His Mafia Uncle Killed For Me After He Said "Keep Her"

Mira's POV

The first thing I feel is pain. A dull, throbbing ache spreading from the base of my skull down my spine. My eyelids are heavy, like someone glued them shut. When I finally force them open, the world swims in and out of focus.

Rusted metal walls. Broken windows filtering weak moonlight. The sharp smell of motor oil mixed with salt water and mildew.

I try to move, but rough rope cuts into my wrists, binding them behind the chair. The burn makes me wince. My legs are tied too, ankles lashed to the chair legs. The realization hits slowly, like wading through fog.

I'm not at the Rossi estate anymore.

Deep breath. Another. Force the panic down. Think.

Last night. I'd left the manor to get Marco's favorite Italian sausage from that 24-hour deli in Brooklyn. The parking lot. Someone behind me, a hand over my mouth, that chemical smell.

And now this.

Fifteen years. Fifteen goddamn years in the Rossi family, and this is how it ends?

I remember being seven, Vincent lifting me out of that iron cage. His voice had been so gentle. "You're safe now, little one." I believed him. Believed I'd finally found home. Believed growing up with Marco meant he'd always protect me.

What a fucking joke.

Footsteps echo from somewhere in the darkness. Four men materialize under a single flickering bulb. The one in front has a cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes crawling over me.

I know him. Tony. One of Valentino's enforcers.

"Look who's awake." He takes a long drag, smoke curling around his grin. "The Rossi family's little charity project."

He crouches in front of me, close enough that I can smell the tobacco on his breath. His fingers grip my chin, forcing my head up.

"You know what's funny? Your precious Marco? He's probably balls deep in some blonde bitch right now, not giving a single fuck about you."

I turn my face away, jaw clenched. Don't shake. Don't give him the satisfaction.

Tony straightens, pulling out his phone. "Let's make this interesting. Time to call your boyfriend."

My heart drops into my stomach.

One of his men sets up the phone, angling the camera toward me. Another flicks on a harsh LED light that makes me squint. The dial tone cuts through the silence.

One ring. Two rings. Three.

My breath comes faster. Nails digging into my palms.

He'll answer. He has to. We grew up together. He promised he'd always protect me.

The screen flickers to life.

The camera shows a VIP lounge dripping with excess. Leather couches, crystal decanters, low jazz music. Marco lounges on a sofa, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, cheeks flushed with alcohol. A blonde in a red slip dress sits on his lap, her lips pressing a champagne glass to his mouth.

Women's laughter tinkles in the background.

My body goes rigid. Blood turns to ice.

No. This isn't right. This can't be.

"Mr. Rossi," Tony says to the camera, his gun tapping under my chin. "We have something that belongs to you. Five million plus control of two casinos in Brooklyn. Otherwise, this pretty face won't be so pretty anymore."

Marco squints at the screen, waving dismissively. "What the fuck? I'm busy here."

The blonde giggles, trailing kisses down his neck. "Baby, who's that? Some crazy ex?"

I open my mouth to call his name, but nothing comes out. The sound dies in my throat.

Tony holds the phone closer to my face. "This is Mira Sawyer. Your uncle Vincent's adopted daughter. The girl who's been following you around like a lost puppy for fifteen years."

Marco finally focuses on the screen. A cold smile spreads across his face. "Oh. Her."

He takes a sip of champagne, eyes full of contempt.

"Keep her. Maybe she'll finally learn I don't want a pathetic puppy following me around."

The blonde laughs. "Oh my god, you're so bad! I love it when you're like this."

Marco waves lazily at the camera. "Tell her to stop embarrassing herself. She's just my uncle's charity case, not real family. Not my problem."

He leans back, the blonde's fingers tangling in his hair. "And Tony? Tell Valentino if he wants those casinos, he can come talk to me himself like a man. Don't waste my time with this bullshit."

The screen goes black.

Silence crashes down like a physical weight. All I can hear is my heartbeat. Slower now. Heavier. Like it's struggling to keep going.

Charity case. Not real family. Pathetic puppy.

Each word is a dull knife, carving through my chest. I see fifteen years flash before me. Marco at twelve, holding my hand and saying, "I'll always protect you." At sixteen, giving me that platinum necklace. "When we're older, I'll give you a ring." At twenty-one, drunk-dialing me at 3 AM. "You're the only one who really knows me, Mira."

All lies. Every single word.

Tears slide down my cheeks. No sobbing. No screaming. Just silent, endless tears.

Tony throws his phone across the room. "Fuck! That little shit actually hung up!"

One of his men shifts nervously. "Boss, what do we do now?"

Tony's eyes slide back to me, dark and hungry. "If she's not worth money..." His smile turns vicious. "At least she's worth a good time."

My blood goes cold. Adrenaline floods my system, drowning out the heartbreak.

"Boys, looks like we got ourselves a free toy. Vincent's charity case should know how to be grateful, right?"

Two of them move closer, leering. "Finally some fun tonight."

No. No no no no NO.

Not this. I didn't survive being kidnapped at seven just to die like this. I didn't waste fifteen years loving the wrong person just to end here.

I haven't lived enough yet. I've wasted fifteen years loving the wrong person, but I'm not done. I'm not fucking done.

Seven years old. The iron cage. The darkness. I thought I'd die then too. But Vincent saved me.

I survived hell once. I can do it again.

One of them reaches for my shirt. I lunge forward and sink my teeth into his hand. Biting down hard until I taste copper.

"Fuck! This bitch bit me!"

His fist connects with my face. My head snaps sideways. Blood fills my mouth.

Tony walks over, crouching down. His gun presses against my temple, cold metal against skin.

"Got some fight in you, huh? That's cute." His voice is almost amused. "Let me make this simple. You can be a good girl and stay quiet, or we can make this very, very painful for you. Your choice."

I lift my head, meeting his eyes. Blood drips from my split lip, but I don't look away.

"If you're going to kill me anyway, at least make it quick. I'm not going to beg."

Marco taught me one thing. Never show weakness to predators. The irony is he became the biggest predator of all.

Tony stares at me for a long moment, then laughs. "Ballsy. I like that. Too bad Rossi doesn't appreciate what he had."

He stands, unbuckling his belt. "Forget it. Dead meat doesn't struggle. More fun when they fight."

I close my eyes. My hands twist behind my back, rope tearing skin. The scar on my left wrist burns like it's fresh.

I won't die here. Not like this. NOT LIKE THIS.

BOOM.

The explosion tears through the night. Fire blooms at the entrance, shaking the entire warehouse.

Smoke rolls in. The men scramble for their weapons. My ears ring, drowning out everything else.

"What the fuck! Who—"

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three shots, clean and precise.

The first man drops, a hole between his eyes. The second clutches his chest, collapsing against a rusted barrel. The third tries to run. A bullet catches him in the back.

Cordite and blood fill the air. Through the smoke and blown-out doorway, a tall figure steps into the firelight. Each footstep crunches over glass and debris.

Black coat. Gun still dripping. Smoke curling from the barrel.

I can't see his face through my tears and blood, just a silhouette against the flames. But something in my chest loosens. Just slightly.