CHAPTER 134: WHAT SORT OF THOUGHTS?

"Mia," I groaned, carefully lifting her leg off my face and shifting her tiny body into a more dignified sleeping position. "You sleep like you’ve been wrestling bears in your dreams."

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

She murmured something incoherent before snuggling deeper into the remaining pillow. I smiled despite the chaos and tiptoed toward the door, trying to make as little noise as possible. It was barely dawn, and the last thing I needed was Mia waking up early, especially after last night’s dramatics.

Yawning, I wobbled to the door, muttering about how people should respect the sanctity of early morning sleep.

The knocking on the front door intensified, jolting me from my thoughts.

"Alright, alright!" I whispered under my breath, rushing to get it before the sound woke Mia.

Adjusting my nightdress to look halfway decent, I opened it just a crack—and froze. Standing in front of me were five men dressed as if they’d stepped straight out of a mob movie.

The one in front—clearly the leader—wore a sleek black suit, the collar of his crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the edge of a swirling tattoo. His eyes were sharp, calculating, and his slicked-back hair gave him an air of authority. The others behind him were equally intimidating, sporting leather jackets, gold chains, and expressions that screamed, ’WE’RE BAD NEWS.’

Real-life, actual mobsters at my fucking doorstep!!

For a moment, I just stared and screamed in my thoughts.

The leader of the group, the one with the tattoos, gave me a curt nod. "Elena Martinez?"

I froze again, my brain short-circuiting.

They know my name?!!

And then, like any sensible person confronted with a group of mafia-looking men at her doorstep, without thinking, I began to shut the door. "Wrong apartment, sorry—"

Before I could lock it, Tattoo Guy’s hand shot out, stopping the door with surprising ease. His lips twitched into a smirk. "Why the rush, Ms. Martinez? We’re not here to hurt you."

"Well, excuse me for not trusting a bunch of guys who look like they walked out of a crime documentary!" I shot back, my voice low but sharp. "And for the record, I don’t owe anyone money, I didn’t break any laws, and I’m definitely not interested in whatever shady deal you’re offering."

The group erupted into laughter, and I couldn’t tell if they were amused or mocking me. Either way, it was annoying.

The one in sunglasses chuckled. "You think we’re salesmen?"

I squinted at him. "Yes, even possibly debt collectors or hitmen. Either way, bad news."

I tried to yank the door closed again.

Tattoo Guy leaned in slightly, his voice calm but firm. "Relax. We’re not here to collect money or break legs, if that’s what you’re worried about."

"Oh, great," I said sarcastically, crossing my arms. "Then why are you here?"

The leader’s smirk widened. "Our boss sent us to fetch you. He’s made arrangements for you to move in with him."

MOVE in with him...

Move in with HIM...

It took me a second to process his words, and when I did, I let out a laugh so loud it startled them. "Move in with him? That’s the most ridiculous—wait. Who’s your boss?"

The men shared a knowing look, and I didn’t like it one bit. Finally, Sunglasses spoke up. "Take a wild guess."

"You’ve got the wrong person. I don’t know any bosses, and I’m certainly not moving in mob circles." I argued.

Tattoo Guy leaned casually against the doorframe, his piercing gaze never leaving mine. "You sure about that? Because our boss was very clear. He said to bring you and... everything you need."

"Everything I need?" I echoed, my voice rising. "Why would I go anywhere with—"

The man’s smirk widened, and he interrupted smoothly, "Who said anything about our boss being a stranger?"

I blinked at him, my brain racing. And then, like a lightning bolt, the realization struck me. "Wait. Leonardo?!"

The group exchanged knowing glances, and I groaned, leaning against the door for support.

Of course this was connected to Leonardo ’Leo’ Romano, the mysterious, irritating, and frustratingly handsome man my daughter had somehow decided was her new best friend.

"What does he want now?" I demanded, glaring at the tattoo guy.

"To make things easier for everyone," he replied cryptically. "You just need to grab your daughter and come along."

Panic surged through me. ’Mia.’ I hadn’t mentioned her, but they clearly knew. My protective instincts flared, and I straightened up, planting my hands on my hips. "I’m not going anywhere with you people and leaving everything behind. Look, I don’t care if he’s the Pope but I’m sure as hell not moving in with your boss."

Tattoo Guy raised an eyebrow. "Who said anything about leaving everything behind? Our boss was very clear: We’ll help you move all your belongings to his villa."

"Villa?" My voice cracked. "This just keeps getting better. Did he even bother to ask me if I wanted to move?"

"Boss doesn’t ask, ma’am," Sunglasses replied with a shrug. "He tells."

"Well, you can go back and tell him I said no. In fact, tell him to—" I caught myself before I said something that might actually get me killed. "Just tell him I’m not interested."

Before they could respond, a soft voice called from behind me. "Mommy?"

I turned to see Mia standing in the hallway, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Her messy curls framed her face, and she clutched Mr. Cottontail tightly to her chest.

The mobsters’ expressions softened instantly. Tattoo Guy even smiled.

Fuck all these two-faced men! How dare they try to pull one over on us again by pretending to be nice guys.

"Mia," I said quickly, stepping in front of her. "Go back to bed, sweetheart. Mommy’s just talking to these... gentlemen."

But Mia, being Mia, ignored me completely and toddled over to the men. She looked up at Tattoo Guy with wide, curious eyes. "Are you Uncle Leo’s friends?"

Tattoo Guy crouched down, meeting her gaze. "We sure are, kiddo."

"Cool!" she exclaimed, grinning. "Mommy, can they stay for breakfast?"

No!

That was my initial reaction; however, after taking several deep breaths, I realized how suspicious that would look so instead I took another approach: denial and compromise.

"Sure, sweetie," I answered cautiously. It wasn’t like we had much choice anyway.

Tattoo Guy grinned broadly, then scooped Mia into his arms without waiting for our answer or permission.

"Please put her down!" The words practically flew past my lips while I grabbed hold of Mia’s wrist.

He glanced around briefly until spotting the others and turned his attention back to Mia.

"While your mommy prepares something mouthwatering, we’ll help you to pack all you’d need to move to a big, big house. We have plenty of room there where there’s lots of sunshine and the ice cream you could ever want..." He spoke slowly and carefully enunciating each word.

His dark stare never left mine, though making certain he got my full attention too.

His tone suddenly changed, indicating some sort of urgency, which only heightened my concern since I couldn’t imagine what else he expected me to do except to agree. So why did I feel threatened?

What exactly were Leonardo’s intentions toward my little girl?!

Mia nodded her head and raised her hands with a whoop as if agreeing enthusiastically with everything he said.

*****

The next thirty minutes were a whirlwind of chaos.

I tried to argue while Mia wasn’t looking, protest if possible, and even barricade the door, but it was useless. These guys were a well-oiled machine, packing up my belongings with alarming efficiency. I barely had time to process what was happening before my entire living room was boxed up and ready to go.

Finally, as the last box was loaded onto a sleek black van, the Tattoo Guy turned to me. "Ready?"

I narrowed my eyes, holding my daughter’s hand tight. This whole charade made no sense whatsoever.

I mouthed the words,"You think I’m just going to hop in the car and follow you to some mafia hideout?"

He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You’re welcome to stay here, but I doubt you’ll last long once word gets out that you refused Boss’s offer."

I opened my mouth to retort but closed it again. He had a point. The last thing I wanted was to paint a target on my back—or Mia’s.

"Fine," I muttered, grabbing my purse and glancing toward the empty apartment and back at my daughter, who was distracted by the big lollipop that was offered to her, courtesy of Leonardo.

"But I’m doing this for my daughter." I finally responded.

His smirk softened into something almost resembling respect. "Understood."

separate car that looked too expensive for us peasants, I glared over my shoulder wondering what trick they planned to use.

I er my breath, "This better not turn into a soap opera."