Sold To The Mafia's Boss

Chapter Five:His Family Is Against Us

Carmela's POV

I stood at the window for what felt like hours. Moonlight pooled across the roses below, and the silence of the locked-down estate pressed in around me, heavier with every passing minute. Fear clawed at my throat until I couldn't draw a full breath in that room anymore. The note. The blood. Marco's broken words. The pale dress in the garden, watching my window like it knew exactly which one was mine.

It was too much. All of it, all at once, and I was so tired of carrying it alone.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I slipped out of my suite and moved through the dimly lit corridors, my bare feet silent against the cold marble. The guards posted along the hall nodded as I passed but didn't stop me — Giovanni's orders, probably, though I hadn't asked and didn't care to wonder why. My feet carried me straight to the master wing without my permission, straight to his door, like my body had already decided where I safely lived in this house, even if my pride hadn't caught up yet.

I knocked softly.

The door opened almost immediately, like he hadn't been asleep at all. Giovanni stood there in a black T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair tousled, dark circles shadowing his eyes. He looked younger like this, less armored. His gaze sharpened the moment he saw my face.

"Carmela? What happened?"

I didn't answer with words. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my face into the warmth of his chest, breathing in sandalwood and something underneath it that was just him. He stiffened for half a second, clearly caught off guard by the contact, before his body softened into mine.

"I saw her again," I whispered against his shirt, my voice cracking on the words. "In the garden. The woman in the pale dress. She was looking up at my window. Smiling."

Giovanni's body went rigid beneath my hands. For a split second, something flickered across his face when I pulled back to look at him — recognition, sharp and unmistakable — before he smoothed it into something unreadable. His hands settled on my shoulders, grounding, firm.

"You're sure it was her?"

I nodded, searching his eyes for anything he might be hiding. He didn't dismiss me, didn't tell me I'd imagined it, didn't reach for the easy comfort of disbelief. Instead, his jaw tightened, his gaze flicking toward the window, and he murmured something low into his phone. "Double the patrols in the gardens. Now."

He hesitated a heartbeat longer than I expected afterward, like he was weighing whether to say more, whether the truth was worth the cost of speaking it. Then, instead, his arms came around me. Strong. Steady. The kind of hold that made my knees finally stop threatening to give out beneath me.

"You're staying here tonight," he said quietly. No question in it, no room for argument. He guided me inside and locked the door behind us, the click of the latch the first sound all night that made me feel something close to safe.

I should have slept easier with his breathing evening out beside me in the dark. Instead, I lay awake, replaying that flicker in his eyes over and over. Recognition. Not surprise — recognition, the kind that came from already knowing a face, a name, a history I wasn't part of. Like the woman in the pale dress wasn't a stranger to him at all.

Morning came too soon, dragging me out of a sleep I barely remembered falling into.

I woke to raised voices bleeding through the wall from the adjoining sitting room. Giovanni was already dressed in a charcoal suit, every inch the ruthless don the house staff seemed to fear, his expression carved from stone. I pulled on the robe I'd worn the night before and followed the noise, dread pooling low in my stomach with every step closer.

Elena stood in the center of the room like a queen holding court, silver hair immaculate, eyes glittering with something close to triumph. Beside her stood a woman I'd never seen before — tall, polished, auburn hair swept into an elegant chignon, every inch of her radiating the kind of effortless belonging I would never manage in this house no matter how long I stayed.

"Don't tell me you're really settling for this, Giovanni," Elena said, her voice dripping with disdain, not even glancing my way as I appeared in the doorway. "Remember why she's here? It's a debt. Nothing more. We can still correct this — put her to work as a maid, where she belongs. Evelyn fits our standards. She belongs in the portraits. She won't bring threats to our door or question our legacy."

The other woman — Evelyn — smiled with practiced, polished sweetness, the kind that had clearly been rehearsed in front of mirrors for years. "I've waited for you, Giovanni. We make sense. Our families have always aligned."

The words landed like physical blows, one after another. I froze in the doorway, unable to make my feet carry me any further into the room.

Giovanni's gaze snapped at me instantly, dark with warning and something fiercer underneath it. He stepped forward, putting himself slightly between me and the rest of the room, a wall built entirely out of intention. "No."

Elena's eyebrows lifted, cool and unbothered. "Excuse me?"

"I said no." His voice dropped, low and dangerous in a way I'd never heard directed at anyone but me before now. "Carmela is my wife. The debt was paid the moment she walked through that door. Evelyn leaves when the lockdown lifts. She is not welcome here."

Elena laughed, bitter and sharp, circling closer with the slow confidence of someone who'd never once lost an argument in this house. "You're blinded — by lust, by guilt, by whatever it is called. This girl is a walking risk. She brought danger into our home the moment she arrived, and your judgment is compromised because of it. If you keep her, the consequences fall on all of us. The family won't stand for it."

Giovanni's hand found mine, lacing our fingers together in a public claim that sent warmth racing up my arm despite everything happening around us. But I caught that flicker again, brief and unmistakable, the moment Elena said consequences — a shadow crossing his face, a hesitation, like part of him already knew exactly what those consequences would cost and had chosen this path anyway.

The rest of the family poured into the room then, drawn by the rising volume of voices. Aunt Valeria stepped in immediately, eager. "She's right. Evelyn fits. This one brings nothing but chaos."

Luca tried, half-heartedly, from near the doorway. "Let's not—"

Elena cut him off with a single sharp look, and he fell silent instantly. The rest of the family fell in line behind her without protest. Isabella stood frozen near the wall, silent but visibly tense, her eyes darting between everyone except me. Grandmother Sofia watched from her chair with cold, calculating patience, saying nothing at all, which somehow felt worse than if she'd spoken.

In moments, the room had united entirely behind Elena. A wall of disapproval, solid and unmoving.

It hit me like a physical blow, the realization landing somewhere deep in my chest. The entire Damiani family stood against me. Every single one of them.

Giovanni pulled me closer, his arm sliding firmly around my waist, anchoring me against his side. "Then it seems Carmela and I stand alone." His voice carried through the room, flat and absolute. "But hear me clearly — this is not up for discussion." She is my wife. Anyone who threatens her, undermines her, or tries to replace her will answer to me. Directly."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and irreversible, the kind of words that couldn't be unsaid once spoken aloud in front of an entire family.

Elena's eyes flashed with pure, undiluted fury, her composure cracking for the first time since she'd entered the room. "This is war, Giovanni. You'll regret choosing her."

Giovanni didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. "Everyone out. Now."