Too Late, Mafia Don: I Am Free

Sienna POV

The corridors of the academy now felt charged, the air thick with an unspoken tension.

Domenico's composure had begun to fray as his legitimate business studies continued to crumble.

He snapped at his soldiers over minor infractions, his dark temper a palpable force that terrified everyone in his path.

Lyla was always there, softly comforting him, deepening their public intimacy in a calculated display to secure her spot by his side.

Meanwhile, I sat in the library, barricaded behind stacks of books, my focus narrowed to my college applications, determined to ignore the storm gathering outside.

A shadow fell across the page of my book. One of Domenico's loyal soldiers stood over my table, his massive frame eclipsing the overhead light.

He crossed his arms and informed me Lyla had collapsed from what was being called a severe panic attack.

"You will visit her in the infirmary," he ordered, "out of respect for the Boss."

I did not even look up from my textbook.

"Relay a message to Domenico," I told the soldier, my tone flat and cold.

"Tell him his chances have run out, and I am not a dog to be summoned to his side."

The soldier glared at me, his jaw tightening, but he turned and left without another word.

The next morning, the weight of the broken mafia pact seemed to press down on the very roofs of the campus.

Classmates cast complex, wary glances at me as I walked the halls, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

It happened after first period.

Domenico cornered me in a blind spot near the stairwell, moving with the predatory swiftness of a cornered animal.

His fingers locked around my wrist, a band of steel so tight I felt the immediate, deep ache of a bruise forming.

He shoved me back until my shoulders hit the cold brick wall with a dull thud.

He leaned in, his breath hot and smelling of coffee against my face.

"Why did you defy my order?" he demanded.

He blamed me for Lyla's illness, claiming the stress of my defiance had triggered her delicate constitution.

"You will go to the infirmary now and you will apologize to her," he ordered, his voice a lethal whisper.

My chest was tight, a knot of old fury.

All the years of silent endurance, all the nights I had spent correcting his careless mistakes, boiled over.

I looked straight into his pitch-black eyes and snapped.

"You are a selfish, arrogant bastard," I told him, my voice trembling not with fear, but with a rage I could no longer contain.

Domenico's grip loosened slightly, his face a mask of utter shock.

No one in the Family had ever spoken to him like that—least of all me.

Before he could recover, Lyla appeared at the top of the stairs, looking impossibly pale and fragile.

She produced a few perfectly timed, manipulative tears, telling Domenico to let me go, that she did not want to cause trouble.

Domenico's expression hardened again at the sound of her voice.

He dropped my wrist as if the skin had burned him and walked up the stairs to wrap a protective arm around Lyla.

He looked down at me with a gaze full of a profound and chilling disappointment.

"Since the woman who was to be my wife is acting so wildly out of line," he coldly declared, "our ties will be permanently severed after graduation."

"You will be nothing to me," he said.

I looked at the brutal future Don and his manipulative associate.

I nodded my head in complete, unwavering agreement.

From that moment until our final exams, we exchanged zero words.

I focused entirely on my escape, counting down the days until I was finally, truly free. I should have known a man like Domenico would never release what he considered his property without a fight.