Dark Mafia Bride: An Arranged Marriage, Secret Baby Romance (Mafia Vows)
Dark Mafia Bride: Chapter 36

The sound of laughter and soft jazz music drifts through the ballroom, blending with the delicate clink of champagne glasses. I don’t want to be here—not at another soul-sucking charity gala that’s more about flaunting power than promoting genuine goodwill.

Honestly, I don’t want to be anywhere without Mirabella by my side. My arms feel hollow, aching for the weight of hers, her presence I haven’t felt in days.

Still, I circulate around the room, shaking hands, offering up rehearsed smiles while my mind drifts elsewhere.

Mirabella and I barely speak anymore. Since that night, I can count the times I’ve seen her at the house. And when I do catch a glimpse of her—maybe chatting with Paula in the kitchen or doing yoga in the garden at dawn, by the time I decide to approach her, she’s already disappeared, leaving behind only a faint lingering scent, a maddening reminder of her absence. It eats at me more than I’m willing to admit.

I’m heading to the champagne bar when I feel someone sidle up beside me. I already know who it is before he speaks—Abruzzi. The smug grin on his face is unmistakable. I don’t have the patience for him tonight.

“Ettore,” he calls, his voice louder than necessary, drawing the attention of a few nearby guests.

“Abruzzi,” I ground out, my steps slowing. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” He laughs, a self-satisfied chuckle. “Life’s been good to me. Just picked up a custom-built Maserati. Business is booming. Can’t complain, man. I’m living large and giving back to the people.”

I hum, barely listening. My glass is empty, and I could really use another drink.

“But you didn’t expect me here because you still think I’m just some underground thug, huh?” He smirks. “Still stuck in your old ways, Ettore. I told you—I’m global now. Bigger than ever.”

He spreads his arms wide like he’s the king of the world, and I roll my eyes.

“I told you,” he continues, lowering his voice as he steps closer. “We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I. I guess that’s why Mirabella’s into both of us. Though, she’d rather die than admit it. She’s got a thing for dangerous men, guys who would kill for her…”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I see the ghost of that night we’d both shot Riccardo for her flash in my mind.

I clench my jaw. “What did I tell you about mentioning my wife’s name?” I step closer to him, keeping my voice low and dangerous. “I see you haven’t learned your lesson.”

The smugness falters in his eyes for a split second, and I savor the sight, feeling the adrenaline surge through me at the remainder of what I did to him.

“That’s funny,” I mutter, stepping right into his space. “I thought you’d be lying low after that whole drug scandal. Didn’t expect to see you at an event like this.”

His eyes darken, but he doesn’t back down. “You’re not the only one with connections, Ettore. It’ll take more than a little setup to bring me down.”

I smirk. “Of course, I knew that. Just messing with you.”

“But here’s the real question,” he says, his voice dropping to a casual drawl as his gaze studies me. “Why isn’t Mirabella on your arm tonight?”

I freeze, and I see that glint of satisfaction in his eyes, the same one I’ve seen a thousand times before.

“You usually bring her along to these things, Ettore. Then again, if I were married to Mirabella, I’d flaunt her everywhere too…” Abruzzi’s voice slithers into my ear, venomous and low. My fingers curl into fists, the urge to shut him up scraping at my restraint.

“Watch your mouth,” I warn, the words ice-coated, but he doesn’t flinch. In fact, he leans closer, eyes gleaming with a sinister delight.

“Oh, hit a nerve, did I?” His voice drops to a murmur, the kind of mock sympathy that only serves to dig deeper. “She didn’t want to come with you tonight, huh? Trouble in paradise? It was just a matter of time. She’s a sharp woman, that Mirabella. Sooner or later, she’d have to see what you are. I’m glad she’s finally woken up.”

My chest tightens, and I want to shove him away, make him regret ever speaking those words. I want to scream that Mirabella hasn’t left me, that she’s at home—our home—but the truth hangs over everything like a dark cloud. The only thing keeping her there is the contract we’re bound to until the end of this charade.

The silence between us is thick, charged with something I don’t want to acknowledge. Abruzzi’s smirk never fades. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and that’s the most dangerous part.

Satisfied that his words about Mirabella finally struck a nerve, Abruzzi slinks away, still wearing that insufferable smirk. The anger surges through me, a hot wave that fills every inch of my body. I ball my hands into fists, my knuckles cracking with the tension.

My blood hums, that dangerous anger simmering just below the surface. He thinks he’s won. He has no idea. My mind has already shifted into something darker, colder. If he thinks he’s bruised me, then he’s about to understand the real cost.

I turn to Luca, who’s been watching quietly nearby. A subtle nod is all it takes. He follows as I slip out through the back of the ballroom. Luca waits, his posture alert, and I take a moment, feeling the careful calculation settle over me.

“Abruzzi’s car,” I say, my voice steady and low. “I want it to send a message, Luca. Something he’ll understand.”

Luca’s eyes gleam as he nods. “Understood, boss.”

“Make sure he watches,” I add. “No loose ends.”

Luca vanishes into the night, as the air hits me sharply, cold enough to wake up the part of me that craves control. It always feels this way—when I’m about to take something back.

From my pocket, I retrieve a phone, dialing in instructions with practiced efficiency, watching the ballroom from the shadows.

Using a secure VoIP address, I’ll place a call to him from a disguised number, knowing my call will appear as Unknown on his screen. Abruzzi might still be smiling in there, still smug, but he has no idea the clock has started ticking.

In the next twenty minutes, Luca will have everything in place. I glance down at my Rolex, each tick bringing me closer. The faint sound of laughter reaches me as I watch from across the compound. I watch as Abruzzi exits with his usual smile on his face.

At exactly 11:17, I make the call using the encrypted line. Abruzzi answers with an impatient, “Who the hell is this?”

The automated voice comes through loud and clear. “Check your ride.”

A pause. I imagine his irritation fading, replaced by confusion. From my vantage point, I see him outside now, scanning for the caller, before he approaches his Maserati, his jaw tightening in annoyance. The night is so still, I can almost hear his footsteps.

Then, the silence is shattered. A flash of light, a thunderous roar that ripples through the compound, flames erupting in a fiery bloom as his car ignites.

Abruzzi is thrown back, landing hard, the heat licking at his face as he scrambles to his feet, coughing and stumbling. He watches, horrified, as the machine he boasted of just minutes ago crumbles into twisted metal, the acrid smoke billowing into the night air. His smirk is long gone, replaced by a look of pure terror as he stares at the wreckage.

In that moment, satisfaction rolls over me like a slow, dark wave. I don’t have to touch him to make him bleed. And as Abruzzi gapes at the ashes of his arrogance, I step back into the shadows, a smirk edge on my lips for good measure.

It’s brief, but damn, is it gratifying.

Once the damage is done, I leave, heading back home just in time for dinner. The thought of what the chef might serve doesn’t even cross my mind. I’m not hungry, and honestly, I don’t care. The only thing that matters is seeing her. I haven’t seen Mirabella at dinner for days now. She’s been eating with her family in their wing. I think about enforcing a rule that would require everyone to gather in the main dining room, but I’m not that cruel.

I know the tension between our families all too well. Pushing things any further would only make it worse. But the need to see her, even if it’s just for a few minutes, is too strong to ignore. I’ll crash if I don’t.

The universe seems to be on my side tonight because, at dinner, she finally appears. Her head is held high as she positions herself beside Bianca and opposite Vittorio. In other words, the spot farthest from me on the table. She’s wearing a gown that accentuates her curves and, annoyingly, the slight swell of her breasts. It catches my attention, and a thought claws its way to the surface, ugly and unwelcome—she’s glowing because there’s another man’s baby inside of her.

Guilt explodes in my chest as Vittorio’s words haunt me. I know I should just ask her instead of assuming, but I can’t bring myself to do that.

The dinner proceeds with the sound of polite conversation filling the air. The food is served, and people dive in, murmuring around me. I steal glances at her, watching her every move. I can usually read her, feel what she’s thinking just by looking into her eyes. But tonight, I can’t read her. There’s a distance in her gaze, a coldness that I can’t shake off. It boils something inside of me, an anger that I try to suppress but can’t.

My breath hitches when our eyes meet, but the indifference in hers nearly knocks the wind out of me. She barely acknowledges me before turning her attention back to her plate. It’s as if I don’t even exist to her anymore.

As dinner drags on, the tension in the room grows thicker. My aunts, my cousins—they’re all watching, flicking nervous glances between me and Mirabella. It’s obvious to anyone with a pulse.

“You haven’t come down to dinner in days, Mirabella,” Zia Camila begins with a forced smile on her face. “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t everything be okay?” Mirabella replies, her voice cool as she takes another sip of juice.

“Tell me,” Aunt Camila presses, her eyes flickering between us. “Is everything all right? Are you…ill?”

Aunt Camilla is edging her on, and even though I hate it, I won’t interfere. A part of me wants to see how this unfolds and if Mirabella’s expression or words will give anything away. But the other part of me admires the unbothered calm she maintains.

““I’m sure nothing stays hidden for long when it comes to you, Zia,” Mirabella shoots back, her smile as cold as ice. “Besides, if I were sick, your nephew would’ve arranged for me to see the family doctor.”

Your nephew.

Not Ettore.

Not my husband.

Your nephew.

I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling my chest tighten.

“If you all would excuse me.” With an exaggerated politeness, she smiles at everyone in the room except me before standing and gliding out without a second glance.

I grit my teeth. The tension crackles in the air. Everyone at the table knows something’s wrong. But I don’t care. I don’t care if they’re all watching.

I stand up so abruptly my chair screeches across the floor, and I storm after her, my heart pounding in my ears. Her footsteps echo in the stillness, but mine are louder as I follow her up the stairs.

“Mirabella,” I call out, my voice sharper than I intended. She’s heading for the guest room—the one she stayed in when she first moved in here, the room where it all started to go wrong.

She freezes mid-step but doesn’t look back. She’s waiting, her back straight, shoulders tense, and I can see the way her fingers clench by her sides.

“I think we need to talk.”

She turns slowly, her eyes meeting mine, but there’s nothing in them. No remorse. No fear. Just that damned unreadable mask she’s gotten so good at wearing.

“Do we?” she responds, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because, as far as I’m concerned, you made it pretty clear there’s nothing left to discuss.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” I snap, my voice low but steady. “You don’t get to walk away from this. You don’t get to act like the victim when you’re the one who cheated.”

Her jaw clenches, her eyes narrowing, and she shoots me a look that could kill. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

I let out a bitter laugh, a sound that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Do you think I’m stupid, Mirabella? Do you really think I’ll believe your lies anymore? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” My voice cracks, and I hate how much it betrays me, but I’m too far gone now.

“If you’re so sure of what you think you know, then why are you even here?” Her voice is venom, but the cracks are there. I can hear it. She’s losing control, too.

“Because I need to hear it from you,” I say, stepping closer, my chest tightening. “I need to hear why you did it.”

She presses her lips together, holding something back. “I didn’t cheat⁠—”

“So the pictures were fake, then? You didn’t kiss Milo?” I spit the words at her, each one like a slap.

“Milo kissed me,” she says through gritted teeth.

I feel the heat rise in my chest. “Oh, so that’s how it was? He kissed you, but you didn’t kiss him back?” I almost choke on the bitterness. “Did he force you to kiss him? Did he force you to cry in his arms while he wiped your tears away?”

“I didn’t expect him to kiss me. I didn’t want him to kiss me–”

The words come out sharper than I mean them to, but I can’t stop. “Tell me, Mirabella, did you cry about how awful it is being married to me? Did you cry because you couldn’t wait for it to end so you could go back to him?”

She recoils, but the damage is already done. “What the hell are you talking about?” she scoffs, her face a mixture of confusion and something darker I can’t place. “You’re insane.”

“I guess Zia Camilla was right after all,” I mutter, the words tasting like acid in my mouth. “You’re nothing but a gold-digging slut.”

Her eyes flash with fury. For a split second, I think she’s going to strike me, her hand raised in a blur of motion. But before she can, I catch her wrist in mid-air, gripping it tight and pushing her back against the wall.

She gasps, trying to yank her arm free, but I don’t let go. My heart’s hammering in my chest, every muscle in my body rigid with a mix of rage and something darker.

“You haven’t learned a damned thing, have you?” I growl, my voice rough, barely under control. My body presses against hers, and I can feel the heat of her skin, the rapid beat of her pulse against my fingers.

“Fuck you,” she hisses through clenched teeth, her eyes blazing.

I feel a surge of something—anger, frustration, raw desire—all of it coursing through me. Without thinking, I lean down, grabbing her by the neck, and claim her lips in a kiss that burns with everything I can’t say.

She doesn’t kiss me back at first. Her lips are stiff, unyielding, but as the seconds stretch on, I feel her body betray her, her lips softening under mine.

And I hate myself for it. I hate that this feels like anything other than what it should be—a final goodbye. But I can’t stop. Not now.

She groans as she slides the palm of her hands up my chest to push me away. But I deepen the kiss, grabbing her jaw while my thumb strokes the curve of her cheekbone. My other hand cups the back of her head to keep her in place while I devour her mouth. She lets out a soft moan before snaking her arms around my neck so she can pull us closer together.

“I can’t believe you did this to me.” My hand slips under her dress while I drag my lips to her neck. “To us.”

She moans again when I bite down just below her ear and grind my erection against her stomach. She gasps when I slip my fingers inside her panties and tease the tip with my thumb.

“Did he touch you like this?” I grit my teeth as my thumb flicks over her clit. She lets out a sound between a groan and a whimper, arching her hips involuntarily towards me.

A hot, white rage sears through me at the thought of the other man even laying a finger on her, the image of her in his arms—moaning his name—enough to push me to the edge.

“I’ll kill him tonight,” I growl, lips tracing her neck with a hard, possessive intent.

“Ettore, please…” Her voice trembles, and I feel the slightest tension in her body. I press myself further against her, making sure there’s nowhere for her to go, no escaping my hold.

“Oh, I already have men waiting to take me straight to his door,” I say, each word dripping with menace. “But first, I’ll take what’s mine—one last time—before I get you out of my system,” I spit. “Because that’s exactly what you deserve.”