Page 60 of Married to the Ruthless Mafia Heir

"If you really love her, you shouldn't force her. Let her choose for herself."

I walked across the broken glass to the door. Marco had found me too. He looked panicked. "Dante, Rizzo's causing trouble again. They're waiting for you in the—"

"I don't give a damn about any of that."

My voice came out hoarse, unrecognizable. "I'm going to Mexico. Handle everything here yourself."

My wife was in a strange, distant country. I needed to bring her home.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Elena

Summer in Puerto Vallarta hit harder than New York ever did.

Palm trees lined both sides of the road. When the wind picked up, it carried the sharp salt of the ocean mixed with some flower I couldn't name—nothing like New York's concrete and exhaust.

Luca's friend Diego Ramirez found me a storefront in town.

A poinciana grew by the entrance, its trunk twisted and gnarled, branches thick with leaves that threw broken shadows across the tiles out front at noon. They danced when the wind blew.

I was inside planning the renovations when Diego walked in carrying a bag of fruit. "Elena, you just found a place to live, and you're already this eager to open shop?"

Diego was a Mexican man in his early forties, got along great with Maggie, funny as hell—cut from the same cloth as Luca.

I turned and smiled at him. "No choice. This baby's growing every day. I need to start making money."

Diego set down the bag and rolled up his sleeves. "I'm hiring junior designers right now. Your sketches show real talent—you'd be perfect for the position. If you're worried about the salary, name your price. I really want to hire you."

"I'm sorry." This was his second offer, but I turned him down again. "I always dreamed of running my own shop. Maybe I won't make a fortune, but managing this place, making clothes I love—that's enough for me."

And I had other reasons I couldn't say out loud.

Diego was Luca's friend. If I took a design job at his brand, things would get awkward between us. Right now everything felt right—Luca and I kept in touch like friends, stayed casual. Diego checked in on me sometimes.

"All right." He shrugged and walked a circle through the shop, hands on his hips. "This space is perfect. I think you could do something creative with it—make customers feel like they're walking into more than just a clothing store."

His thinking matched mine exactly.

The shop wasn't big. The frontage only fit two display windows, but it had good depth. Sunlight poured through the street-facing window and reached all the way to the back. With this layout, I could zone by style—part for display, part for merchandise. It wouldn't feel cramped, and customers could find what they liked easily.

Joy surged through me. This was my shop—Elena's own clothing store.

After talking through design ideas with Diego, we settled on a plan. He connected me with a local renovation crew. The quotes ran high, so I took on everything I could handle myself. What I couldn't do, I'd have to pay for.

Maggie came by the shop too. I walked her through the work we'd tackle ourselves. She nodded. "Don't worry, Elena. We'll work together and get this place looking beautiful."

We got started.

I hit the general store in town for paint and brushes, picked up an old apron that I had to wrap twice around my waist before it fit. The walls needed all that peeling old paint covered. I went with warm white.

In a place this sunny year-round, warm white would make the shop feel softer.

I climbed on a stool and started with the ceiling corners. The brush soaked up paint and made a fine scratching sound as it spread across the surface. The sound echoed in the empty room, steady and rhythmic—a beat that somehow felt comforting.

The paint smell hit strong. I stepped to the doorway for air and fanned my collar.

Maggie handed me a bottle of water, her palm settling on my belly with concern. "Elena, you're pregnant. You have to be careful."