Sold To The Mafia Don

Chapter 216 - 26 ~ Mira

I woke up that morning determined to reclaim at least one piece of my normal life.

The last few days had been a blur of hospital rooms, soft warnings, too many pillows, and Jace hovering like my pregnancy was a ticking bomb only he could defuse. And I understood—God, I understood why he was scared—but understanding didn’t mean I wasn’t suffocating under the weight of it.

So I did something simple. Something small.

I got dressed for my morning meeting.

It wasn’t a big one. It was simply just a check-in with my bakery manager about staffing and weekend orders. Nothing stressful. Nothing dramatic. Just... normalcy.

I slipped into one of my soft dresses, ran my fingers gently over my bump, whispered a quick "good morning" to my little girl, and grabbed the tablet with my notes.

I felt good and I was almost excited to participate in something that wasn’t a nap or a blood pressure check.

But the moment I walked down the stairs, I saw him.

He was right there, standing in the foyer with his shoulders tense along with his phone in hand. And his voice was in that low in that tone he used when he was handling something behind closed doors. Something he definitely didn’t want me to know about.

He looked up the second he sensed me, and his expression shifted into something soft and warm until his gaze landed on my clothes.

Then the warmth vanished.

"Mira." His voice was careful. Too careful. "Where are you going?"

"My meeting," I said simply. "At the bakery."

He blinked. Once. Slowly. "Your meeting was cancelled."

My heart stuttered. "By who?"

He didn’t answer immediately. That was answer enough.

"You cancelled it?" I asked, my voice tight.

"You shouldn’t be out," he said. Calm. Gentle. Patronizing. "Not yet. Your blood pressure—"

"My blood pressure," I repeated, my jaw tightening, "is stable. The doctor confirmed that."

"That doesn’t mean you should strain yourself."

"It’s a meeting, Jace. I’m not lifting boxes or running a marathon. I’m literally sitting down and talking for thirty minutes."

His silence was heavy. Heavy enough to suffocate.

"You shouldn’t be leaving the house today," he finally said.

Something inside me snapped a little. I hated how he did things like this without my permission. He was raining on my parade and while I understood he had my best interest at heart, this was getting out of hand and I couldn’t take it anymore.

So I snapped.

"And you think cancelling my meeting without telling me is the best way to handle that?" I asked him furiously as I waddled further down the stairs.

He shoved a hand through his hair, frustration flickering across his face. "I wasn’t trying to upset you. I just want you safe."

"You want control," I corrected softly. "Not safety."

His jaw clenched. "That’s not fair."

I could see it in his eyes that I had hurt him but I only said the truth. Maybe it was true that people never changed. Leopards don’t change their spots and while Jace isn’t one, he had always been a control freak.

"Neither is treating me like I can’t make decisions." I retorted sharply.

He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "You collapsed, Mira."

"I know that," I whispered harshly. "I remember every second of it."

I did not need him to remind me of it every chance he got.

His nose flared.

"And you think I’m supposed to just forget it happened? Anything could have gone wrong!"

"I’m not asking you to forget. I’m asking you to trust me. I’m a grown ass woman and I can take care of myself."

I could see the argument forming in his eyes before he even spoke. The one that always lived there, buried under his love and his fear.

"You don’t get to risk yourself," he said. "Not now. Not when—"

"When I’m carrying your child?" I completed, narrowing my eyes at him.

His expression shifted but he didn’t deny it.

I closed my eyes, breathing past the ache building in my chest.

This was the crack.

The quiet hairline fracture before something splintered deeper. I felt all the fight seep out of me in that moment.

"Jace... you should have talked to me first." I said after a long pause and a sigh.

His eyes softened.

"I didn’t want to stress you. I just want the best for you."

"You stressed me more by taking my choices away." I muttered.

His jaw flexed again. "It was a simple meeting. It didn’t matter."

"It mattered to me."

His silence pressed against my ribs.

"I’ll reschedule it," he said. "After the baby comes. You’ll have time then."

My heart dropped.

After the baby comes.

The words echoed in my mind over and over.

Like I should put my entire life on pause because my blood pressure spiked one time. Like I was no longer Mira but just a vessel he needed to preserve at all costs.

I swallowed hard. "Jace... that’s months away."

Yes it was about two months till I had the baby but then there was still postpartum to deal with. I couldn’t stop working now.

"And?" he asked, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"And my bakery doesn’t freeze just because I’m pregnant." My tone was sharp.

His eyes hardened—not with anger, but fear, that tangled, suffocating fear he tried to hide from the world.

"Mira," he said quietly, "I don’t want you going back to the bakery at all. Not until after she’s born."

The words hit me like they were physical.

I stared at him in disbelief. "You’re forbidding me?"

"It’s not forbidding—"

I didn’t let him finish.

"It sounds like forbidding."

He exhaled harshly. "You were hospitalized four days ago."

"And we have been careful. I’ve been careful." I stared emphatically.

"You shouldn’t be working."

"It’s my business."

"It’s your health."

"It’s my life!" The words came out sharper than I intended, slicing through the air. "You don’t get to decide what I do."

"You’re pregnant," he said, voice rising. "You shouldn’t be bending, walking too much, worrying about deadlines—"

"I’m pregnant, not fragile."

His eyes darkened. "Don’t twist this."

"I’m not twisting anything," I snapped. "You cancelled my meeting. You told my manager I wouldn’t be coming in. You didn’t even ask me, you just decided. Like you always do when you’re scared."

His lips parted slightly, like the words stung more than he expected.

"Baby," he said, taking a step toward me, "I’m not trying to control you—"

"I feel controlled." I cut in, exhaling sharply as I felt my heart race a little faster.

He stopped moving.

The hurt on his face was immediate. It was bare and real.

It wasn’t the kind of hurt that faded after a minute.

It was the kind that settled in the eyes and stayed and I felt my heart hurt for him.

"Mira," he murmured, "please don’t say that."

"But it’s the truth."

"I just want you safe."

"I want to feel human, Jace. I’m sick of being trapped in this chaotic life of yours. I want normalcy for goodness sake!"

That broke something.

In him.

In me.

In the space between us.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again.

"I’m doing my best," he said quietly. "I...You and our daughter—you’re my whole world. If something happened to you... I wouldn’t survive it."

My anger faltered for a heartbeat.

But I didn’t step toward him.

Not this time. Because his fear didn’t justify erasing me and my peace.

"I’m scared too," I whispered. "But you don’t see me locking you in rooms or cancelling your life."

"This is different," he argued. "You’re carrying our daughter. The third trimester is a very tricky stage."

"I need you to understand that I’m fine."

His face crumpled with frustration. "Of course you are."

"Then stop treating me like I’m not."

We stood there, quiet and tense, two people who loved each other so fiercely it sometimes hurt more than it healed.

Finally he said, in a soft but unyielding voice,

"I’m not letting you go back to the bakery."

I inhaled shakily. "Even if it’s what I want?"

"Even then."

Something inside me folded in on itself.

I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I just... went quiet.

And that silence hit him harder than anything else could have.

"Mira," he whispered, stepping forward.

I stepped back.

His eyes widened—just a fraction—but enough to show the impact.

"Baby..." he tried again, voice thick. "Please."

"I need space," I whispered. "Just for a moment."

He froze like the very idea of space was a wound.

I didn’t wait for him to speak again.

I turned and walked toward the stairs, my hands trembling, my chest tight, my breath uneven.

Halfway up, I heard him.

A soft, broken whisper carried through the foyer:

"Mira... don’t walk away."

But I did.

Not because I didn’t love him.

But because for the first time in months, the weight of his love felt like it was crushing me instead of holding me together.

And I needed a moment to breathe again.