Claimed by the Mafia Don-Chapter 48: Your Father Is That Man

STEFANO RUSSO’S (NERO’S) POV

I checked my phone for the fifth time since I arrived at the restaurant in Los Angeles. Still no reply. The message I’d sent to Zoe hours ago just sat there, marked as read. I sighed and looked around.

The restaurant where I was sitted close to the window wasn’t luxurious. It was modest, quiet, just enough privacy to talk without drawing too much attention. Bull had done a good job finding the spot. At the front, I could see my men pretending to be regular customers, blending in well enough to fool anyone who didn’t know what to look for.

I glanced at the door again. Still no sign of her.

Part of me understood. If I were her, I wouldn’t come rushing either — not after disappearing the way I did. The last time we spoke, the way her voice cracked over the phone still haunted me. She’d been hurt, confused... and she had every right to be.

I rubbed my thumb against the rim of my glass, restless. I’d rehearsed what I’d say, how I’d start, but now my mind was a blank page.

Then the bell above the door rang.

I looked up — and there she was.

Zoe.

For a moment, the air left my lungs. She stood there scanning the room, the soft light catching her hair, the same hair that used to fall over my chest when she slept beside me. I stood slowly, unable to stop myself from staring. Weeks — it had only been weeks — but it felt like years.

When her gaze finally found me, surprise flickered across her face, quickly followed by something unreadable.

God, she looked good. Softer. Healthier. Maybe even happier.

"Hello baby," I said quietly when she reached me. My voice sounded strange — rougher, almost hesitant. "I didn’t know you were going to come."

Her lips parted slightly, but there was no warmth in her eyes. She looked at me as if I were a ghost.

I tried to cut the tension between us by saying, "You look... good. I... missed you."

I know I was probably saying things that made little sense, but I had no choice. My mind was failing me.

She didn’t say anything. She just stared at me. After a moment of silence, I exhaled and then turned around to pull out a chair for her. "Please sit."

She sat down and so did I.

I watched her face before swallowing hard. "How have you been?"

She didn’t answer that. Instead, her tone came soft and steady — but I could hear the pain underneath.

"What happened, Nero?"

I froze.

"You disappeared for weeks without a single word," she continued, her voice shaking slightly. "And now you show up here asking how I’ve been?"

I sighed, glancing around. People were starting to look our way. This wasn’t the place.

"I can explain," I said quietly. "But... can we go somewhere more private first?"

She hesitated, eyes searching mine. Then she nodded. "Fine."

Relief washed over me and I stood. I walked ahead, feeling her footsteps behind me — light, hesitant. My men followed at a distance.

We walked along the street until the noise of the city faded, replaced by the rhythmic hush of the sea. The wind carried the salt in the air, the waves folding gently against the shore.

When we stopped, I turned to face her. Her arms were crossed, her expression guarded. She wasn’t angry — she was hurt — but she was holding herself together with visible effort.

I took a slow breath. "Why did you leave Santiago?" I asked instead quietly.

Her brows knitted. "Is that important now?" Her voice cracked. "You left me, Nero. You disappeared without a word — no calls, no texts — nothing. And now you want to know why I left?"

Her voice shook with frustration and something deeper — pain, hurt.

I took a small step closer, trying to explain. "I had to."

"You had to?" she repeated bitterly, her eyes narrowing. "That’s all you have to say?"

Her voice trembled now. "So when you sent Benny to make me leave, that was part of what you ’had to’ do?"

"Zoe, listen—" I tried to reach for her hand, but she pulled back before I could touch her. The hurt in her eyes hit me like a punch to the chest.

"I didn’t send Benny to get rid of you," I said, my voice low, almost breaking. "I had no choice. You have to believe me — I’d never leave you on purpose."

"Then why?" she whispered. The fight in her voice faltered. "Why did you send me back?"

I looked at her for a long time, then took another breath, steadying myself for what I was about to say.

"Before I tell you everything," I said softly, "I need you to answer me truthfully."

Her brows furrowed slightly. "Answer what?"

"When was the last time you heard from your father?"

The question hit her like a slap. She blinked, confusion flashing across her face before her eyes widened.

"My... father?" she stammered.

"Yes."

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the sea between us. She swallowed, her voice barely audible when she finally spoke.

"I haven’t heard from him since I was six," she said. "I haven’t seen him since then."

I nodded slowly, the weight of my next words pressing against my chest.

"Zoe," I began carefully, "what I’m about to say... it’s going to shock you."

Her expression changed — suspicion, fear, uncertainty.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

I stepped closer. The wind brushed against her hair, and I wanted nothing more than to tuck it behind her ear the way I used to — but I couldn’t. Not now.

I exhaled. "You remember the man I told you I’ve been looking for? The man who killed my mother?"

She nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on me. "Yes. What about him?"

The words tasted bitter in my mouth, but I forced them out.

"When I travelled with Somchai," I said quietly, "I found out that your father — is that man."

She froze.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her eyes widened, disbelief washing over her face as the world around us seemed to fall silent.