Only My Mia Cara

The thunder of gunfire rang in my ears like war drums—loud, merciless, endless.

My breath was shallow, chest heaving under the weight of exhaustion and adrenaline. I had shot man after man, the bitter scent of gunpowder clinging to my clothes like blood to skin. My partner beside me was just as battered, his hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, but his resolve matched mine—feroce e disperato. We weren't stopping. Not now. Not after everything we gave up for this damn factory.

I fired another round, the kick of the gun no longer surprising—until click.

Empty.

"Cazzo."I cursed under my breath and tossed the gun aside without a second thought. My fists became my only weapon now, bone against bone. I punched, ducked, kicked, slammed a man into a pipe. My shirt was in tatters, ripped halfway open, streaked with dirt and dried blood. My knuckles burned, skin split, and my ribs screamed with every movement—but I didn't stop.

I couldn't.

"Dante!"

Jake's voice snapped me out of the trance just as a blade nearly kissed my back. He tackled the man to the ground, his boot hitting the attacker's face like thunder cracking through the chaos.

I exhaled sharply, bending over for a second before offering my hand. "Grazie, fratello."

Jake grunted as he pulled himself up beside me. "You good?"

"Never better," I muttered sarcastically, wiping the blood off my cheek. My shirt was useless, so I tore it the rest of the way off and used a strip to wrap around the bleeding cut on my arm.

Jake raised an eyebrow. "That was... intenso."

I smirked faintly, walking over to a man still groaning on the ground and kicking him unconscious. "Lo era."

We turned toward the factory now—the battlefield finally still.

It was a vast hollow skeleton of steel and ash. Rusted catwalks hung above us like crooked ribs of a dead beast. Broken crates lay splintered across oil-stained floors. In the far corner, the haul—stacked metal cases, weapons, and cash—glimmered faintly under the dim swinging bulb above. Like treasure buried in rot.

Jake whistled low. "That's a hell of a loot."

"È il potere," I said, tightening the fabric around my wound.

Jake slapped my bare shoulder, laughing. "That's man power."

I grunted, half-smiling. "You aren't any less, amico mio."

He blinked. "Damn. Did Dante just give me a compliment?"

I shot him a look. "I know a lot more things."

Jake chuckled and was about to respond when his eyes flicked to my side. "Does it hurt?"

I followed his gaze—my bruised ribs, the shallow gash across my abdomen, and the raw look in my eyes.

"Not more than betrayal," I replied quietly.

Jake's smile faltered.

"Let it go, man. It's been what, otto anni? Eight years. She's probably married now. You need to forget her."

A muscle in my jaw twitched.

Forget her?

I wish I could.

"Let's go. The rest—Antino will handle."

I gave a tired nod, not bothering to look at the bodies lying in the shadows behind us. The scent of blood clung to my skin like a second soul, and I didn't want to carry it into the car—but it was already a part of me. As always.

We walked out of the smoke-cloaked factory—our factory now—past the shattered gates, past the red stains that would be cleaned by someone else. That was how it worked in our world. You win the war, and someone else buries the dead.

I slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool against my bruised back. Jake sat beside me, one hand on the steering wheel, the other running through his hair. His knuckles were scuffed too, but he didn't complain.

The silence between us wasn't awkward—it never had to be. We were too used to it, too broken in our own ways.

And then, as the engine hummed to life, a stray thought—her face.Danna.

What if she saw me like this?

Covered in dried blood, face like stone, shirtless and hollow-eyed. Would she recognize me? Or worse—would she fear me?

A bitter laugh clawed its way out of my throat before I could stop it.

Jake gave me a side glance. "Are you possessed?"

His tone was flat, dry, as usual, but his brow lifted ever so slightly.

"Maybe," I muttered, eyes fixed on the blur of city lights outside the window. Rome at night was always beautiful, even if your soul was anything but.

My muscles throbbed with every bump in the road, exhaustion curling under my skin like a fever. But sleep? That didn't exist anymore. Not for men like me.

Jake shifted gears. "What's your next mission?"

I leaned my head against the cold glass and shut my eyes. "More money. More territory. Until I rise higher than my father's alliances."

He scoffed, his knuckles tapping against the wheel. "You and your father playing competition now?"

"At least I found him," I said coldly, voice like a blade.

"Yeah," Jake replied, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Real achievement."

I didn't answer. What was there to say? That I found the man who abandoned me, joined his empire, and now planned to burn it down from the inside? That I didn't need his blood to be powerful—just his name.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, broken only by the growl of the car against the Roman streets. We reached the city heart—my part of it, anyway.

One of my penthouses loomed ahead. I owned estates all over Italy—Milan, Florence, Naples—but this one in Rome, with its marble halls, black glass windows, and view of the sleeping city, was mine. My refuge. My prison.

Jake parked. "Home sweet home," he muttered.

We stepped out, the doorman nodded, and without a word, we entered the private elevator. Jake leaned back against the wall, yawning, while I stared ahead, watching the numbers climb.

"You really think you're gonna beat your old man?" he asked after a moment.

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I watched the reflection of myself in the steel.

I don't just want to beat him.

"I'm not him," I said softly, fists clenched. "I don't play games. I end them."

And someday, I'll rise above them all—with or without blood.

And maybe… maybe, Mia Cara will still be watching.