Page 46 of Married to the Mafia Devil

I stir my drink, watching the ice swirl. “I'm managing,” I admit.

“I saw on the news he finalized that big real estate deal.”

I manage a grunt in response. I’ve been studiously turning off the TV whenever his name is mentioned. Same reason I deleted his number. I don’t want to think about him.

Amelia reaches out, touching my arm. “Have you thought about looking at colleges yet?”

I nod, a half-hearted attempt to appear proactive. “I don’t want to take his money. I’m job hunting first. Want to make sure we have enough to pay the rent.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you ever wonder, maybe, if you made the right choice?”

The question catches me off guard, stirring the doubts I've buried deep. “Every day,” I confess softly. “But then I remember why I left. He wasn’t willing to compromise, wouldn’t share his life in the way I need.”

“Billionaire though,” Pamela said. “You could have been miserable but obscenely rich.”

“I don’t care about the money.”

“Dumb. Noble but dumb.”

“Thanks.”

“But wasn't he good to you?” Amelia presses, her voice gentle but insistent. “Didn't he make you happy?”

“He did, and he was,” I reply, my voice thickening with emotion. “But his intensity, the darkness that comes with his kind of life, I'm not sure I was cut out for it.”

She looks at me, her expression thoughtful. “Just make sure it's what you really want, Em. Sometimes, we push away the very things we need the most.”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of their words. “I know. And maybe I am running away a bit. But it feels safer this way. After seeing everything he's capable of, how can I not be a little afraid?”

Am I simply taking the easy way out by avoiding the risks of a life with him? Or am I genuinely protecting myself from a world I'm not built for?

Pamela suddenly grabs my arm, her expression eager. “Oh, I forgot to mention! Did you hear about his plans for the land he just bought? He’s rebuilding Hannigan’s Park. Can you believe it? He’s planning to give it to the community when it’s done.”

The news catches me off-guard. That doesn’t sound like the ruthless businessman I know; it sounds more like the man I fell for—the one who could see beyond profits and power plays. Could he really be changing? Is there a part of him that yearns for normalcy and goodness like the rest of us? Does he remember what I told him about the park?

I doubt it. He’s probably doing it so he has somewhere to hide the bodies.

Amelia’s phone rings, slicing through the quiet evening like a warning siren. She answers, her face turning pale as she listens. “What? How? Yes, yes, I understand. We'll be there as soon as we can.” She hangs up, her hands trembling slightly. “That was the hospital,” she says, her voice shaky. “It’s Dad. He’s... he's in a coma.”

My heart sinks, a cold dread replacing the brief flicker of hope. “What happened to him?” I ask, though part of me already knows the answer.

“They didn’t say much, just that he was found unconscious and brought in. No one knows what happened yet,” Amelia explains, her eyes wide with fear.

A surge of anger washes over me, and I feel a deep, gnawing certainty in the pit of my stomach. It has to be him. Who else would want to hurt my father, if not Matteo, out of some warped sense of retribution or control?

“He did this,” I say, the words bitter in my mouth. “He must have decided that if we’re not together, he’s not bound by his oath not to hurt him. His plan all along was to kill him.”

Amelia grabs my hand, her grip tight. “We don’t know that for sure, Emma. Let’s find out more before we jump to conclusions.”

But the seed of doubt is already planted, watered by my fears and the protective instincts for my family. I was ready to believe he could change, but now, faced with this new crisis, all I can see is the danger he poses—not just to me, but to everyone I love.

We rush to the hospital, the stark fluorescent lights casting an eerie glow as we navigate through the corridors. The antiseptic smell fills the air, mingling with the low murmur of nurses and doctors as they pass by. Amelia clutches my hand tightly, her face pale with worry. I feel my anxiety building, my breathing turning into gasps. I fight to control it.

As we reach the emergency department, a nurse approaches us. “Are you the family of Mark Thompson?” she asks, her expression professional yet sympathetic.

“Yes, that's our dad,” Amelia responds quickly. “How is he? Can we see him?”

“He's in a critical condition,” the nurse explains as she leads us to a quiet corner to talk. “He was brought in unconscious and hasn't woken up yet. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

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