Claimed By The Mafia Don (Ariella and Asher) novel Chapter 225

ARIELLA

I don’t know what he’s going to ask right now.

“Tell you what,” I say, forcing a smile, “I’ll bake you a huge cake tomorrow after school.”

“Yay! Yay!” His eyes light up. “Would you be coming to my birthday at school?”

“I don’t know,” I answer carefully. “We’ll see. I’ll talk to your teacher.”

“Okay! Rose is going to be there, and Benjamin, and David, and everyone.”

“I know,” I say, kissing his forehead.

He skips to another topic without warning, launching into stories about his day at school, about his friends, the work they were given, and his teacher’s funny expressions. I listen, pouring all my energy into his words, because if I focus on him, I don’t have to think about anything else.

After that, our evening continues in its usual rhythm. We go downstairs. I help him with his homework. I help Maria in the kitchen, deliberately keeping myself busy, desperate to avoid the thoughts waiting to drag me under. Every now and then, I call Asher, but there’s never an answer.

Dinner passes in a blur, and afterward, I take Leon to his room. I give him a bath, then tuck him in with a story. His eyelids grow heavy, his breathing slows, and suddenly he murmurs,

“I can’t wait for Dad to come back so we can be a family.”

The words hit me straight to the chest. The ache is sharp, deep, and unrelenting. Because I can’t tell him that. I can’t promise him we’ll ever be a family again. There’s too much going on.... Asher is married. And me... God, I don’t even know what I’m doing.

But I smile anyway, stroking his hair until he drifts to sleep. Then I slip quietly out of his room, closing the door behind me, feeling like I’m about to explode.

I call Asher again. Still nothing. No answer. My chest tightens with every unanswered ring. I think about calling Luca, but after our last conversation… no. Not now. Not like this. I drop my hand, letting it fall to my lap.

I sit on the edge of the bed, restless, the quiet of the room pressing in on me. Sleep feels impossible. My thoughts spin, twisting around Luca’s words, around Leon, around Asher… and I can’t find a pause.

So I stand, moving downstairs almost on autopilot. The kitchen light casts a soft glow, and there she is. Maria. Wiping off paint, her hands were steady, precise. She’s just finished with that… that t-shirt, the one she’d been working on.

I pause at the doorway, watching her for a moment. There’s a strange calm about her, the kind of calm I can’t touch, can’t reach. She doesn’t look up. She’s just… doing. Breathing. Working.

Meanwhile, my mind races, every nerve firing.

“Hey,” I say, my voice breaking the quiet.

She looks up. “Oh… hi, Ariella. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everything okay?"

"Leon asleep yet?”

“Yeah. He’s asleep upstairs,” I say, nodding.

"Oka..." Then she pauses, like she’s waiting for me to go further, but I don’t have anything to tell her.

On the second knock, I decide 'Maybe I’ll just stay quiet. He’ll get tired and leave.

But on the third knock, I take a deep breath, stand up, and walk toward the door. I open it, and before I can even form a full thought, I blur out,

“What is it, Alan? What do you want?”

He’s not facing the door. He’s looking outside, as if hoping or expecting to see someone there. Then he turns toward me. I raise an eyebrow.

“What do you want? It's in the.....”

Before I can even finish the sentence, he knocks gently again, shoves me inside, and steps in, locking the door behind him.

Now we’re just standing there, in front of the front door. My nervousness skyrockets. I stare at him, trying to understand what the hell is going on.

And then I notice something. Something different. He’s not the composed Alan I thought I knew, the man who could sweep me away, the hero figure I had imagined. He looks a bit… unhinged. There’s a wildness in him, like someone riding a drug-induced high, overexcited, barely containing it.

I don’t know how to explain it, but that’s the energy he radiates in front of me. And my instincts scream that this is not a good thing. It screams danger.

“What do you want, Alan?” I say again, forcing my voice to sound strong and natural, as if I don’t notice anything wrong.

Maybe I can placate him and have him on his merry way.