Claimed By The Mafia Don (Ariella and Asher) novel Chapter 89

Chapter 89

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I got to my bedroom, slammed the door shut, and threw my bag onto the floor. Then I climbed into bed, pulling the blanket over me, hoping it could somehow shut everything out. My mind raced with everything that had happened-what I’d done, what I couldn’t undo.

Then the door creaked open.

I looked up and saw my mom walk in. I stared at her.

“What do you want?”

“Watch your tone,” she said sharply, closing the door behind her. She walked to the edge of the bed and

sat down.

Silence stretched between us before she finally spoke.

“The Don gave specific instructions to be called once you got home.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Your father called him,” she continued. “Told him what you said, that you broke up with Asher. The Don said he’d speak to Asher himself and get back to us. So now… we wait.”

She paused, and when I still didn’t speak, she added in a low voice, “I really hope you’re not lying, Ariella. Because you do know what’s at stake, right?”

I sat up slowly, fury bubbling in my chest.

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m reminding you,” she said, cold and calm. “That there’s more at stake here than your teenage baby

love.”

The audacity.

I was ready to explode-but she stood up and walked out before I could say a word.

I barely slept that night. The next morning, she knocked once before entering my room without waiting. She was already dressed. We stared at each other-me wrapped in my blanket, her standing by the bed like she had something urgent to do.

“Give me your phone,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Why?” I asked, suspicion rising. “What do you want it for?”

“Since you couldn’t do it,” she said, not meeting my eyes, “I’m going to do it for you.”

I blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“You kids,” she said, exhaling with annoyance, “you love texting, don’t you? I’m going to help you break up

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Chapter 89

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with Asher… since you clearly don’t have the guts to do it. Let me handle it.”

“No,” I say, scrambling out of bed and heading toward my bag. But I’m still groggy, slow from sleep-and my bag is closer to the door.

She’s faster. She knows exactly what I’m after.

She grabs the bag before I can reach it.

“Give me my bag!” I shout, stepping forward.

“Not a chance,” she says coolly, hugging it to her chest.

“You don’t even have the password!”

She laughs…laughs. “Is that what you think?”

“Just give it to me!” My voice is rising now, and I can feel the panic building. “It’s mine!”

“Ariella,” she says in that calm, controlling tone I hate, “I’m doing this for your own good. I promised I’d protect you and the baby, and I will. But you’re going to have to trust me.”

“I don’t trust you!” I spit, and I mean it. Not when it comes to this. Not with my heart. Not with him.

She turns and starts walking out of the room with my bag like it belongs to her.

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