Falling for The Don

Falling for The Don Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance Fiona Stone Copyright 2023 by Fiona Stone - All rights reserved. In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved. Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher. Contents 1. Chapter 1 2. Chapter 2 3. Chapter 3 4. Chapter 4 5. Chapter 5 6. Chapter 6 7. Chapter 7 8. Chapter 8 9. Chapter 9 10. Chapter 10 11. Chapter 11 12. Chapter 12 13. Chapter 13 14. Chapter 14 15. Chapter 15 16. Chapter 16 17. Chapter 17 18. Chapter 18 19. Chapter 19 20. Chapter 20 21. Chapter 21 22. Chapter 22 23. Chapter 23 24. Chapter 24 25. Chapter 25 26. Chapter 26 27. Chapter 27 28. Epilogue Chapter 1 Mila “Do you have to rattle that damn machine so loudly?” My ears are still ringing. Anastasia bangs the coffee tamper against the machine’s side and cackles an evil laugh. “It’s the price you pay for being out all night.” She smirks but also gives me a hug. Anastasia is my dad’s sister. Her, along with Maxim, are all I’ve got left of my family. Well, no, that’s not true; I’ve got Sergei, but that’s a whole other matter. Anastasia lives in Union City, across from Manhattan. The clouds are overcast, and the little kitchen we’re seated in is suffocatingly small and yet cozy. There’s a miniature cactus on the window sill above her sink called ‘Spike’, and every time I come here, she’s wearing the same oversized scarf and jumper regardless of the weather. To Maxim, she’s like a grandmother. “So you had a fun birthday then?” she asks, pouring the milk into a little jug and popping it in her microwave to heat up. She’s about to make me the world’s hottest coffee and try to burn my tongue off. “It was your standard night of drinking to stupidity.” “You never learn,” she says. She takes the milk jug out and dumps a glug into both of our coffees. Maxim isn’t up yet, and I’m taking the chance to have a nice little moment of peace. I take the cup into my hands and let it warm them. This morning, the cab I took out here was frigging freezing. And while I’ve gotten better with my morning routine for hangovers, they’re never fully gone… “Mummmmmaaaaa!” Maxim calls. The peace is short-lived. He runs into the kitchen and launches across into my arms, giving me the tightest hug in the world. I say that I wanted peace, but in truth, the little man melts my heart instantly. “About time you arrived. I’ve had to keep Nana Anna up all night.” He grins up at me with his little blue eyes and mischievous smile. “I’ve heard all about it.” I gesture at the coffee cups on the table. “We’ve been waiting for Mister Sleepyhead—” “No, you haven’t!” he says. “I’ve been up for an hour playing.” “Oh, you thought an hour was ten minutes last night, and an eternity before that when we watched the popcorn in the microwave,” Anastasia says. “You don’t know the time yet.” She twists her lips in a told you so manner and clucks like a mother hen. But Maxim grins. “An hour is a whole lap around the clock.” I scoop him into another hug. I wish that I didn’t have to drop him off at Anastasia’s so much. But work requires it. My phone dings. Speaking of which… I run social media platforms for clients. Clients who insist on me spending all night with them and drinking while we work. I don’t exactly complain. But the drinking part is more because of Sergei… “Well, my little wolf,” Anastasia says, turning back from her cupboard with a pop tart. “Breakfast?” “Nice and healthy,” I say. A smile dances across my face, and Anastasia plants a fist on her hip. “Better than your cigarettes.” I snort my coffee, and Anastasia’s wicked grin is hidden when she kisses Maxim’s head. She sits down, and we all watch one another gathered around her little kitchen table. She folds her hands in front of her and rubs the rings around her old fingers. She’s lived in this tiny apartment for as long as I can remember. The thing is practically a broom closet, but it’s what her father managed to get when he first came to America all those years ago. My father sat around this table. His brother. But Anastasia was the only one who wanted it, and she would prefer nothing else. The rings she wears could probably buy out half the building, yet she pays no mind to them. “You have your birthday lunch with Sergei today.” “Don’t remind me.” I sip the coffee and feel its warmth drain into my belly. It heats me up, the whole kitchen does while we look out at the overcast skies covering us all. It’s been threatening to rain for a few weeks, but I never gained the courage. “He means well.” “He means me to take over.” “Or…” Anastasia looks sideways at Maxim, who is enthralled with his pop tart and humming away while he plays with his car. “Never,” I utter. “This business killed my father and pushed my mother away. I don’t want to be anywhere near it, let alone have my son involved.” Anastasia shrugs. “But still, he means well.” “They all mean well.” I let the conversion die and finish my coffee. What I didn’t say is that Ivan also meant well. He meant well for himself when he left me once he found out I was pregnant. He meant well for himself when he wanted me to pine after him because he was going away to jail