Rescued by the Mafia

Planning and Hope

Mark

The office was quiet but tense, a low hum of focused energy as my team reviewed schedules and shipping manifests. Maps were spread across the large mahogany table, marked with the routes and security checkpoints of tonight’s incoming container. The clock was ticking down to 11 pm, when a new import would arrive at the docks—an important shipment, one that required precision, timing, and trust in everyone I had placed around it.

“Guard rotations are tight, boss,” one of the lieutenants said. “Nothing’s changed since the last run, but the Moretti boys are stirring again. Haven’t made a move yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

I nodded, scanning the documents, mentally overlaying the dormant rivalry with the Moretti family against the plans for tonight. Tensions had been quiet for months, but everyone in the business knew that old grudges never really died. They just waited. I leaned back, letting the weight of responsibility settle over me.

“And Tony,” I said, glancing at my younger brother who had been glancing nervously at the floor, “you’re not involved in this week. Even if anyone asks, updates or questions—don’t give them anything. You’ve earned this. Time with Sarah and the baby is yours, full stop. I don’t want the docks, the shipments, or the family’s business taking you away from them. Understood?”

Tony nodded, relief flickering across his face. “Understood. Thanks, Mark.”

The room went quiet for a moment as everyone processed the seriousness of the operation, and I felt the familiar hum of control settle over me again. My team worked efficiently, but my mind wasn’t entirely on the shipment tonight. My phone buzzed, a sharp contrast to the low murmurs of planning.

I glanced down, expecting another mundane text or a routine alert. Instead, it was from her: 8:30 pm. Pagliacci Pizza.

A smile spread across my face despite myself. The tension in my shoulders eased ever so slightly. She was giving me an hour and a half before I would see her again—an hour and a half to finish reports, double-check schedules, and still have time to step out of the business for a moment, to prepare myself to be patient, to be gentle, to meet a soft soul who clearly carried her own storms.

I typed a quick response, simple acknowledgment, then placed my phone back on the desk. The hum of the office filled my ears again, the maps, schedules, and strategies still waiting for my attention. But underneath it all, there was something different tonight—a quiet anticipation that had nothing to do with shipments, nothing to do with rivalries, and everything to do with her.

For the first time in a long while, I looked forward not to control, not to power, not to calculations, but to a conversation over coffee—or maybe pizza—with someone who made me feel like I could slow down and just… see.

We finalized all the details and all the reports. All the leuitenants and other guards started to filter out of the office.

Tony, who had lingered behind, leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. “Who’s that?” he asked casually, though I could tell he was curious.

I glanced at him, letting the corner of a smile tug at my lips. “It’s the doctor from earlier—the one we were talking about in the maternity room with Sarah.”

Tony tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly with interest. “Ah. That one, huh? Finally stepping out of your own world a little, big brother. Don’t mess it up.”

I just nodded, slipping the phone back into my pocket. “Coffee. Dinner. Something simple. She asked me to meet her. 8:30, Pagliacci. That’s all there is to it.”

Tony smirked knowingly, leaning back with his hands behind his head. “Well, that’s smart. You’re actually trying, then. Good. Don’t scare her away.”

I let the moment pass quietly, the weight of the mafia business still pressing in the corners of the room, but underneath it all, there was a different kind of anticipation tonight—one that had nothing to do with shipments or rivalries, and everything to do with her.

---

I arrived a few minutes early, slipping into a corner booth where I could see the door and the small bustle of the restaurant. The smell of baking bread and tomato sauce filled the air, grounding me in something ordinary, something normal, something worlds apart from the shadows and calculations of my usual life. I ran through the details in my mind—shipment, schedules, contingencies—but none of that mattered right now. Not tonight.

Then she walked in.

Her hair was damp, pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head, a few loose strands framing her face. Jeans, a simple zip-up hoodie over a soft shirt—casual, effortless. And yet, even in that simplicity, she was breathtaking. Not the kind of breathtaking that demanded attention, but the kind that drew you in, made you take notice, made you feel like you were seeing someone in a moment no one else would.

I caught my breath briefly, just enough for a moment of recognition: that same quiet strength I had noticed in the hallway, the same intensity under the calm exterior. And yet… lighter, softer somehow, like she carried the weight of the world with a careful grace.

She spotted me, and our eyes met. I stood, gave a small nod—not overdone, not a greeting laden with ego—but enough to acknowledge her presence. She smiled faintly, a little tight at first, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to let anyone see her.

“Hey,” I said simply, letting my voice carry warmth without force.

“Hey,” she replied, sliding into the booth across from me. The faint scent of her shampoo reminded me of the café earlier, of her subtle presence that lingered even after she left.

We ordered quickly—Dr Pepper and a pepperoni pizza to share. Something so simple and so enjoyable at the same time. I offered to pay without comment; she didn’t protest. Our conversation was quiet at first, casual, me asking about her day without pressing, her answering in measured sentences. I watched her closely, noticing the way she gestured, the small ways her tension eased when she realized this wasn’t an interrogation or a lecture.

I caught myself thinking again about how stunning she was, but I restrained myself from saying it. There was a need for subtlety here—too many words and the moment could tip, too many compliments and it could feel like a performance. I wanted her to feel safe, not observed. I wanted her to see me as someone she could relax around, not as another man with expectations.

“You seemed… distracted earlier,” I said finally, carefully, giving her the option to brush it off. “Earlier in the hospital. Like something was weighing on you.”

She stiffened for a fraction of a second but didn’t look away. “I was,” she admitted softly, her tone steady, matter-of-fact. “It’s… nothing you need to worry about.”

“I don’t know,” I said, leaning slightly forward, hands relaxed on the table. “I saw it. And even if for now you want to keep it to yourself, someone like me—I’ve seen pain. I’ve seen beauty arise from it, too. If you ever want a listening ear or someone to carry a little of that weight, I’d be willing. No expectations, no pressure. Just… a chance.”

Her gaze lingered on me, quiet, careful, and I could tell she was processing. There was hesitation there, the instinct to protect herself, to retreat—but also the flicker of consideration, the faint recognition that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t another threat.

We sipped our drinks in silence for a moment, the hum of the restaurant around us, nothing pressing, nothing demanding. And in that silence, I felt the rare calm of anticipation—not of a deal, not of a plan, not of a conquest—but of possibility.

She shifted slightly, then finally, almost imperceptibly, let a small, tentative smile cross her face. And I knew that, for now, it was enough.