Wrong Sister Claimed By The Mafia King

Jairo could still feel his bones freezing from the cold shower he had taken all night long, trying to wash that damn drug out of his system. His skin was numb, but his mind was clear. He stepped into the bathroom again that morning, letting another round of cold water run down his body until the anger sitting on his chest thinned out just enough.

When he finally came out of the bathroom, his expression was stone-cold. He dressed slowly, fastening his cuffs with stiff fingers, slipping his gun into its holster. His movements were calm, but his jaw was locked tight.

There was a knock on the door, and a second later, his PA stepped in. Marco stood there, his eyes downcast and shoulders tense.

Jairo's green eyes found him, cold and cutting. The PA was about to speak;

"Not even a word." He warned, his voice low and cold. Marco's throat bobbed as he swallowed his apology back down.

Jairo walked to the vanity table and wore his Rolex, then picked up his phone and dialed his right hand.

"Track my father and tell me his whereabouts. While at it, find a suitable PA for my office work. This one is fired." he spat his last word, ending the call.

Behind him, Marco dropped to his knees.

"Boss, please... forgive me," he pleaded. "He pressured me to do it, I swear..."

"It's taking every ounce of my being not to blow your head off right now." He cut in sharply as he turned fully toward Marco.

Fury now visible on his forehead.

"I hate sneaky cunts who shiver at the mention of a little threat." he added with disgust. He could have killed him for what he did, but he knew his father's threat could be deadly.

Still, that doesn't justify what he did.

Marco's face turned pale at his words. He hated himself for not coming clean earlier.

Jairo's father, Salvatore Vitale, had told him to drug his son's drink with aphrodisiac. The old man was trying to confirm if Jairo was truly attracted to women, hoping to silence the rumors about him being gay once and for all.

Jairo had already taken the drink before Marco confessed. But even with the drug burning through him, he couldn't bring himself to touch any woman. Instead, he stood under an ice-cold shower, forcing the desire out of his body. He would rather go handsy with himself than touch any woman.

Dressed and fully composed on the outside, he threw one last furious glance at the weakling before marching out of the room.

He entered his car and sped out of the hotel without hesitation. His jaw stayed clenched as he gripped the wheel, his mind racing. He had barely been on the road for five minutes when his phone dinged with a message from Donald.

Without slowing down, he reached for his phone and checked the screen. His father's location flashed on the display.

That old man needed to stop meddling in his life.

He dropped the phone on the seat beside him and focused back on the road, only to spot a woman removing her phone from her ear, clearly upset. She looked distracted, her face red, her steps uneven.

He was about to take a turn onto the next street when she suddenly stumbled straight into the path of his car without looking.

His foot slammed hard on the brake.

The car jolted.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles going white. He was already on edge, and now this.

He stayed in the seat for a second, trying to catch his breath and collect himself. He was about to reverse and drive off when he heard her voice.

"Just hit me and drive off! It's not like anyone will bury me unless my bitch roommate suddenly grows conscience."

His breath caught.

That voice.

Everything around him seemed to stop. His chest tightened as he tried to register what he heard. Before he knew it, he was out of the car, walking toward the girl on the ground without even thinking.

Then he saw her, she was crying bitterly with her palm on the floor, her shoulders shaking.

She raised her head to him and that was when Jairo felt like he was struck by lightning.

"Don't look at me like that. If you almost hit me and feel guilty, you can skip the pity. I promise my ghost won't haunt you if you run me over right now."

He can't do that.

"Emilia..." He whispered her name. His gaze was locked on her face.

When she looked away, he crouched down in front of her and gently held her cheeks, lifting her head. His heart, however, was hammering in his chest.

The same sapphire blue eyes stared back at him. His heart stilled.

But something was off.

There was no warmth in her eyes. No recognition or admiration. Only shock and confusion.

Same voice. Same hair. Same face. The only difference was the tiny dark mole below her bottom lip.

He remembered the last time he saw her. The fear in her eyes, the blood-soaked cardigan. All the years of searching, almost losing his sanity - all rushed back, choking him.

And now she was here. He couldn't lose her again. Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms.

"Hey, what..."

"I found you," he interrupted, holding her close. His voice quivered as he held the only woman who ever mattered.

Relief. Disbelief. It all hit him at once. What if this was another nightmare? What if he was hallucinating again?

He had searched every corner of the world. Every lead turned up futile. It was like she never existed. He pulled back slightly, cupping her face again, looking at her like she might vanish.

His heart felt it was stabbed by a sharp knife seeing how red her eyes were.

"A..are.. y-you hurt? Tell me. I-I can..." He asked in a shaky breath.

Kara held his gaze a moment longer than she meant to. There was something... desperate in his eyes.

"Who's... Emilia?" she asked gently.

That made him freeze.

His grip loosened, and his eyes locked on hers. Neither of them spoke the next second.