The Don’s Grumpy Guardian (Sinful Mafia Vows #3)

Chapter One

Mia

I don’t have time to think.

I yank the wheel to the right, tires screeching against asphalt. My heart hammers so loud it drowns out all rational thought. Smoke rises from my hood in curling tendrils. The road is dark, deserted, and my car is a beat-up sedan that hates me as much as I hate it.

I slam the brake with both feet, skidding to a wild stop. My knuckles go white on the steering wheel. A surge of adrenaline coils in my stomach.

The engine sputters, then coughs out. A single streetlamp flickers overhead, bathing this lonely stretch of road in sickly yellow light.

I’m panting. My chest feels ready to burst. A ragged breath escapes me as I try to gather my thoughts.

I check the back seat. My baby boy, Theo, is strapped into his car seat, wide-eyed but silent for once. My entire life is in that look he gives me—trusting, innocent, depending on me to keep him safe.

I swallow hard. No matter what goes wrong in my life, no matter how many times my crappy car breaks down, he’s my reason to keep going.

I turn the key in the ignition again. Of course, nothing. The night is dead quiet except for the restless shuffle of wind across empty pavement.

This is not how I imagined my triumphant return to the city.

I pop the hood. The front of the car hisses at me like a snake. Smoke and steam swirl into the air.

“I don’t need this right now,” I mutter. My voice echoes in the emptiness.

I hate being on this side of town, especially at night. But I needed a place to crash, and cheap rent is cheap rent. I can’t afford to be picky. The last of my savings went into my writing—self-publishing fiasco after fiasco—and I can’t keep living off part-time gigs that barely pay for diapers.

I lean against the car. Hot metal singes my fingertips when I lift the hood. I jerk back, cursing under my breath.

I don’t cry. Crying is for later, for locked bathrooms after Theo is asleep. Right now, I grit my teeth and do what needs doing.

I glance around for help. Nothing but shuttered warehouses and vacant lots. A single neon sign flickers a few blocks away, maybe a dive bar or an all-night diner.

I grab my phone. It’s barely holding a charge. Another problem. Another day.

I dial the roadside assistance number I paid for last month, praying it works.

The line just rings.

Theo makes a soft whimper. I open the back door and brush my hand over his little curls. His eyes, big and dark, lift to mine.

“Don’t worry, baby,” I whisper. “Mommy’s got this.”

Sure I do.

When no one picks up on the roadside line, I hang up and try again.

That’s when headlights wash over me. Bright, glaring beams illuminate my entire car.

I freeze, heart lodging in my throat. Who’s out here at this hour?

The vehicle pulls up alongside me. A sleek, black SUV, windows tinted too dark to see inside. Immediately, my guard goes up.

The passenger window lowers an inch. A deep, velvety male voice calls out, “You need a hand?”

A thousand warnings buzz in my head. I hold Theo protectively, my entire body tensing.

“I’m fine,” I say, voice coming out sharper than intended.

A pause. “You sure about that?”

The window slides down a bit more. I can make out a shadowy figure behind the steering wheel. Strong jaw. Dark hair. A hint of stubble.

I set my jaw. “My car just died. I’ve got a tow on the way.”

“That right?” he asks in a low rumble.

There’s something about him, something that makes goose bumps prickle over my arms. Even in near darkness, he radiates intensity. Authority.

I swallow. “Yeah. So thanks, but I’m good.”

He seems to consider me for a long moment. Then I hear the door open.

A tall man steps out, shutting the SUV door behind him. He’s wearing a tailored suit that looks out of place in these abandoned streets. His broad shoulders catch the flicker of the streetlamp.

I take a step back, pressing up against my car, bracing for the worst.

He lifts both hands, palms out like he’s reassuring a scared animal. “Easy.”

Theo whimpers again, as if sensing my tension.

The man notices the baby seat. His gaze flickers. “You’ve got a kid in there.”

I nod, swallowing.

He looks at me, then the engine. “Pop the hood.”

I hesitate.

He angles his head. “You want my help or not?”

His tone is commanding—like he’s used to people obeying.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Of course he’s a tall, dark, and bossy type. My luck.

Still, I need to get Theo home. So I reach over and pull the latch to open the hood.

He peeks inside, moves a few hoses around, and curses softly. “Your radiator’s shot.”

“Great,” I say, my throat tight. Another expensive fix I can’t afford.

He straightens, meeting my gaze. His eyes are a deep, midnight blue. There’s danger in them. There’s something else too—something I can’t name.

He gestures to his SUV. “Let me give you and your child a lift.”

I cling to the door. “I don’t even know you.”

His eyes flick to the baby seat again. “You want to stay out here all night?”

I should say no. Every instinct warns me: Men like this don’t come without baggage.

But Theo is fussing. The roads are empty. My phone battery is blinking red.

I sigh. “Fine. But just to the nearest gas station or wherever I can call for help.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

I unbuckle Theo, gather his diaper bag, and move toward the SUV. The stranger opens the back door for me, and I buckle Theo in. The interior is spotless black leather. The tinted windows make me feel caged.

I climb into the front passenger seat. He slides behind the wheel and starts the engine.

The silence inside is thick. I can’t help noticing the faint smell of cologne—dark spice and something dangerous.

“So,” I say, voice tight. “What’s your name?”

He pulls onto the road. “Luciano.”

He doesn’t offer a last name. I’m not sure I want to know.

“Mia,” I say. It feels like an afterthought, but manners are all I have left.

His gaze flicks to me. “Mia,” he repeats.

We fall silent again. He drives fast, weaving smoothly through the city’s deserted streets.

I can’t believe I’m in a strange man’s SUV at midnight with my toddler. But desperation has a funny way of dulling your common sense.

Luciano glances at me again. “You from around here?”

I shake my head. “Just moved back.”

He seems to mull that over. “Where are you staying?”

I shift in my seat. “Uh…finding a place in North Side.”

His brow lifts. “North Side is a bad neighborhood.”

I snort. “You don’t say.”

He tilts his head. “I could drop you off at a better spot.”

I frown. “I can’t afford a better spot.”

He gives me a long look, but doesn’t comment further. We’re quiet again.

Theo coos in the back seat, and I check on him. He’s still wide awake, staring at the lights of the passing buildings.

As we drive, I notice the route he’s taking. This isn’t heading to any gas station or a roadside motel.

My pulse spikes. “Where are we going?”

Luciano’s grip tightens on the wheel. “You need a safe place. I know one.”

Something about the way he says safe place makes me uneasy. Is he some gangster? A criminal? Everything about his tailored suit and dark SUV screams money.

I need to be careful. “Pull over,” I say quietly.

He darts a glance at me. “What?”

“I said pull over. I don’t know you, and I’m not going anywhere else with you.”

His jaw flexes. For a second, I think he’ll refuse. But then he veers to the curb, tires rolling to a stop.

I’m out the door before he can protest. I swing around to the back, unbuckle Theo, and hoist him onto my hip. “Thanks for the ride.”

Luciano leans across the passenger seat. “Wait. It’s dangerous out here.”

“I’ll manage.” My voice wobbles, but I try to hold it together.

He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “At least take my number in case you need more help.”

I bite my lip. Part of me wants to refuse. But something in his eyes—concern, maybe—makes me relent. “Fine.”

He rattles off a number, and I punch it into my phone before it dies.

A moment’s hesitation. Then I close the door and watch him pull away, the SUV’s headlights disappearing into the night.

My heart is still pounding as I cradle Theo. “Mommy’s got this,” I murmur again, more to myself than to him.

But the city around me feels cold and hostile, a far cry from the life I once imagined.

I find a 24-hour convenience store nearby and slip inside, ignoring the curious glances. Theo is fussing by now, hungry and overtired.

There’s a half-broken bathroom in the back. I use it to change him, wash my hands, and attempt to wash the engine grime off my arms.

I look at my reflection in the smudged mirror. Tired eyes. Lingering stress lines on my forehead. Yet there’s a resolve beneath it all. I’m Mia. I’m a single mom. I’m a writer with big dreams. I will make this work.

Even if I have to swallow my pride and call that mysterious, grumpy stranger again.

But not tonight.

I buy a few snacks for Theo, rummage for some energy bars for myself, and settle into a corner booth the store uses for customers who want coffee. It’s better than the street, safer than wandering aimlessly.

And so, in the middle of the night, I do what I do best: write. I pull out a battered notebook, scrawl ideas for my next book—some romance about a tall, dark antihero. Inspiration floods me, courtesy of the last hour.

Theo finally drifts off in my arms. The clock above the door ticks past three in the morning.

I’m lost in my scribbling when a voice startles me.

“You sure you’re safe here?”

I look up. A store clerk in a faded uniform stands nearby. Concern etches her face.

I force a smile. “We’ll be out soon. Just waiting for morning.”

She glances at Theo. “Alright, hon. You just be careful.”

I nod, then watch her shuffle back to the counter.

My stomach growls. I tear open an energy bar and nibble on it.

Sleep seems impossible. I keep thinking about that man—Luciano. The authority in his gaze. The intensity in his voice. The hush of his suit jacket as he leaned over my engine.

Who is he?

An hour creeps by. I catch myself dozing in the plastic chair. Then a phone buzz startles me. My old phone flickers to life for a moment, showing a single text:

Unknown Number: Are you safe?

I blink. It has to be him.

I stare at the words. My heart does a funny little twist. I don’t reply.

Eventually, dawn cracks the sky in faint, gray streaks. I gather my bag, cradle Theo, and step outside.

I call a taxi. It’s slow, but it comes. Within fifteen minutes, I’m on my way to my new apartment, no bigger than a shoebox. The driver doesn’t ask questions when he sees my junky car keys dangling from my wrist. I give him the address, and he nods politely.

Theo snoozes on my shoulder, drooling a bit on my jacket. I press a kiss to his curly head, inhaling the sweet baby scent I love so much.

No matter what I face out here—cars breaking down, suspicious men in black SUVs, or the nightmares in my past—Theo is worth every moment.

The taxi pulls up to the building. A chipped sign identifies it as The Crestwood, though it’s far from grand. Five stories, peeling paint, flickering overhead light.

I pay the driver using the last of my emergency cash. My stomach clenches at the dwindling funds.

Inside, the stairwell is cramped and smells like stale pizza. I lug Theo up to the fourth floor, carefully stepping over someone’s abandoned boxes in the hallway.

Apartment 4B.

I fumble for the key the landlord left under the mat. It turns in the lock with a groan.

The place is empty except for a battered couch and a faint stain on the carpet that I don’t want to think about. At least it’s warm.

I set Theo in the middle of the couch, propped up with blankets, and lock the door. I give the apartment a quick once-over, checking for cockroaches or suspicious leaks.

It’s not pretty, but it’s ours.

The exhaustion hits me like a load of bricks. My arms feel like lead from carrying Theo. My mind is spinning from the night’s events.

I sag onto the couch next to Theo, closing my eyes for just a second.

Images flash behind my eyelids. Luciano’s intense stare. The hum of his SUV. The text message asking if I’m safe.

I remind myself that I don’t need a man. I don’t need anyone’s protection.

Except—

A pang strikes my chest. If Theo’s father had stuck around, would I be in this mess?

My throat tightens. I push the thought aside. I’ve come too far on my own.

Theo stirs, whimpering softly. I rock him, whispering lullabies. Eventually, we drift off together, the new day just beginning outside.

But before sleep takes me, my eyes flick open one last time, and I notice the corner of the living room window. The city lights reflect off the glass, hazy in the morning sun.

My phone is on the coffee table. Low battery, but still clinging to life.

I think about texting Luciano. Maybe to say thanks. Maybe to say mind your own business.

Either way, I can’t get him out of my head.

I close my eyes, letting exhaustion claim me.

I wake to a banging on my door. My heart leaps to my throat. Theo jolts awake, fear in his eyes.

“Mama?” he says, voice trembling.

I grab him and stand, rushing to the door. “Yes?” I call, trying to sound braver than I feel.

“It’s your landlord,” a raspy voice replies. “Got the rest of your paperwork.”

I exhale, relief washing over me. I open the door a crack. The landlord is an older man with thin hair combed over a shiny scalp. He hands me a stack of papers to sign, going over basic rules: trash collection, laundry hours, no messing around in the hallways.

I sign quickly. He leaves.

Theo’s on my hip, half awake. We’re both starving.

I rummage through a box of kitchen stuff, finding a battered pot and some instant oatmeal. It’ll do for now.

I remember my dream of writing big novels, capturing hearts and minds. Instead, here I am, stirring oatmeal in a run-down apartment with no prospects.

But that’s okay. I’m used to starting from scratch.

Theo latches onto my legs, babbling something about “vroom car.” Probably recalling last night’s drive.

I press a kiss to his forehead and focus on the present.

I need a plan.

Get a job—or land that freelance writing gig I’ve been pitching for weeks.

Fix my car.

Keep Theo happy and safe.

I glance at my phone. The unknown number is still there. Are you safe?

Something about that text lingers, like a question I’m not sure how to answer. I want to be safe. I want to be secure. But I know better than to trust a stranger. Especially one who exudes wealth and danger in equal measure.

I sigh, tapping the phone screen. My battery’s about to die again. No charger in sight.

Maybe I could text him…

No. That’s foolish. I toss the phone on the couch.

By midday, the oatmeal is gone, and I’ve given Theo a quick sponge bath in the rust-stained tub. He’s toddling around the living room, trying to open cupboards. I keep an eye on him, praying the baby-proofing gear I ordered arrives soon.

A knock at the door makes me jump again. Twice in one day? My stomach twists.

I peer through the peephole. A delivery guy. Thank God.

I open up, and he hands me a few grocery bags. My heart lifts. My friend from out of town must’ve sent supplies for me—canned goods, diapers, a note that reads: “You got this.”

Tears prick my eyes. For the first time in a long while, I feel less alone.

Theo squeals, rummaging through the bag for animal crackers. I let him have a small handful, grateful for the kindness.

The day crawls forward. I spend most of it cleaning, sanitizing every corner. I set up my old laptop on a wobbly table to brainstorm book ideas.

Enemies to lovers. Secret baby. Mafia romance. Dominant hero, single-mom heroine.

I can’t help but chuckle at how my life is creeping into my stories. If only my stories would pay enough to fix my real-world problems.

The hours slip by. The sun sets. I warm up canned soup for dinner.

My mind keeps drifting to last night. To those intense eyes in the dark. And that single text.

Night falls. Theo’s asleep in the corner of the couch, snuggled in blankets. I sit on the floor by the small lamp, laptop perched on my knees.

My phone pings. Startled, I grab it. The screen flickers. Battery at two percent.

I check the text.

Unknown Number: You didn’t answer.

My heart thumps. I shouldn’t respond. But my fingers hover over the keyboard.

Me: I’m fine. Thanks.

The bubble sends. My phone’s battery icon blinks.

A moment later, it pings again.

Luciano: Where are you?

I swallow. Does he think he can just swoop in and fix my problems? Or is he just trying to check on me?

My phone blinks red. One percent. I type quickly.

Me: Home. With my son.

And then my phone dies.

I sigh, dropping my head into my hands. This is crazy. I don’t know him. I don’t need him.

Or so I keep telling myself.

I power down the laptop too and curl up beside Theo. Our home might be tiny, but at least we have a roof.

I drift off, thinking of what tomorrow might bring—work, new words on the page, a better future.

Yet I can’t shake the feeling that my life shifted last night in ways I can’t control.

I fall asleep with my mind tangled in the memory of that man who calls himself Luciano.

Morning arrives with a knock so loud it rattles the door on its hinges.

Theo is startled awake, letting out a sharp cry.

My heart clenches. I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breath.

It’s probably the landlord again is my first thought. Or some neighbor.

But a part of me wonders if it’s him.

“Mama,” Theo whimpers.

I slide off the couch, tiptoeing to the door. I peek through the peephole. My pulse spikes.

Luciano stands there, a sharp figure in a dark coat. His jaw is set in a grim line.

What is he doing here?

“Open the door, Mia,” he calls through the crack. His voice is calm but unyielding.

I stare, uncertain. My mind races with possibilities. Did he track me down? How?

Theo tugs on my shirt. “Mama?”

I exhale shakily, then unlatch the door. It creaks open, and there he is—tall, broad, intimidating in the morning light.

“We need to talk,” he says.

My stomach does a somersault. A dozen warnings go off in my head.

Yet I stand aside, letting him in.

He scans the bare apartment, eyes lingering on the secondhand furniture. He notices Theo clinging to my leg.

“Your phone died,” he states, voice low.

I nod, arms folded. “I don’t have a charger.”

He looks at me like he can read every secret I carry. “I had someone trace the number to this building. I wanted to make sure you were…safe.”

My jaw tightens. “This is crossing the line.”

He steps closer, expression tense. “You don’t even know what line you’re crossing by being here, Mia.”

The cryptic words send a chill down my spine.

He glances at Theo. “You can’t stay in this place. It’s not secure.”

“Who are you to tell me that?” I snap, my voice trembling with anger. “You don’t know me. You gave me a ride, that’s it.”

Luciano’s eyes darken. “I’m the man who can keep you alive.”

My heart thuds.

He lowers his voice, noticing Theo’s wide stare. “Things in this neighborhood—they’re getting worse. My people have eyes everywhere. Word is, someone dangerous is sniffing around, looking for easy targets.”

I swallow. “What are you saying?”

He slips a hand into his coat pocket. “I’m saying if you stay here, you might not be safe.”

His tone is laced with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. Could he be talking about some mafia business? Is he part of it?

I want to tell him off, to slam the door in his face. But fear is a powerful thing.

Theo whimpers. I stroke his hair, trying to soothe him.

Luciano watches us, his expression grim. “Come with me. For a little while. Until I’m sure you won’t get caught in the crossfire.”

Crossfire. That word rattles me.

I know I should refuse. I’m not about to trust a man like this. But I can’t ignore the urgency in his voice or the goose bumps rising on my arms.

I glance around my empty, vulnerable apartment. Theo’s safety is my number one priority.

I meet Luciano’s gaze. “If I come…how do I know you won’t hurt us?”

He exhales. “You don’t. But I swear on my life, I won’t lay a finger on you or your son.”

His voice resonates with quiet force, and something in me believes him, at least for now.

Theo tugs on my shirt again, sensing the tension.

I press my lips together. My mind screams that this is insane. But my heart says do whatever it takes to protect your child.

I nod slowly. “Alright. But just until I can figure out a better solution.”

Luciano’s shoulders relax, like he’s relieved. “Pack your things.”

I glance around. I don’t have much—a diaper bag, a few clothes, my laptop. I can gather it all in minutes.

My heart pounds as I scurry around, stuffing items into a duffel bag. I keep glancing at him, half expecting him to vanish. Or worse, to show some hidden violence.

But he stands quietly by the door, watchful. Protective.

Finally, I’m ready. I hoist Theo onto my hip, bag over my shoulder, keys in my other hand.

Before stepping outside, I hesitate. “Should I lock up?”

He gives a slight shake of his head. “No one’s going to bother with this place once you’re gone. And if they do…locking the door won’t stop them.”

A cold wave washes over me. I guess that’s mafia logic for you.

I follow him out, my pulse thrumming in my ears. He leads me down the stairs. The door to the street opens with a metallic squeak.

Parked by the curb is his black SUV. It gleams under the morning sun.

My stomach flips again. I strap Theo into the back seat, the same routine as last night. It feels surreal.

Luciano silently takes my bag, sets it in the trunk. Then he slides behind the wheel while I settle into the passenger seat.

He starts the engine. The low rumble sends vibrations through the seat.

I swallow, heart pounding. I have no idea where he’s taking me.

But one thing’s certain.

My life just took a dangerous turn, and there’s no going back.