Sold to My Ex's Mafia Godfather

"You had the nerve to bite my lip last night, and now you're trying to disappear before breakfast?"

Dante's voice followed me to the suite door.

I had changed back into my silver dress, but the zipper had split where one of Ethan's men grabbed me. I held the torn fabric together with one hand and reached for the doorknob with the other.

"I need to go."

He did not block me.

That mattered.

I made it as far as the marble bathroom before the dress slipped again. A soft knock sounded on the open frame behind me.

Dante stood there in dark trousers, his chest bare except for the fresh bandage around his ribs. He held up a small hotel sewing kit.

"May I?"

I looked at his reflection in the mirror.

"Fine."

He stepped behind me and used two safety pins to close the ruined zipper. His knuckles barely touched my spine.

Then I saw the ring on his hand.

Black gold. Eagle. Ring of fire.

The same crest Ethan kept on his keychain.

I stepped away.

"Russo," I said. "As in Dante Russo?"

His expression did not change.

My stomach dropped.

Even I knew the name once I put the first and last together. Ethan had talked about Russo in the same tone other people used for hurricanes: with fear, admiration, and the belief that survival depended on staying out of his path.

"You run the organization Ethan works for."

"Runs errands for," Dante corrected. "He's not important enough to know much."

"You knew him?"

"Not personally."

I grabbed my purse. "I don't know whether that's supposed to make me feel better."

A video call flashed across my phone.

Ethan.

I almost ignored it.

Then anger won.

I answered.

"Where the hell are you?" he barked. His face filled the screen, red and furious. "Do you know what you cost me last night?"

A woman's hand reached into frame behind him and lifted a wineglass from the nightstand.

Celeste crossed the mirror in the background wearing Ethan's white dress shirt.

Last month, he had introduced her as a foundation director and "important client."

I stared at him.

"You sold me."

His expression hardened. "Don't be dramatic."

"Your men drugged me."

"They weren't my men."

"That makes it better?"

"Mia, listen to me. I had a debt. You were supposed to cooperate for one night and come home. I would have fixed everything."

A soft laugh came from Celeste off-camera.

Something inside me went cold.

"You expected me to come home?"

"Where else would you go?" Ethan snapped. "You're a twenty-two-year-old nurse with rent you can barely cover. I took care of you."

A dark jacket settled over my shoulders.

I turned.

Dante had stepped close enough to place his coat around me, then immediately stepped back.

On my phone screen, Ethan stopped breathing.

His face went white.

"Godfather?"

The word barely came out.

I looked at Dante.

He did not deny it.

Ethan's shock turned into panic so quickly it almost looked like rage.

"You bitch," he shouted. "You climbed into his bed to get back at me?"

I could have told him I had not known who Dante was.

I chose not to.

"At least he didn't put a price on me."

I ended the call.

For a long second, the hallway was silent.

Then I shoved Dante's jacket back into his hands.

"You knew Ethan was involved with your people."

"I learned your connection to him on that call."

"You heard him negotiating on the yacht."

"I heard a low-level runner arranging an unauthorized side transaction. I did not know he was your boyfriend."

"Ex-boyfriend."

Dante's gaze sharpened. "Good."

"Don't."

His mouth closed.

The elevator opened at the end of the corridor. Two men in dark suits stepped out and immediately lowered their heads when they saw Dante.

The hotel manager followed with a keycard on a silver tray.

I suddenly understood the kind of power standing barefoot in a hallway with me.

Dante held out a plain black card. One phone number. Nothing else.

"Take this."

I hesitated.

"Ethan used one of my shipping routes for trafficking," he said. "If he did it once, he may have partners. You should move somewhere he can't predict."

"I can move myself."

"I know."

"I am not staying in one of your houses."

"I didn't ask you to."

That surprised me.

I took the card.

"I have a recording of Ethan's conversation on the yacht," I said. "It's backed up online."

"Keep more than one copy."

"I will."

"My driver can take you home."

"No."

He nodded once.

No argument.

I stepped into the elevator alone.

For the next eight weeks, I rebuilt my life in pieces.

I changed apartments. I changed my commute. I blocked Ethan everywhere except email because my attorney told me to preserve written contact. I picked up extra shifts at the clinic and pretended that the night on the yacht had become evidence instead of memory.

Dante never called.

No guards appeared outside my building.

The black card stayed in the back of my wallet.

Then, on a gray Monday morning, I stood in the employee restroom staring at two pink lines.

My period had been late, but stress had given me an easy excuse. The test in my hand did not care about excuses.

I counted backward.

One night.

One possible father.

Dante Russo.

A fist hammered against the restroom door.

"Mia Bennett?" Supervisor Davis called. "Security needs you in the locker room. Now."

I shoved the test into my scrub pocket and stepped into the hall.

Two guards were waiting beside my locker.

Davis held a printed narcotics inventory report in one hand.

"What is this?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." Her face had gone hard. "Restricted medication has been disappearing for three weeks under your login."

"That's impossible. I haven't worked nights in two months."

One guard cut the padlock from my locker.

Three sealed boxes of controlled medication fell out.

Then a stack of cash.

My mouth went dry.

Davis took a step back.

"The police are already on their way."

The positive test dug into my palm through the fabric of my pocket.

I reached for my wallet, pulled out the black card I had promised myself I would never use, and dialed.

Dante answered on the second ring.

"Mia?"

I looked at the drugs on the floor, the cash at my feet, and the two pink lines hidden in my pocket.

"I'm at Harborview Women's Clinic," I said. "I need you. And there's something else you need to know."