Chapter 125: 125 ~ Jace
It killed me to not be speaking to her like I normally would.
She was quiet.
Too quiet. And it wasn’t the kind of silence that soothed me. It was the kind that dug into your skin like broken glass, reminding you with every second that something had snapped between you.
I stared out the jet’s window, the world beneath us shifting into nothing but clouds. Mira sat across from me, curled slightly toward the aisle, her hands clasped around her knees like she was afraid she might fall apart if she let go.
I wanted to reach for her. I wanted to drag her against me, press my face into her neck, breathe her in until my lungs couldn’t hold any more of her. But instead, I clenched my fists against the armrest and let the distance grow.
Because what the hell was I supposed to do? She’d admitted enough for me to know Massimo had his claws in her. And still...she had begged me, moaned for me, said she loved me. A man could go insane trying to piece those contradictions together.
My mind replayed the way she’d cried out: I promise, I wasn’t! I love you!
I should have believed her. Every bone in my body wanted to. But betrayal was poison. It made you second-guess everything, even the woman who had the power to wreck you in a single breath.
The silence between us wasn’t punishment. It was survival. If I spoke, I’d either say something I couldn’t take back or confess how much she still owned me, even now. And I couldn’t afford either.
It hurt me to do so but it had to be done.
When we landed in LA, my men were already lined up to receive us. I gave them curt orders, barely sparing Mira a glance as we stepped into the convoy. She walked with her chin high, pretending I didn’t exist too, and the sight of her pride both infuriated me and made me ache for her.
It was yet another silent ride to my apartment. She faced the window and I just worked on my phone pretending to not notice her presence.
Back at the penthouse, I locked myself after a brief shower and light meal, in my office. The place was a fortress of glass and steel, my sanctuary, but tonight it felt like a cage. I poured myself a drink and stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the city stretch out below.
She was here. In my space. And yet she was a thousand miles away from me.
My phone buzzed. Tomas.
There was news.
"Boss," he said when I answered. "There was a fire at one of the warehouses. It was quenched quickly but, we traced the fire to Ricciardi’s men. He’s making moves faster than expected."
I gripped the glass so hard it cracked. "He won’t stop until I bury him. Make preparations. I want him cornered."
"Yes, boss."
I ended the call and tossed the shattered glass into the sink.
Massimo thought he could use Mira as a pawn. Thought he could scare her, scare me, with threats and fire. But he didn’t understand one thing: I had nothing left to lose—except her. And if he touched her again, there would be no mercy.
I sat at my desk, staring at the shadows, and for the first time in a long time, I admitted something to myself.
I was terrified.
Not of Massimo. Not of my enemies. But of Mira.
Because if she ever decided that I wasn’t worth the fight, if she chose to walk away for good... I didn’t know if I could stop her this time.
And I didn’t know if I wanted to live in a world where she didn’t belong to me.
~
Hours dragged by before I finally left my office. The penthouse was dim, only the muted glow of the city spilling in through the glass walls. I found her in the guest room. The door wasn’t shut all the way, and I saw the faint outline of her body curled beneath the sheets.
For a moment, I just stood there, watching her chest rise and fall. She looked fragile, breakable. I hated it. Mira was supposed to be fire—unbending, impossible to tame. And yet here she was, looking like all it would take was one wrong move from me to shatter her for good.
I ran a hand down my face, frustration clawing through me. I wanted to crawl in beside her, pull her into me until she forgot everything except my heartbeat. But my pride wouldn’t let me.
So I walked past the door and went to my own room.
The bed was too big. Too cold. Too empty.
I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her crying. Every time I breathed, I remembered her saying she loved me. It was torture, the kind that no bullet or knife could compare to.
By dawn, I’d made a decision.
If Mira wanted to test me, then fine. If Massimo thought he could break me through her, let him try. I’d protect her whether she wanted me to or not. And if she thought she could walk away from me again, she had another thing coming.
I would chain her to me with love, with rage, with everything I had.
Because I wasn’t losing her a second time.
~
The next morning, the penthouse smelled faintly of coffee and freshly baked bread. Normally, breakfast was a noisy affair. The chef and helps were moving in and out, guards exchanging updates, I was giving orders in that clipped, dangerous tone that made everyone jump.
Mira sat at the long dining table, a cup of tea between her hands. She had barely touched it. The steam curled upward, disappearing into the silence that stretched between us.
I took the seat at the head of the table, every muscle in my body wound tight. She glanced at me, and I felt it. The weight of her eyes were tugging at me and begging me to look back.
I didn’t. I busied myself with the newspaper, flipping pages I didn’t even read.
"Good morning," she said softly, her voice careful, almost testing.
I hummed in response, low, noncommittal. My chest ached because all I wanted was to meet her halfway, to say something, anything that would erase the cold wall between us. But pride had its claws in me. Pride and anger.
"You didn’t sleep much, did you?" she asked after a moment, her tone gentle, searching.
"No." My answer was clipped.
Her fingers tightened around her cup. "Neither did I."
I should have looked at her. I should have let my hand brush against hers on the table, just to show her I cared. Instead, I took a sip of coffee and set the cup down harder than I meant to. The sound echoed through the silence like a gunshot.
She flinched. I noticed. And I hated myself for it.
Mira reached across the table, tentative, her hand sliding just close enough that if I moved my own, our fingers would touch.
For a second, I almost did. My hand twitched toward hers, aching to close the distance, aching to feel her skin on mine.
But I pulled back.
I picked up my fork instead and stabbed at the eggs on my plate. "Eat something," I muttered.
She froze, her lips parting slightly as if the words had cut her deeper than I intended.
"I’m not hungry," she whispered.
"Then don’t sit there looking like you’re about to faint," I bit out, harsher than I meant.
Her eyes watered, but she blinked quickly, hiding it behind a sip of her tea. The silence stretched again, unbearable, heavy.
I wanted to slam the table. I wanted to grab her chin, force her to look at me, demand she tell me everything so I wouldn’t feel like I was drowning in her lies. But more than anything, I wanted to just...hold her.
The ache in my chest was worse than any bullet wound I’d ever taken.
But instead, like the dumb motherfucker I was, I stayed stoic, every emotion locked behind the mask of a don.
Mira exhaled softly, the sound almost a sigh of defeat. "You can keep punishing me if that’s what you need, Jace. But it doesn’t change the fact that I—" She stopped herself, pressing her lips together as if swallowing back the words.
I gripped my coffee cup tighter, knuckles white. I knew exactly what she’d almost said. I love you. And God help me, I wanted to hear it. I wanted to hear it fall from her lips so I could feel those butterflies women constantly talked about.
But I didn’t let myself.
Because if I gave in now, I wouldn’t just take her hand across this table. I would drag her into my lap, kiss her until she forgot the whole damn world, and then I’d never let her go.
And I wasn’t ready to forgive her. Not yet.