Sold To The Mafia Don

Chapter 239 - 49 ~ Mira

Three weeks felt like three months.

Maybe three years.

Time inside a hospital was strange like that — always bright, always humming, always tasting faintly of metal and disinfectant.

But the day we were finally discharged?

It felt like sunlight after a storm that should’ve drowned us.

I stood by the window of our hospital room, holding my daughter against my chest, breathing in her scent. Soft, sweet, milky. Like powdered heaven. She made these tiny noises—half sigh, half squeak—and every sound melted me a little more.

She was stronger now.

No more tubes.

No more constant alarms.

Just her tiny fingers curled over my shirt like she never wanted to let go.

"Ready?" Jace asked quietly from behind me.

I didn’t turn around immediately. I was staring out at the parking lot, watching our security team check and re-check everything for the tenth time. I’d never seen grown men so stressed in broad daylight.

"I’ve been ready since the second they removed her final monitor," I said.

He came closer, sliding a hand along my waist, careful, gentle, like he was still terrified I’d break if he touched me too quickly.

"Taxi is here," he murmured.

I snorted. "Jace. We’re not taking a taxi."

"A figure of speech."

"You don’t use figures of speech."

"Fine," he breathed, lips brushing my temple, "the armored SUV is here."

"That’s more accurate."

He gave my waist a soft squeeze before adjusting the diaper bag on his shoulder. He carried it the way some men carried explosives — with absolute seriousness and the careful fear of someone who’d die before letting it drop.

I turned in his arms and handed him our daughter.

He held her with the same awe he’d held onto since the first moment he saw her in the NICU. Like she was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

And maybe she was.

"You’re sure you’re not tired?" he asked.

"I’m fine." I said.

He arched a brow.

I rolled my eyes. "I am fine, Jace."

"You almost died," he said softly.

"And I didn’t."

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t argue. He just leaned in and kissed my forehead, long and lingering, like the memory of almost losing me still lived inside him.

We left the room slowly, nurses smiling, congratulating, waving. Some of them had cried the night I went into early labor. Some prayed with Donna. Some prayed alone in their break rooms. They all looked relieved to see us walking out instead of being wheeled out.

The elevator ride down felt surreal.

The sliding doors opened and I stepped into sunlight properly for the first time in weeks.

Warm. Soft. Real.

I inhaled deeply, letting the air fill every part of me. "God, I missed this."

Jace’s hand found mine instinctively. "Let’s get you both home."

Home.

The word made my eyes sting.

~~~

The drive was quiet.

I sat in the back seat, our daughter in her secured car seat beside me, Jace in the seat across from us, refusing to take his eyes off her for more than two seconds. He thought he was subtle.

He wasn’t.

"I can see you staring," I murmured.

He didn’t look away. "She likes when I watch her."

"She’s asleep." I told him with soft giggle, not wanting to wake her.

"She likes when I watch her while she sleeps."

I bit down a smile. "You’re obsessed."

"With both of you," he said without missing a beat.

And God... he meant it.

The closer we got to the house, the flutter in my chest grew. Not nerves. Not fear. Something gentler. Something warm.

This wasn’t just a house waiting for us.

This was the life we’d fought tooth and nail to protect.

~

The moment the SUV rolled through the gates, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Everything looked peaceful.

Bright.

Normal.

The front garden was blooming . Tomas said the gardeners had been extra careful this month. Hydrangeas everywhere. Soft pink. Deep purple. My favorite.

Jace got out first and reached for me, careful but sure. I stepped out slowly, my body still not fully back to normal, but steady enough.

"Welcome home," he whispered.

I walked toward the front steps, the weight of everything hitting me all at once. The near-attack. The collapse. The emergency labor. The surgeries. The sleepless nights. The fear. The grief. The prayers.

And then the miracle, my daughter, breathing against my chest.

I paused at the door, swallowing the lump in my throat.

The house smelled like fresh linen and vanilla candles.

The living room was spotless.

The curtains were open, sunlight everywhere.

Warm and golden, filling every corner.

Jace carried the baby inside and she let out a small whine, like she recognized the place.

"She knows she’s home," I whispered.

"She’s just like her mother," he replied softly. "She likes safety."

I brushed my fingers over her cheek and watched her little face relax.

We stood there for a moment — the three of us — caught in this soft bubble of peace we’d almost lost.

Then Jace spoke, voice low, warm, a little choked.

"Sit down. Both of you."

"I can walk—"

"You’re sitting down."

I sighed. "Bossy."

"Wife who almost died," he said simply. "I earn the right."

He guided me to the couch and I sank into the cushions, letting my muscles relax in a way I hadn’t done since before the attack.

He placed our daughter in my arms, wrapped a blanket over my legs, then knelt in front of me like he needed to ground himself.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

It was such a vulnerable question that my heart squeezed.

"Yes," I whispered. "Finally."

He exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for weeks.

Silence settled around us — soft, warm, sacred.

No threats.

No gunshots.

No shadows lurking behind headlines.

Just the three of us breathing the same calm air.

"You know something?" I murmured.

"What?"

"I feel like we can actually... start."

He lifted his head. "Start?"

"Our life," I said. "The real one. Not the one constantly surviving. The one where we get to live."

Jace’s hand slid over my knee. "We’ll keep it that way."

"Promise?"

"I don’t break promises."

I smiled faintly. "You better not."

He leaned in, kissing my forehead, then her tiny hand.

Then he rested his head against my stomach like he was anchoring himself to us.

I ran my fingers through his hair.

"We’re going to be okay, Jace," I whispered. "All of us."

And for the first time in a long time...

I believed it down to my bones.

Peace.

Home.

Family.

It was ours now.

Finally.