I didn't exactly choose to be stolen at four years old.
But the French underworld isn't big on consent.
One minute I was Donatella Acardi, Mafia royalty. The next? Just another stolen kid bleeding in someone else's basement.
That's where I met Ami...
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Donatella POV:
I was drying my hair with a towel, pacing the room like a storm cloud when my burner phone buzzed. A single vibration. Short. Sharp. And when I saw the name flash across the cracked screen, my stomach twisted.
Dimitri.
Amir looked up from his laptop, sprawled across the bed in an oversized hoodie and boxers, legs crossed like he didn’t just almost die from a bathtub bomb twelve hours ago. “Oh boy. Papa's calling.”
I rolled my eyes and answered without a word, pressing the phone to my ear.
“What. The hell, Donatella,” Dimitri’s cold, accented voice snapped through the line like a whip. “You’ve been in that castle for days. And I’ve received nothing on the French. Not a whisper about their Don.”
I clenched my jaw. “We’re working on it.”
“No, you’re sitting on your asses in satin sheets and playing house with your brother’s favorite brandy.”
I froze. “How do you—”
“I’m not an idiot. I know you stole from his office. And from the silence on your end, I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”
I turned away from Amir, muttering, “The USB was a decoy. It nuked the laptop.”
There was a low, long pause. Then Dimitri’s disappointed sigh scraped through the line.
“Tch. I told you. Leonardo’s a bastard but he’s ten steps ahead of everyone. You don’t think he’d rig his data? You two should know better.”
Behind me, Amir grumbled under his breath, “Tell him we do know better and that USB had no business turning into a warhead.”
I ignored him.
Dimitri continued. “Since you’re clearly not using your time wisely, I’ve got something for you tonight.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
I stiffened. “We already have a mission—”
“No, you don’t. You have a failed attempt at a mission. Now you have mine.”
I swallowed hard. “What is it.”
“A trade. Shipment handoff. Italian Mafia.”
I froze.
The room spun just a little. “...What?”
“It’s just a twenty-five minute window. You’ll pick up a crate from a third-party courier and deliver it to a car near the docks. That’s it.”
I turned to Amir, who was now sitting up. Alert. Concerned.
Dimitri continued, way too casual. “I’m sending coordinates and the time. Wear your masks. Keep your distance. It’s in and out.”
