Sold To The Mafia Don

Chapter 204 - 14 ~ Mira

I woke up before the sun on this fine morning.

The days rolled by so quickly I could barely keep up with how fast they went. I woke up everyday and did almost the same thing over and over again. Before I could blink, it was another day. And the life forming inside of me grew with each waking moment.

The house was still, that soft kind of quiet that only existed before the day fully began. The curtains swayed faintly from the ceiling fan, letting streaks of pale light spill across the bed. Jace’s side was empty, still warm, which meant he had been awake for a short while. I didn’t hear him leave.

I stretched carefully, hand instinctively settling on my belly. The baby wasn’t awake yet. For a second, that stillness inside me made me oddly emotional. It had started happening more often lately. There was this wave of tenderness that came out of nowhere and clung to my throat.

I sat up, trying to push it down, but tears came anyway.

They weren’t sad tears. Just... full ones.

I didn’t even understand it half the time. One minute, I was fine, the next, I was crying over an ad about baby shoes or an episode of Friends I’d already seen a dozen times. It was ridiculous.

When I finally got out of bed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My belly was rounder now, the kind of curve that made everything feel real. The kind that made strangers smile at me in grocery stores. I traced a hand lightly over it. "We’re really doing this," I whispered. "You, me, and your overprotective dad."

The sound of low voices drifted in from downstairs. I followed it quietly until I found Jace in the kitchen, standing by the counter with a mug of coffee and his phone on speaker. His voice was low and firm, all business. The same tone that once made grown men sweat.

He looked up the moment he saw me and the hard edge melted instantly. "Morning, baby."

"Morning," I murmured, wrapping my robe a little tighter when his eyes swept over my cleavage. It was amusingly sweet how he easily got distracted.

"Work call?" I asked.

"Almost done," he said, then said a curt goodbye into the phone before setting it down. "You okay?"

I hesitated. The tears were still threatening to make another appearance and I was doing my best to fight them back.

"I don’t know," I admitted, voice small.

He frowned slightly and moved closer. "Talk to me."

I sighed. "It’s stupid."

"Try me." He insisted as his eyes scanned my face.

I leaned back against the counter, feeling the cold marble through my robe. "I woke up and started thinking about... everything. The baby. You. All the things I don’t know how to do yet. What if I mess up? What if I’m not—"

"Mira."

He said my name like it was something sacred.

I looked up, blinking back tears.

He cupped my face gently. "You’re not going to mess up."

I laughed weakly. "You don’t know that. I don’t even know what half the baby things we bought do. There’s a white noise machine, a wipe warmer, a diaper bin that costs more than a microwave. Who even invents these things?"

His lips twitched. "People who want to keep you up at night, apparently."

"Exactly," I muttered, and another tear slipped free before I could stop it.

He brushed it away with his thumb, slow and soft. "Hey. You’re doing great."

"I cried because a bird landed on the balcony yesterday." I told him, judging myself.

He smiled. "You’re emotional. It’s normal."

"I’m ridiculous."

"You’re human," he countered. "And pregnant. Which means you get to be ridiculous and perfect at the same time."

I let out a shaky breath. "You make it sound easy."

He shook his head slowly. "It’s not. But you make it look like it is."

That made me laugh through my tears, which only made him grin more. He pulled me into his chest and kissed the top of my head. His scent hit me instantly andI melted into him, pressing my cheek against his t-shirt, listening to his heartbeat.

"I don’t know if I’ll be a good mother," I whispered.

His hand found the back of my neck, fingers sliding up to my hair. "You already are."

"You’re just saying that." I whimpered.

"I’ve never said anything I don’t mean." His voice was low, steady. "You love her already. That’s what makes you good. The rest... we’ll figure it out."

I felt his hand move down to my belly, his thumb tracing small, slow circles. Our daughter kicked, almost like she knew we were talking about her. Jace froze, then laughed softly against my temple. "See? She agrees with me."

I smiled through my tears. "She’s probably telling you to stop stressing me out."

"Impossible," he said. "You’re my favorite person to stress about."

I laughed again, and the heaviness in my chest began to ease.

He stepped back just enough to look at me properly. "Come here," he said, motioning toward the breakfast table. "Sit. I’ll make you something."

"Jace—"

"No arguments."

He was basically doing the job of the chef who was heavily paid by the way but like Donna said, this was an act of love and I had to learn to accept it.

I rolled my eyes but obeyed, settling into the chair. He opened the fridge, muttering under his breath as he scanned the shelves. "You want pancakes again or eggs?"

"Eggs."

"With cheese or plain?"

"Cheese," I said quickly. "And toast."

"Toast," he repeated, already pulling things out.

I leaned my elbow on the table, watching him. There was something about the sight of him in our kitchen with sleeves rolled up, hair messy, pan in one hand that made me stupidly emotional again. But this time, the tears didn’t come from fear.

They came from gratitude.

Because this wasn’t the man who once terrified entire families.

This was the man who knew exactly how I liked my eggs.

He turned back with a smirk when he caught me staring. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"I was just thinking..." I hesitated, then smiled softly. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you burn anything before. It’s annoying."

"Because I don’t," he said smugly. "Some of us were born talented."

I laughed. "Please. The first time you made breakfast, you forgot the salt."

"Lies."

"I have video proof." I retorted.

He chuckled, shaking his head, and flipped the eggs perfectly onto a plate. "That was months ago. Ancient history."

He brought the plate over, along with orange juice and sliced fruit like some kind of overachiever. "Eat."

I pretended to inspect the food. "Hmm. Presentation’s decent. I’ll give it an eight."

He leaned down until our noses almost touched. "It’ll be a ten after the first bite."

And he was right.

It was perfect.

I hummed in approval and pointed my fork at him. "Fine. Ten."

"Thought so."

We ate together quietly after that, trading small talk mostly about the nursery, how Roberto was sending another package of baby clothes even though I told him to stop, how Donna kept calling with unsolicited baby name ideas.

"She’s still set on calling her Valentina," I said between bites.

"Over my dead body," he muttered.

I laughed so hard I nearly choked. "You’re dramatic."

"It’s not dramatic. It’s principle."

"You just don’t want a name you can’t pronounce when you’re angry." I read him to filth.

He grinned. "Exactly."

By the time we were done, my mood had lightened completely. The fear that had been pressing against my chest all morning felt smaller now, easier to manage.

Jace stood, collected our plates, and set them in the sink. Then he came back to me, slipping a hand under my chin so I’d look up at him.

"You’re allowed to be scared, Mira," he said softly. "But don’t let fear lie to you. You’re strong. You’re ready. And you’re not alone."

Something in me melted at that.

I stood, wrapping my arms around his waist, resting my ear against his chest. "I know. I just... don’t ever want to fail you. Or her."

He tilted my chin up and kissed me. It was slow and deep, like he was promising something he couldn’t put into words.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. "You could never fail me."

"Even if I burn the eggs next time?" I giggled.

He smiled against my lips. "Even then."

We stayed like that for a long moment, just breathing together.

The day outside began to brighten, the intense rays of sunlight cutting through the curtains. It fell across our kitchen floor the same space that had once seen too much fear and now held laughter instead.

I glanced down at the swell of my stomach and whispered to her, "You picked the right father, baby."

Jace heard it. He didn’t say anything, just kissed my hair again.

And for the first time that morning, I stopped worrying about what I didn’t know.

Because I realized I didn’t have to.

He and I had learned how to rebuild a life from ashes. We could learn how to raise one too.

And somehow, that was enough.