Claimed by the Mafia Don-Chapter 46: Los Angeles

ZOE DEAN’S POV

The moment the plane’s wheels hit the runway, a soft jolt ran through the cabin. My chest rose with a quiet sigh — part relief, part exhaustion. Finally. L.A. The view outside the window looked bright and alive, so different from Santiago’s calm rhythm. Somehow, it already felt like a fresh start... or maybe I just needed it to feel that way.

The flight attendant’s cheerful voice came through the speakers, thanking us for flying and reminding everyone to collect their belongings. I tuned her out halfway through and unbuckled my seatbelt. My legs ached from sitting too long, and my mind — well, that had been restless for weeks.

When I finally stepped out into the terminal, the air felt lighter, cleaner. I rolled my suitcase behind me, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. Nothing yet. People moved in waves — rushing, chatting, dragging their luggage. I was just about to reach into my handbag for my phone when a high-pitched voice cut through the noise.

"Zoe!"

I turned, my heart instantly lifting. "Aunty Gina!"

There she was — beaming, waving from across the crowd. She looked exactly the same, maybe even more radiant than I remembered. Her hair, that same white shade she shared with Mom and me, was tied into a high ponytail, and her brown eyes sparkled when she smiled. Dressed in jeans and a sky-blue T-shirt, she looked like the definition of warmth.

I didn’t even realize how fast my feet were moving until I collided into her arms.

"Oh, my baby!" she squealed, hugging me tight — so tight I could barely breathe. "Gosh, I’ve missed you!"

I laughed, muffled against her shoulder. "I missed you more, Aunty."

When she finally pulled back, she took a step back to look at me — really look at me. Her eyes did a quick scan from my hair to my shoes, then back to my face. And then she broke into another grin.

"You look so good, my dear. Look at you!"

I groaned playfully, rolling my eyes. "Aunty, please."

"No, I mean it!" she insisted, still beaming. "You look chubby and fresh. I love it! Tell me the secret later, hmm? But first— let’s get you home."

Her laughter was contagious, and I found myself smiling genuinely for the first time in weeks. I grabbed my suitcase and followed her to the parking lot. Her little black BMW was parked not too far away, gleaming in the sunlight. We loaded my bags into the trunk, and soon, we were driving off into the city.

The silence that filled the car wasn’t uncomfortable. The radio played some light pop music in the background, and for a while, I just watched the passing streets — palm trees, sunshine, wide roads. L.A. felt big. Bigger than my thoughts, maybe big enough to swallow them whole.

"So," Aunty Gina said suddenly, eyes still on the road, "how’s Santiago? Been a while since I visited."

I shrugged. "Santiago is... Santiago." My voice sounded casual, though inside I felt that pinch again. "Nothing much happening."

"And you?" she glanced at me briefly, smiling softly. "How have you been, sweetheart?"

I hesitated before answering. "I’m fine." It was my go-to response — easy, vague, safe. At least I’m trying to be fine, I added silently.

She hummed like she didn’t quite believe me but didn’t push. "Well, I’m so happy you’re here. I’m going to feed you so much you’ll forget what you previously looked like."

That made me laugh, the sound surprising even me. "You sound like Mom."

"Good!" she said proudly. "Your mother always said food makes one look good."

We both chuckled, and I asked, "How’s Paul?"

"Oh, he’s good. He stayed home to make dinner. You’ll see — he’s been experimenting with recipes lately. I told him not to burn the kitchen before we got back." Her tone was teasing, but her eyes softened. "I’m really glad you’re here, Zoe. I’ve been worried about you."

I smiled faintly. "You don’t have to worry so much, Aunty. I’m okay."

She sighed. "I can’t help it. It’s in my DNA."

That made me smile again. That was so Aunty Gina — all heart and worry wrapped in one person.

The rest of the drive was quiet except for the music. I leaned my head against the window, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. Maybe Fredda was right, I thought. Maybe I should stop overthinking and just breathe. Treat this like a vacation. A real break.

***

By the time we reached Aunty Gina’s house, it felt like stepping into a memory. The cozy living room smelled faintly of cinnamon and fresh laundry. Paul greeted me with his usual warm grin, and their two-year-old ran straight into my arms. I kissed his chubby cheeks until he started giggling — and honestly, it felt good to laugh like that again.

Dinner was loud and full of stories — Paul’s work, Gina’s neighbors, the baby’s new obsession with crayons. They were both so normal, so happy, that I felt a pang in my chest. I missed this. I missed family.

Afterward, I retreated to my old room — still exactly as I’d left it years ago. Same pastel curtains, same photo of Mom and Aunty Gina on the dresser. It was comforting... and a little heartbreaking.

I’d barely gotten into bed, scrolling through my phone aimlessly, when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," I called, already knowing who it was.

Aunty Gina peeked in, her smile gentle. "Hope I’m not disturbing?"

"Of course not," I said, sitting up. She walked in and sat on the edge of my bed, looking around the room like it held old memories for her too.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence felt full — heavy, but not in a bad way. Finally, I asked softly, "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head. "Not really. I just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable. That you’re... fine."

Her tone gave her away. I smiled a little. "I’m fine, Aunty."

She took my hand, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. "You can tell me if something’s wrong, you know. You called out of the blue, said you wanted to come visit... I just figured something must’ve happened."

My throat tightened. She always saw right through me.

For a long moment, I didn’t speak. Then, I sighed. "It’s just... things haven’t been easy lately."

Her expression softened instantly. "Oh, honey..." She squeezed my hand gently. "Tell me everything."

So I did. Bit by bit, I told her what had been happening — the pain, the confusion, the things I hadn’t said aloud in months. She listened quietly, not interrupting once. And by the time I finished, tears were already slipping down my cheeks.

Aunty Gina pulled me into her arms, rubbing slow circles on my back. "It’s alright, my dear," she whispered. "It is well with you. It will be."

For the first time in a long time, I actually believed her.