All Chapters of The Don is Mine: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

HOLLYI never imagined my life would change this fast.One day I was pouring tea for strangers in a shop that smelled like old wood and forgotten dreams. The next, I was unlocking the door to Steeped in You — my tea shop. My name on the lease. My blends on the shelves. My future steeping in every corner.Luca had handed me the keys like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just rewritten my entire story with one gesture and a crooked smile.The shop was beautiful.Warm oak counters. Soft lighting. A wall of loose-leaf jars labeled in my handwriting. The sign above the door shimmered in gold cursive: Steeped in You. Romantic. A little dramatic. Entirely us.Inside, the staff was already buzzing. Three baristas, one pastry chef, and Lila — my manager — who had the energy of a caffeine-fueled general and the clipboard to match.“Welcome, boss,” she said, handing me a cup of jasmine green before I could speak.I blinked. “You know my order?”“Luca sent a dossier.”Of course he did.The morning

LUCAThe boardroom smelled like money and fear.Twelve men sat around the table, each one dressed like they’d just stepped off a yacht or out of a courtroom. The air was thick with cigar smoke and silence — the kind that only comes when everyone’s waiting for me to speak.I didn’t.Not yet.Dante sat to my right, legs crossed, sipping espresso like we were at brunch instead of finalizing a deal that could shift the balance of power in three cities.He leaned toward me. “You know, if you stare at them long enough, they start sweating.”“I’m counting how many are lying.”“Ah. So all of them.”The meeting was halfway through when the door opened.No knock.No announcement.Just presence.My uncle walked in.And the room changed.Every man stood.Bowed.Even Dante, who hated theatrics, gave a respectful nod.I stayed seated.Not out of disrespect.Out of strategy.He walked to the head of the table, didn’t sit, didn’t speak.Just watched.Like a hawk circling prey.The rest of the meeting

HOLLYThe grocery store smelled like cinnamon and lies.I was halfway through the produce aisle, debating between Honeycrisp and Fuji apples, when my phone buzzed.I glanced at my bodyguard — the only one left after I insisted on downsizing. He was pretending to inspect a jar of olives, which was cute, considering he probably didn’t know the difference between Kalamata and chaos.I checked my phone.One message.SOM: Status update. How long until you finish the job?I stared at the screen.The apples blurred.The fluorescent lights suddenly felt too bright.I typed back quickly.Still gathering intel. No timeline yet.The reply came fast.You’ve had weeks. The man is a ghost to us. But not to you.I said, 'He’s not a ghost. He’s a storm.'Then stop watching the weather and start closing the file.I swallowed hard.My fingers hovered over the screen.Then another message came.He’s good for nothing. He’s killed dozens. He launders money through charities. He trades arms like they’re ba

LUCAI wasn’t snooping.Let’s get that straight.I was looking for my cufflinks.The silver ones. The ones with the lion heads. The ones Holly always says make me look like I’m trying too hard.They weren’t in my drawer.They weren’t in the valet box.So I checked the closet.And that’s when I saw it.A bag.Not hers.Not mine.Black. Slim. Military-grade zipper.Tucked behind a stack of scarves she never wears.I opened it.And the world shifted.Inside:A burner phone.A folded map of the city with red marks.A flash drive.A pair of gloves. Tactical.And a badge.Not a police badge.Not local.Federal.But not ours.I stared at it.Then sat down.Hard.The badge was real.The kind that doesn’t blink.The kind that doesn’t lie.The kind that says: You’ve been living with a ghost.I didn’t call Santino.Even though I trust him.I didn’t call my uncle.Even though he’d know what to do.I called Dante.Because Dante knows how to keep secrets.Especially mine.He picked up on the second

HOLLYNo one spoke on the drive home.Not Luca. Not me. Not even the city.It was like the world had gone mute — or maybe we’d just stopped listening.I could still feel the blood on my hands.Not metaphorically.Literally.It had dried under my nails, crusted along my knuckles. I’d scrubbed them raw in the restaurant bathroom, but it didn’t come off.Not all of it.Some stains don’t wash away.When we got to the penthouse, Luca opened the door and stepped aside.Didn’t touch me. Didn’t look at me.Just let me walk in like I was a guest in a house I used to call home.I wanted to say something.Anything.But what do you say to the man you were sent to destroy — after you just saved his life?Then we started talking and I was firm when I said I want his uncle to pay for my mother's death. Nothing followed after that conversation. I don't know what to do. If he's planning to kill me in my sleep, I think that would solve everything for me. I won't be hunted down anymore. But then that w