Sold To The Mafia Don

Chapter 229 - 39 ~ Mira

I should have stayed home.

Maybe if I’d listened to that tiny, stubborn knot of uneasiness sitting under my ribs since morning, none of this would have happened. But I kept telling myself I needed to show up. I needed to be present. I needed to remind myself that I was more than panic, more than stress, more than the shadows breathing down our walls.

So I went.

A socialite entrepreneur event — harmless enough. Networking, champagne without the alcohol, influencers, business owners, young founders. The type of crowd that usually loved my brand. The type of crowd that would normally hype the bakery, smile at my bump, tell me motherhood looked good on me.

But tonight felt different from the moment I stepped in.

The room was bright, buzzing with a soft symphony of chatter and music, but underneath it all, something felt... off. Like a violin string pulled too tight. Too thin.

Tomas was glued to my side. He didn’t even hide it.

"Five minutes," he murmured as the crowd parted around us. "We greet the organizers, smile for a few cameras, then we leave."

"I can handle ten minutes," I whispered back, adjusting the strap of my dress. It wasn’t one of Jace’s oversized shirts tonight. It was a soft cream gown that sat comfortably against my bump and made me feel beautiful for the first time in days.

He arched a brow. "Seven minutes."

I rolled my eyes. "Eight."

He sighed. "Fine. Eight. But if anything feels weird—"

"I’ll tell you," I promised. "Relax. I’m not made of glass."

But the way he looked at me said he wasn’t convinced.

The crowd swallowed us quickly.

Compliments, handshakes, flashes of cameras, women circling me with excited squeals about the baby. Someone asked when I was due. Someone else asked if Jace was coming. Someone whispered something about the documentary.

I ignored that.

I was breathing fine. Smile steady. Heart calm enough.

And then my baby kicked — high and strong. A good sign.

I placed a hand over my belly and inhaled, letting her movement ground me.

Everything was okay.

Everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

It started as a shift. A subtle tightening in the air, the way people suddenly turned their heads at the same time, murmuring. My shoulder blades prickled. Not painfully — just sharply enough to make me pause.

Tomas noticed instantly.

He angled his body, shielding me halfway. "Stay close."

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nothing yet." His voice went flat. "Don’t panic."

Which was code for: something’s wrong.

The murmuring grew louder.

A woman in a blue dress passed us with her phone held high, recording. She wasn’t trying to hide it. Not even attempting subtlety.

And then another.

And another.

In seconds, at least six cameras were pointed at me.

"Tomas..." I whispered.

He gently pulled me back. "We’re leaving."

But we didn’t get far.

A man stepped in front of me. Not a guest. He didn’t look polished or dressed for the event. He looked—

I don’t know, rough? Rushed?

Like someone who had slipped in through the back entrance?

He lifted his phone and aimed it directly at my belly.

"Smile," he said with deathly grin. "Let the world see the heir."

My heart slammed against my ribs.

"Tomas," I whispered.

"Step back," Tomas warned, voice low and lethal.

But the man didn’t move. He moved closer.

"Tell us, Mrs. Romano," he said loudly, making sure everyone heard. "Is your husband still laundering money through your bakery? Or is that what the baby is for now— a clean image?"

Someone gasped.

Someone else laughed nervously.

I felt the room tilt.

"Move away," Tomas repeated, firmer.

People were staring.

They were recording and whispering. There were phones everywhere.

Too many lights flashing.

Too many eyes on me.

The man took one more step.

Too close.

Far too close.

He reached out —not touching me but hovering, like he wanted to graze my bump for a viral clip.

My daughter kicked sharply, frantically.

And something inside me snapped.

"Don’t you dare touch me," I said, stepping back.

But my heel caught on something. It felt like a bag, maybe a shoe, I didn’t know but my balance shifted.

The world tilted sideways.

The room spun.

My breath snagged in my throat.

Tomas lunged forward just as my knees buckled, catching me before I hit the ground.

"Mira!" he shouted, his voice echoing in my skull.

Pain shot up my abdomen, sharp and sudden.

Too sharp. It was not normal at all.

My vision blurred. The ceiling lights fractured into white shards.

"Mira, look at me," Tomas said, lifting me gently. "Stay with me. Stay with me."

"I—" I couldn’t breathe. "Something’s wrong."

My baby.

My baby.

That was all my mind could repeat.

Something was happening.

A woman screamed. Someone else yelled to call an ambulance.

Another wave of pain rippled through me and it deeper this time, like my entire body clenched around itself.

"It hurts," I gasped. "Tomas... it hurts—"

The panic in his eyes told me everything.

He shouted orders. People scrambled. Someone tried to help but Tomas barked at them to step back. I clung to his shirt, teeth clenched, breath shaking.

"Don’t let me lose her," I whispered.

"You’re not losing her," he said fiercely. "You’re not losing anything. Keep breathing."

Another burst of pain ripped through my lower stomach and I cried out . I didn’t care that people were watching. I didn’t even care that phones were recording or that half the room was whispering my name like a spectacle.

My baby.

My daughter.

My whole body trembled. I felt something warm trickle down my thigh.

No.

No. No. No.

"Blood," I choked out. "Tomas—there’s blood—"

His panic showed . He lifted me into his arms as if I weighed nothing and rushed through the crowd, ignoring every camera and every gasp. The doors blurred past me. The cold night air slapped my face.

The pain wasn’t stopping.

It wasn’t easing.

It was getting worse.

"Tomas..." I whimpered. "Call Jace. Please."

"I already did," he said, voice shaking for the first time. "He’s on his way. Mira, stay with me."

My head fell against his chest.

The world was spinning again.

I felt sick, cold and absolutely terrified.

"My baby," I sobbed. "I can’t — I can’t lose her—"

"You won’t." He practically threw the car door open and slid in with me still in his arms. "Breathe. Stay awake."

The drive blurred into a mess of red lights, sharp turns, sirens in the distance.

I pressed a trembling hand to my belly, tears blurring everything.

"Please," I whispered to my daughter. "Please stay with me. Please. Mama’s right here."

Another wave of pain.

Another warm rush.

Another helpless cry ripping from my throat.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not after everything.

Not after we fought so hard to get here.

"Jace," I whispered brokenly. "Where is he..."

"He’s coming," Tomas repeated, squeezing my hand. "He’s coming."

But I wasn’t sure if I was hearing him anymore.

My breath felt thin.

Fading.

My body felt too heavy, too hollow and empty.

A voice soon cut through the fog.

"We’re here! Move! Move!"

Hands pulled me from the car. Bright lights. Hospital uniforms. Shouting. Machines beeping. Tomas arguing with a nurse. Someone hooking something to my arm.

My eyelids fluttered.

I heard one voice. The one I would know anywhere.

"Mira!"

Jace.

He was here.

My head turned weakly in his direction, tears slipping down my cheek.

"Jace..." My voice cracked as I whispered. "I’m scared."

He grabbed my hand, pressing it to his heart. "I’m right here. You hear me? I’m right here. Nothing is happening to you or our daughter."

But his voice was tight.

Too tight.

Fear hiding underneath every word.

The doctor’s words floated somewhere above me.

"She’s in early labor."

"We need to monitor blood loss."

"Prep for possible emergency delivery."

"Her vitals are dropping."

A sob escaped me.

"Jace..."

He leaned over me, kissing my forehead, his hands shaking around mine.

"Stay with me, Mira. Please. Stay with me."

My vision dimmed at the edges.

I clung to his voice.

His warmth.

His scent.

His heartbeat.

My baby kicked once more like she was exhausted.

Then everything blurred into white.

Then black.

Then nothing.