Page 12 of Dark Mafia Vows

In that moment, I’m not sure I would care. Yet, I blow out a breath before directing him to the guest room. The moment we get in, I try to push him down to the bed and straddle him again, but he carries me to the middle of the bed instead.

No words need to be said. I already know Rinaldo hates it when I try to stay on top. He begins to unbutton his shirt, and I take that as a cue to pull off my simple sundress and panties.

When we are both naked, he slips on a condom he brought, like he planned to come have sex with me, positions himself between my spread legs, and slips into me.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he grunts, burying his head in my neck. “I could do this forever. Just let go.”

I close my eyes as he begins to thrust. I know exactly how this will go, and I regret kissing him back in the first place. His thrusts become faster, and he plants his hands at the sides of my head to hold himself up. Soon enough, he’s grunting and moaning loudly.

“Do you love this, baby?”

My gaze shifts from the ceiling to his face. “Yes, baby,” I let out a high-pitched moan, the one that usually makes him pound faster until he comes.

And that’s exactly what happens.

As he pulls off my body, I cover myself with a blanket, suddenly feeling hollow and empty.

As he slips his clothes back on, I close my eyes, waiting for him to leave.

“I brought you something, Sweet Pea,” he suddenly says.

When I open my eyes, I see he’s holding a velvet box.

“It’s high time you wore my ring on your finger, don’t you think?” He asks, flashing me a smile.

He hands the box over to me just as his phone rings. I place the box and place it on the bedside table without opening it.

“Sure, I’ll be there very soon,” he tells whoever is on the line before ending the call.

When he starts telling me how he has to go attend to something important, I don’t say anything. He says something about how I should try to relax and how I should think about usmoving in together, but I can’t help but feel more isolated than before.

The room feels colder now, the plush fabric of the blanket pressing around me like a cage. I watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and I’m left in a silence that feels suffocating. The ticking clock on the wall seems to mock my restless thoughts, each second more dreadful than the last.

I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down on me. My fears return. Who would want to kill me? The question spirals in my mind, tangling with the fear that refuses to fade. I close my eyes, trying to block out the thoughts, but they come rushing back—the smell of smoke, the panic, the screaming.

I lose track of time, lost deep in my thoughts. The next time I hear heavy footsteps in the house, I know it’s Lorenzo. I quick throw my sundress back on and step out of the bedroom. I meet him halfway down the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” I ask the moment I see his face.

It’s very obvious that something happened. His face tells a story of distress: bloodshot eyes, missing suit jacket, several buttons undone on his shirt, and his hair tousled as if he’s been running his hands through it all day. A faint smell of beer lingers around him.

When he doesn’t deny that something is wrong, my heart thuds. This has to be bad.

“Talk to me, Lorenzo,” I grab his hand. “You’re scaring me.”

He takes a moment, as if he’s gathering his thoughts. As he walks back down the stairs to the kitchen, I follow him.

“It’s Dario,” he finally says, his voice thick with frustration. He slips his hands into his pockets as he paces the length of the large kitchen.

My stomach drops at the mention of Dario. The name feels like a poisonous fruit—sweet yet lethal. A part of me still hasn’tstopped thinking about that night, even though I know he’s bad news.

“What did he do?” I swallow hard.

Again. What did he do again?

“He’s gone public with some damaging news about us. Claims we can’t pay our debts. It’s chaos.”

As Lorenzo buried his hands in his hair, I let the message seep into my skin.

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