Only My Mia Cara

I was slouched on the couch of my penthouse, the soft glow of the city bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows like molten gold smeared across dark velvet. The room smelled like leather and whiskey. My shirt was half-unbuttoned, and the cold rim of the glass was pressed against my lips when Jake appeared, snatching the bottle from my hand like an annoying older sibling.

"Enough. You've had too much," he said, setting the bottle on the kitchen counter with a firm clink.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why do you care?"

He groaned. "Man, you're so annoying."

"Like you aren't," I muttered under my breath, sinking deeper into the cushions.

Jake crossed the room and sat beside me, his head resting on the back of the couch, both of us staring at the ceiling like it had the answers we needed. He ran a hand through his messy brown hair and sighed. "You barely sleep. You barely eat. You think drowning yourself in this crap is going to make you better than your dad?"

My jaw tightened.

He didn't get it.

None of them did.

This wasn't about proving something to my father. This was about building something that couldn't be taken from me. Something strong enough that no one could ever hurt me the way I was hurt before. Something so untouchable… even love couldn't ruin it.

"What are you thinking?" Jake asked, breaking the silence again.

"Nothing," I replied, my voice low and dry.

"'Nothing,'" he mimicked with a whiny tone, rolling his eyes like a child. "Classic Dante."

I shot him a glare. He patted my shoulder, laughing like nothing mattered. "Chill, dude."

I leaned back, exhausted. The weight of everything pressing down, day after day, like the ceiling was slowly collapsing on me. I pulled out my phone just to escape the silence, just to check the time—when the date stared back at me.

Yesterday.

I froze.

My thumb hovered over the screen. My heart, just for a second, forgot how to beat.

It was our birthday.

Mine... and hers.

A bitter chuckle escaped me, uninvited. I remembered that night so clearly—rooftop air cold on our faces, mashed potatoes in a cracked bowl, the flame of a broken candle flickering between us. She had smiled, said "Happy birthday to us." That memory had never left me.

Jake turned toward me slowly. "You okay, dude?"

I nodded, not looking at him.

"Why are you laughing?" he asked, voice softer now.

I stared at the glass in my hand. "Just remembered something," I said.

But what I didn't say—what I could never say—was that I remembered her.

I stood up from the couch, running a tired hand through my hair. "I need to sleep," I muttered.

Jake didn't argue this time. He just nodded and leaned his head back with a yawn, already half-asleep on the couch. I left the dim living room, the sounds of the city muffled behind thick glass and concrete walls. The hallway stretched quiet, too quiet for someone whose thoughts were never silent.

My room was dark, cold, and smelled like burnt whiskey and old books. The moment I walked in, the ache in my limbs caught up to me. My body still stung from the fight earlier—bruises blooming like dark roses across my ribs, shoulder, and knuckles. My shirt was still stained, but I didn't have the energy to care.

I collapsed onto the bed, landing face-up, my forearm flung over my eyes to shield them from the ceiling light I forgot to turn off. My breath came slow, shallow, like my chest wasn't sure whether it wanted to keep rising or not.

And then her face slipped into my mind.

Danna.

Mia cara.

I used to whisper her name like a prayer.

What if I found her?

What if, by some twist of fate, I saw her again—not as the boy with scraped knees and broken promises, but as this man? Would she even recognize me? Or worse… would she pretend not to?

What would I even say?

"Hey, I'm the kid who promised to marry you under a broken rooftop with mashed potatoes and a rusty candle."

Would she laugh?

Or would she cry?

I turned to my side, eyes still locked on the ceiling. My mind wouldn't shut up.

Where would she be now?

Probably somewhere bright. Somewhere clean. Smiling with her family. Maybe with someone who makes her laugh so hard her stomach hurts. Maybe holding hands with a guy who actually deserves her—someone warm, someone gentle.

Someone... who isn't me.

And what do I have?

Blood on my hands. Scars that won't fade. A name that's whispered in fear or hatred. Money that means nothing. Power that fills nothing.

The dream of marrying someone, of loving someone so deeply the world fades around her—it vanished long ago, like the candle we blew out that night.

But there's one thing I haven't let go of.

I want to find her.

Not to bring her back. Not even to ask if she remembers me.

I just… I want to see if she's okay.

If she's happy.

If she still laughs the same way, eyes crinkling, head tilting.

I want to know—just once—what she looks like now.

Would she still call me Dante?

Or would she flinch, look past me like I was just a shadow in her story?

"She'd run," I whispered to myself, voice rough in the stillness. "She'd run the moment she saw what I've become."

And honestly?

I wouldn't blame her.

Next morning:

I woke up with a groan, the morning light slicing across the room through half-drawn curtains. My head throbbed—not from alcohol this time, just exhaustion, thick and heavy like wet concrete resting on my skull. I ran a hand through my hair, breathing out slowly.

"Jake?" I called out, voice hoarse from sleep.

No answer.

The silence was strange, considering Jake was usually the one banging pans around the kitchen or blasting obnoxious 2000s rock music. I sat up, rubbing the back of my neck—and then I heard it.

Laughter.

A girl's laughter. Light, sweet, too familiar.

Then his voice followed, low and amused.

My jaw clenched.

Without bothering to knock, I pushed myself off the bed, padded across the hall, and opened Jake's door.

And there she was.

Alessia.

The girl who could put on a smile brighter than the sun, but felt like nails on a chalkboard every time she opened her mouth.

She was sitting way too close to Jake on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, both of them watching something stupid on his laptop. She looked up and her whole face lit up.

"Dante!!" she squealed, like she'd been waiting for me all her life.

Before I could blink, she launched herself at me, arms wrapping around me like I was her oversized teddy bear. Her perfume was too sweet—artificial cherry mixed with something floral—and it stung my nose.

"I missed you!" she chirped. "Daddy told me you were on a mission and said I couldn't meet you."

Her voice had that pouty, spoiled lilt that made my skin itch.

I gave her the driest "Me too," known to mankind.

Jake cleared his throat behind her, struggling to keep his laughter in as he covered his face with a throw pillow. I sent him a glare sharp enough to slice through steel.

Alessia pulled back, batting her lashes.

"You were sleeping," she said, brushing imaginary dust from my chest like she had any right to touch me. "So I didn't want to disturb you. Me and Jake were just talking."

Talking, sure. She always said it like she wasn't busy giggling at every word he said, probably planning wedding colors in her head.

"Good," I muttered, stepping back from her touch.

She was twenty, and why i am with her...She is the daughter of the man who saved my ass when I left the orphanage—a man with a name so big in the underground that even my father didn't question him. So no, I couldn't just push his daughter out of my life.

But did I want to?

Every second I spent near her made me feel like I was suffocating under silk ribbons and fake affection. She wasn't evil. Just… not her. Not Mia Cara.

And no matter how much Alessia tried to twirl into my life, she'd never replace the girl I promised forever to under a starless sky and a birthday candle made of nothing but hope.

I have a plan.

Keep her daydreaming long enough, let her flutter in her little fantasy, and I get my work done in peace. That's the deal. That's the only reason I'm even entertaining this nonsense.

I grabbed her hand suddenly. "Let's go out for a while."

Her eyes lit up like I'd just proposed marriage. I could practically hear her heart pounding against her ribcage.

"Out where?" she asked, too excited.

"Café."

She grabbed my arm tighter like I'd just announced we were eloping. "I would love to!" she said, her voice climbing an octave higher.

I gently untangled myself from her hold, offering a tight, forced laugh. "Need to change first."

She giggled and nodded like an eager little rabbit. I slipped back into my room, shutting the door with a sigh that felt like it came from my soul. God, grant me patience.

I pulled out a plain white shirt, black pants—something simple but sharp enough to keep appearances. As I buttoned up, I took out my phone and typed fast:

When we leave, call me and say an emergency came up. Say we're in trouble. Be dramatic. You're good at that. Don't mess this up.

Sent.

This better work, Jake.

When I stepped out again, Alessia was practically vibrating with impatience near the door. The moment her eyes met mine, she covered her mouth like she'd just seen her celebrity crush.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "You look so handsome today."

Of course. Her daily line. It's like she had them memorized.

I didn't bother responding. Just grabbed my car keys. "Let's go."

She nodded eagerly and followed me like a puppy. I slid into the driver's seat without waiting for her, pressed the ignition, and the gate to the estate opened slowly. She slipped into the passenger seat like she belonged there, like she always imagined it.

She broke the silence after a while, her voice oddly soft. "Are you okay? That factory—was it really that dangerous?"

I nodded once, eyes on the road.

She nodded too. "Does it hurt? Daddy said you fought so many men."

"I'm okay."

More silence.

When we pulled into the familiar alley beside Trecaffè—my favorite café in all of Italy—I parked and got out quickly, glad to finally breathe.

But she didn't move.

I frowned, waved a hand at her through the glass.

Nothing.

I walked around and opened her door. I bent slightly, about to call her name. "Aless—"

Her finger pressed against my lips before I could finish. My body stiffened in surprise.

"Gentlemen open doors for their ladies," she purred, stepping out like she was walking down a runway. "Thanks," she added with a wink, brushing past me like she hadn't just invaded my personal space.

Great.

Now she was putting on a whole show.

We weren't dating, but to every bystander, she made sure it looked like we were. Every movement was calculated, from the way she clung to my arm like it was hers to the way she smiled like we were some fairytale couple.

She turned back to me once more. "Come on, Dante~" she sang.

That duality—that fake innocence in her tone that made my spine itch.

I sighed, closing the door behind her and walked toward the café, her arm now locked with mine.

Jake, you better call. And you better make it convincing.

Just as I was about to approach the counter—ready to suffer through another one of Alessia's fake cafe date moments—my phone buzzed.

Jake.

A slow curl tugged at my lips. Right on time.

Alessia turned toward me, brows furrowed. "What is it, Dante?"

"Jake's calling," I said flatly.

She crossed her arms, lips pouting, but her eyes—oh, they were boiling. She hated interruptions. Especially ones she didn't control.

I picked up the call, turning up the volume just enough.

"Dude!" Jake's voice came out sharp, strained, breathless.

"Yes?" I said, tilting my head slightly for effect.

"It's an emergency…"

I blinked, then let concern lace my voice. "What?!"

"It's real! I swear—"

"What? Just tell me, Jake!" I snapped, holding back a grin.

And then—

"Mia… Mia cara. We found her location."

My heart. Stopped.

No, it didn't stop—it dropped. Like a stone into black water. My breath hitched and I gripped the phone tighter.

"It's a joke, right?" I whispered.

"Dude," Jake said, voice lower now, more serious. "I'll send you her details. Her name's changed. But it's her."

I felt like I was sixteen again. Desperate. Starved for answers. For her. Eight years of silence. Eight years of wondering. Eight years of screaming inside my head at night. And now—

"Who… Who was it? How?"

I couldn't form a full sentence. My throat tightened, pulse racing like I'd just taken a bullet and was still standing somehow.

Alessia reached for my arm, brows drawn in false worry. "What happened, Dante?"

I looked at her.

And I saw nothing.

"I need to go," I said.

I didn't wait for her to respond.

Didn't give her time to cling.

I spun around, storming back to the car.

My hands trembled slightly as I started the engine, and the moment it roared to life, I slammed my foot on the gas.

Jake. This better be real.Because if Mia cara's out there—I'm going to find her.And God help anyone who gets in my way.