Only My Mia Cara

We had been searching for weeks, maybe even longer—each hour slipping past in a haze of old memories and hope stitched together by desperation. The moment Jake pulled up her profile, my breath had quietly lodged somewhere in my throat. It wasn't the same girl who once held my hand under a sky full of stars, laughing about mashed potatoes and birthdays we didn't know would be our last together.

It was her—but grown up. Matured. Changed.

Her name now… Zhao Xinyi.

But her smile—God, that smile—hadn't changed at all. It still held the same warmth that used to thaw every frozen part of my heart. Her eyes were still amber, still a shade I swore the sun must've kissed into her iris the day she was born. Her hair was darker now, long and flowing, the kind that would fall around her like a silk curtain when she'd tilt her head to laugh.

Jake's eyes were locked on his laptop, as focused as I had ever seen him, fingers tapping keys with quiet intensity. He had taken over the search almost singlehandedly. I didn't even ask him to.

When I did question why he was wasting his time like that, the bastard just looked at me and said, "Because you're too damn proud to look sad, but I see it anyway."

I didn't argue. Because he was right.

At first, I didn't want to search. Maybe I was scared. Maybe I thought she moved on, found someone, forgot about the boy she left standing at the gates eight years ago. But when Jake insisted... when he said he'd find Danna no matter how long it took, I gave in.

And now, we were here.

"She's in China. We know that much," Jake said without looking up. "Name change, papers verified. The face scans match. But we still don't know the province."

He was good with tech—better than most.

"I've already sent Fabio to China. He'll track her down," he added, eyes flicking up briefly to meet mine.

I didn't respond. I didn't have to. He knew.

Jake shut the laptop with a soft click, his chair creaking as he leaned back.

"I'm getting us some drinks."

He disappeared into the kitchen while I remained on the couch, stretching one leg over the other and opening my phone, fingers trailing to the one place I shouldn't have gone—the past.

There it was. An old article. Grainy, probably archived.

"Teenage orphans go missing—two boys from Verona's shelter disappear overnight."

And then, just like that, I remembered.

"Jake, no one's gonna save us. We're sixteen now. You know what happens when they kick us out?"

"Where will we even go, Dante?"

I stared at the crumbling orphanage gates, the peeling paint on the old walls, the ghosts of laughter long forgotten."Anywhere. Anywhere away from this place."

Jake nodded, his voice quiet but firm. "I trust you, bro."

We had packed quietly that night, stuffing what little we owned into a torn bag. But just as we were slipping out—

"Where are you going?"

Yuri.

He was standing there in his slippers, eyes wide, voice barely above a whisper. Jake rolled his eyes, ready to toss out a sarcastic insult, but I walked up to Yuri and crouched down to his height.

"Don't tell James. We'll come back someday… and when we do, we'll save everyone. But not if we stay here."

He blinked. Then nodded.

And just like that, Yuri helped us escape.

"Dante!"

Jake's voice pulled me harshly from the past.

"What?" I muttered.

"Did you drink the last beer?"

I sighed, tossing my phone aside. "Yeah."

He stomped out from the kitchen dramatically, arms flailing like a grumpy housewife."You didn't even offer me one?"

I smirked, not bothering to look at him. "You snooze, you lose."

He groaned, grabbing his keys. "Fine. Be like this. I'm heading out."

"Don't get shot."

"Don't drink my stash next time," he shot back, the door slamming behind him.

And just like that, the silence settled again.

But it wasn't quiet.

Just as I stood from the couch, still nursing the burn in my chest that wasn't from alcohol, Jake stormed back in through the front door like a blur of impatience and sarcasm.

"Forgot the damn car keys," he muttered, eyes locked on the key rack beside the entrance.

He barely took a step forward—

CRASH.

The window shattered.

Glass rained like hail—cutting through the air, slicing silence into shreds.

Both of us froze for a half-second—long enough to register the sound of gunfire erupting outside.

PAP—PAP—PAP.

Our eyes widened in sync.

And then Jake—my brother in everything but blood—jerked back, a pained grunt ripping from his throat as he crumpled to the floor like a collapsing wall.

"Jake!" I yelled, already lunging forward.

The bullet had hit—lower side, not immediately fatal, but bleeding fast. He was clutching his side, his breath shallow, sweat beading on his forehead.

"D-Don't… wait here," he muttered, trying to be the goddamn hero he always pretends not to be. "R-run…"

"Shut up, man," I snapped, pressing my hand firmly on the wound. "You're not dying on me. Not like this. Not here."

My phone lit up on the table—buzzing like a warning from hell.

Old Man's Right Hand.

I answered without hesitation.

"Ciao," came the voice in a heavy Italian accent, sharp and emotionless. "Is there attack?"

My eyes flicked to the shattered window. "Yes," I growled, teeth clenched. "They shot Jake. There's gunfire. Who the f*ck is it?"

"Don't leave the house," he replied, calm and controlled, like it wasn't chaos over here. "Stay low. Reinforcements en route."

He hung up before I could ask more.

Typical.

The bullets were slowing down now—either we fought off the main wave or they were regrouping. I used the pause to drag Jake's barely-conscious body, arm slung over my shoulder, across the hallway and into my room.

I tossed him onto the bed, his jaw clenched in pain, blood soaking into my white sheets—ruining yet another thing in this cursed place.

"Man…" he groaned.

"Save your breath," I muttered, tossing open the drawer beside my nightstand, grabbing the first-aid kit I always kept stocked. Essentials. Stitches. Scissors. Gauze. Whiskey—because this house didn't have morphine, just pain disguised in bottles.

I knelt beside him, popping open the kit.

My hands didn't shake.

They hadn't in years.

"Is it bad?" he asked, trying to lift his head. I gently pushed him back down.

"You've had worse."

He managed a lopsided smirk. "You say that every time…"

I cut his bloodied shirt open carefully, eyes scanning the wound. "Because it's always true."

Outside, sirens were faint. Our backup—my father's men. The family business never lets one of its own bleed alone. Not unless you're a traitor.

If this bullet had landed inches higher… Jake wouldn't be breathing.

I cleaned the wound, wrapped the gauze tight, and poured some whiskey on it—Jake screamed through gritted teeth.

"You owe me your liver," he muttered, sweating like hell.

"Remind me to add it to your tab."

I stood, hands slick with crimson, eyes burning with something darker than fury.

Whoever sent those men… was going to pay.

But first—I needed to make sure Jake survived the night.

The moment the door slammed open with a violent burst, my head snapped in that direction—and I didn't need to guess. I already knew who it was.

Dad's men.

Their heavy footsteps thundered into the lounge, sharp suits, darker expressions. All of them looked like they were ready to deliver bad news—and I didn't have the patience to entertain it.

"Mr. Dante Moretti!" one of them shouted my name like I didn't already own it. I groaned under my breath, shoulders tightening.

"Why are those pieces of shit here now?" Jake muttered from the hallway, clutching his side, still pale from the bleeding earlier.

I shrugged, expression unreadable as I stepped toward the entrance. My steps were quiet, slow, controlled. My head buzzing already.

"Ciao, Mr. Dante," the one in front said with a practiced nod.

I didn't return the pleasantry. "Who were they?" I asked, skipping the niceties, voice low and dangerous.

"According to what we've gathered," he said, brushing imaginary dust off his suit, "you had sent a man to China."

Fabio.

His name hit me like a punch to the gut.

I knew exactly who he was talking about. Fabio. Loyal. Efficient. One of the few people I actually trusted with my orders.

"What about him?" I asked, a knot forming in my stomach.

The man hesitated, eyes flicking to the side like he didn't want to say it. "He got caught by a dangerous gang… the Chinese Triads."

My jaw clenched.

"And?" I took a step forward, voice like ice now.

He met my gaze. "They killed him."

Silence.

It rang louder than the gunshots from earlier.

I didn't even blink. I just stood there, frozen, my fists curling tighter by the second. Fabio. The man I sent. The man who obeyed. The man who trusted me.

He was dead.

Not from war, not from betrayal, not from fate—but because he followed my command.

My throat burned, but I didn't speak.

The man went on, as if it would make any of this better. "Your sent man confessed under pressure. They contacted your father directly. The leader himself sent men here to deliver a message—today's attack was a warning. To never enter their territory again."

I tilted my head slightly. "You apologized?"

He nodded. "We paid the penalty. In full."

My voice came out like a death sentence. "Let's hope this never happens again."

And without another word, they bowed, turned, and left like nothing had happened—like a man I trusted wasn't lying six feet under because I believed in diplomacy.

Cowards.

As the door closed behind them, rage swallowed my composure.

I grabbed the nearest vase—porcelain, expensive, a useless thing—and hurled it across the room.

CRASH.

The sound echoed like a scream. Glass splintered across the floor like my last shred of patience.

This was the only damn way I could've reached her.

This was it.

And now they cut it.

I will go myself.

I don't care whose territory it is. I'll burn the goddamn map if I have to.

"Dante—what happened?" Jake's voice came from the hallway, raspy but determined, his body still weak but standing tall.

"You should've stayed in bed," I muttered, running a hand through my hair, pacing like I'd lose my mind if I stopped moving.

"I've seen worse. Talk to me. What the hell happened?"

I turned to him, my voice low, lethal. "The Chinese Triads killed Fabio."

Jake blinked. "They what?"

"They sent a message through my father. Told us to back off their territory."

Jake… laughed.

Actually laughed.

"Nice joke," he muttered, shaking his head like I'd said something stupid.

My brows furrowed. "What?"

He leaned against the wall. "Dante… the Chinese Triads don't exist anymore."

I froze.

"What?"

Jake nodded slowly. "They vanished years ago. You can look it up yourself—most of their chapters either went underground or were dismantled. If anyone told you the Triads are still running shit in the open, it's a lie."

Disbelief twisted in my chest. I pulled out my phone, fingers moving fast.

Search: Chinese Triad operations in mainland China.

Result: Dissolved. Fragmented. Last known major activity: Five years ago.

My breath caught.

This wasn't a warning from an old gang.

This was staged.

Someone else killed Fabio.

Someone else doesn't want me finding her.

And now… I want to know why.

Jake's expression darkened. "This wasn't about territory, Dante."

"No," I said quietly, the anger boiling under my skin like molten fire.

"This was about her."