burns in my mind: If Carlito is the man I’ve married, what else has he kept from me?

Carlito’s phone buzzes on the desk, the screen lighting up with a message from Leo: Dominic has been spotted near the property. He’s making his move.