Chapter 5 Mia
Christmas afternoon
I ’m not a slut. I’m not a slut. I’m not a slut.
The words echo in my mind as I enter the lounge, heels clicking against the polished floor, the red lace dress clinging to my body in all the wrong ways. The men’s eyes track me, and I force myself to ignore the disgust crawling up my spine.
The room’s heavy with the unspoken threats, deals veiled in politeness. Dominic Russo, Vincent Morelli, and Vincent’s son, Salvatore, watch me like I’m prey. I glance at the empty seat across from Dante—the late Alvaro Santiago’s. My stomach twists at the memory of his death. I hate this part of the business.
“Gentlemen,” I begin, my voice smooth despite the unease rippling through me, “Dante’s been patient, but your refusal to cooperate is running thin. Our control over the trafficking lines leaves your territories vulnerable. You can resist all you want, but it won’t change what’s coming.”
Dominic’s face darkens, and Salvatore’s eyes linger too long on the hem of my dress. My hand twitches, tempted to smack the smirk off his face. Instead, I walk slowly around the table, maintaining eye contact with Vincent as I speak, watching his confidence wane.
“You had three regions in Winter haven,” I continue, “but Alvaro thought he could undermine us. Tried to deal behind Dante’s back. And now… he’s gone.” I shake my head to show my regret at his loss. “If you follow his example, your families may also find themselves missing a father or brother.”
Salvatore’s hand slides onto my thigh as I pass, a casual touch that sends a spike of fury through me. I look down at his hand, coldly raising an eyebrow. Before I can react, Dante shifts, his chair scraping the floor.
“Touch her again, Salvatore, and it’ll be your last move,” Dante’s voice is low, lethal.
Salvatore jerks his hand back, mumbling an apology, but I keep my face calm. I need control. I need them to listen, not ogle.
I step back, letting the silence hang. “Dante isn’t here to destroy you,” I say, softening my tone slightly. “He’s offering you a way out. Join us, and you keep everything—your power, your families. Resist, and you lose it all.”
The weight of my words sinks in, Dominic’s resolve faltering. He glances at Vincent, a silent exchange that acknowledges the corner they find themselves caught in.
“Think of your families, gentlemen.”
Dominic and Vincent have similar expression of anger and resentment in their faces.
“Fine,” Dominic mutters, the word like acid on his tongue. “I’ll agree to the terms.”
Vincent nods and drags out his words. “I also agree to the terms.”
I nod, a tight smile stretching across my lips. “Good. Dante’s men will finalize everything tomorrow.”
As I turn to leave, Dante’s voice slices through the quiet. “Consider this a gift, gentlemen. Merry Christmas.”
Outside, the cold air stings, and for a moment, I feel free. But as I walk to my car, guilt settles over me—Santiago’s widow, his kids. Innocent lives, shattered by this life. They’ll get support, but it won’t undo the damage.
“Mia!” Dante’s voice breaks my reverie, and I stop, irritation simmering.
“What is it?” I snap.
“Have you reconsidered moving back?”
“No, Dante. I’m safer in New York.”
He stares, his face unreadable. “Safety is just an illusion. They already killed Marco,” he says, the words cold, final. “You’re part of this, like it or not.”
I glance away, unwilling to let him see how deeply that stings. “I’m going back to school after Christmas,” I say firmly, turning away before he can argue.
As I get in my car to drive back to the Vitale mansion for Christmas dinner, a hollow ache settles in my chest. This isn’t what I want. Not the power, not the bloodshed. Just one more holiday, I tell myself, gripping the wheel tight. One more holiday, get my degree, and then I’m gone.
***
The Vitale mansion feels colder this Christmas without Marco, the absence heavy between me and Dante as we sit across from each other. The dining room is pristine, decorated beautifully to Dante’s standards, but there’s no warmth. Our kitchen staff have created a savory Christmas meal for us but my stomach is tied in knots.
I fiddle with the sleeves of my hoodie that I threw on over the red dress. I regret not taking off the hated red dress when pulling on my hoodie and yoga pants. It’s a reminder of how this day started. Dante barely glances my way as he carves the roast.
I finally break the silence. “Do you ever think about Marco?”
Dante’s jaw clenches slightly. He doesn’t look up. “We all knew the risks.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
Dante sighs, setting the carving knife down with a quiet clink. “Marco made his choices, Mia. Like you’re making yours. We all have a role to play in this family, and if you’re not up for it…” He lets the threat hang.
“He was our brother,” I murmur, not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself.
Dante sets down his knife, sighing. “Everyone’s someone’s brother, Mia. This is the life we chose—or the life that chose us. You, me, Marco…we’re all bound to it.”
I want to argue, to say that maybe Marco never had a choice. That none of us really do. But there’s no use. Dante’s loyalty to the family business runs too deep, and the brother I used to know is buried somewhere beneath layers of power and vengeance.
Silence falls again, broken only by the clinking of dishes as he serves us both and we dig into our meal.
When we finish our dinner, he pushes a small package across the table to her. “Here,” he says, almost begrudgingly. “Merry Christmas.”
I eye the box before slowly unwrapping it to reveal a silver charm bracelet. It’s beautiful, elegant. But as I lift it out, I notice the charms—each one an emblem of the family’s business, from a tiny gun to a diamond symbolizing their wealth. The weight of it feels oppressive, a reminder of everything I’m trying to escape.
Dante’s lips tighten, watching my reaction. “It suits you. Strong. Resilient.”
“Thank you. I have something for you, too.”
I reach into my bag and pull out a framed photo of us as kids, laughing and carefree, long before our lives were shadowed by our father’s legacy.
Dante barely glances at it. “I don’t have time for nostalgia, Mia.”
Disappointment tightens my throat.
After dessert, he goes back to work, barely acknowledging me as I leave. I’m relieved to get away to head back to my Airbnb. I could have stayed in the Vitale mansion, but I wanted to to have my own space away from Dante and the activities that surround him.
I get in my car and start driving. But instead of taking the main route, I take the long way around, needing the drive to clear my head from everything I’ve endured today. My mind is swirling with images of the last few weeks that leave me sad and troubled.
The snow is coming down harder now, big flakes swirling in the headlights. As I navigate the winding, empty roads, I turn on the radio, hoping for Christmas music to drown out the silence.
A weather alert cuts into the music. “A severe blizzard warning is in effect for Winter Haven and surrounding areas. Residents are advised to avoid travel as snowfall could reach up to three feet by tomorrow morning.”
I exhale slowly, my fingers tightening around the wheel. I’ll make it to the Airbnb in a few minutes. Just a little longer. But as I round a darkened corner, headlights appear in my rearview mirror, closing the gap too quickly.
My stomach drops. The car’s following close, too close to be a coincidence. I take a left turn, then another, but it sticks behind me, matching every move.
Dread pools in my chest. I try to stay calm, but my hands start to shake as I reach for my phone, calling Dante.
It rings once, twice—then goes to voicemail. I try again, heart hammering, but there’s no answer. I leave a message the second time I get the voicemail greeting.
“It’s me. If you get this message, please call me back. I think someone is following me. I’m my car driving back to the Airbnb but…I don’t know what I should do with the car following me.”
Think, Mia. I punch in 911, hoping a quick call to the police might scare off whoever’s tailing me. But after a few seconds, the call drops—no signal in this godforsaken blizzard.
The headlights draw closer, blinding me as they press up against my bumper. I try to speed up, but the road is slick, and my car fishtails. I let out a scream as they ram me again, harder this time, forcing my car off the road. The tires skid, the car jolting violently to the side before slamming into a snowbank. My head snaps back, and for a few seconds, the world spins.
When I finally blink, I see several dark figures moving toward my car. Shadows, blurred by the snowfall. Panic surges through me, and I fumble with the door handle, thinking maybe I can run, but it’s too late. They wrench the door open, dragging me out into the freezing night.
I struggle, kicking and twisting, but their hands are like iron, holding me in place as they yank my arms behind me, tying my wrists tight with what feels like rope. The cold bites at my skin, my breath coming in frantic puffs as they secure a blindfold over my eyes, plunging me into darkness.
“Struggle all you want, princess. It’ll make no difference.”
I freeze, my breath shallow. Princess . The word hits like a slap, a twisted mockery of the life I tried so hard to avoid. I know what this is. My family’s blood-stained ties, my own role—I’m nothing more than a pawn in this twisted game.
“Who are you? Where are you taking me?”
One of them mutters, “Keep her quiet,” and I bite back a scream, not wanting to give them the satisfaction.
My heart pounds, fear clawing at my throat as they haul me into the back of their truck, shutting the door with a harsh slam. The engine starts, and we’re moving, the tires crunching over the thickening snow.
I sit in silence, bound and blindfolded, my mind racing. This isn’t random . I know exactly what this is. It’s the life I’ve tried so hard to avoid, dragging me back into its clutches on Christmas night, no less.
The air around me is tense, thick with the scent of leather and cigarette smoke. I strain to hear anything that might tell me where we’re going, who’s behind this, but all I hear is the low murmur of the men in front.
Finally, I let out a shaky breath, letting the truth sink in.
I’m a pawn in someone else’s game now. And whoever’s playing isn’t showing mercy.