Page 21 of Dark Mafia Vows

And I know exactly who’s behind this.

When I got the news earlier today from my agent, I just knew I had to come see it with my own eyes. Maybe it was because I didn’t believe it. The last time I checked, there were only two other people competing for the building—a middle-aged man who wanted to open a local bookstore and a married couple who were farmers and wanted to create a food market. I was thehighest competitor, and my payment should have been finalized this week.

Then, this happened.

When my agent told me the final sale price, I didn’t argue. There was no point—it was far beyond anything I could compete with. All I could do was nod and hang up, stunned.

A wave of betrayal crashes over me, confirming what I already knew.

Dario.

The name is like a sharp stab, deeper than I want to admit. I hate that I feel especially broken that he’s the one who did it. It shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does. If someone else had taken the building, it may have been easier to swallow. But knowing Dario—Dario, of all people—only acquired it only to spite me, to hurt me, knowing it would get to Lorenzo, too...it makes my blood boil.

My jaw tightens as I turn away from the building, my heels clicking angrily against the pavement.

Glancing at my watch, I remind myself not to be late for my meeting with Bakers United, the city’s tight-knit group of bakers. Their support has been invaluable throughout this process, from business advice to helping me find my footing with the locals.

I cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, they’ll have some solution to this mess.

The sidewalks are bustling with people, their laughter and chatter very fitting for the clear weather. When I reach the familiar Audi—Lorenzo’s spare car, which I’ve been driving—I’m painfully reminded of all the sacrifices I made to get to this point.

When Lorenzo faced his first major setback with the construction company, I knew it was the wrong time to approach him for financial help.

First, he’d refuse, reminding me that I didn’t need to work. And second, his hands were full, buried under mountains of debt and creditors. I had already burned through most of my savings, so I did the only thing I could—I sold two of my cars, leaving only the Porsche, which was now blown to bits.

I fumble with the keys, the metallic sound jarring against my mind. I can’t shake the image of Dario’s smug grin in my head—the way he always seems to orchestrate our family’s misfortunes from the shadows. My pride won’t let me confront him ever again. My reaction will only give him the satisfaction he craves, and I refuse to beg him for help or acknowledge his role in my downfall.

The car purrs to life, and I pull out into the streets. The coffee shop where I’m supposed to meet with a few members of the union isn’t too far from here, so I don’t bother playing any music. I can’t wait to hear the solutions they’re willing to offer when I tell them of my predicament.

Soon, I arrive at the small building situated in a quiet area of the city. After finding a good spot in the parking lot, I grab my purse before stepping out of the car.

When I enter the cozy coffee shop, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee envelops me like a warm hug. I quickly scan the room, searching for the familiar faces of my partners turned friends.

In a far corner, I spot the three familiar figures huddled together at a small table. Mark, a tall man with a scruffy beard, glances up but quickly averts his gaze when his eyes meet mine.

As I get closer, I see Lucy, with her bright red hair, but her usual warm smile isn’t on her face. Instead, she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. Sophia sits beside Lucy, with soft brown curls framing her face and her lower lip between her teeth, biting nervously.

Something is wrong.

“Hey, thanks for meeting me,” I say, trying to muster a smile, but it feels forced. They nod, barely meeting my gaze. The atmosphere is tense, thick with unspoken words.

As I settle into the empty chair, I notice their body language—hunched shoulders, eyes darting across the room. It’s almost as if they don’t want to be seen with me.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice steady despite the unease creeping in.

Lucy plants a smile on her face as she gestures to the cup before me.

“We ordered your usual.”

But I don’t even glance at it. My stomach is tied into knots.

Mark finally clears his throat.

“Ginny, we...we need to talk.” His voice is low, almost a whisper, as if he’s afraid someone might overhear.

“That’s what we do whenever we meet. We talk.” I chuckle nervously.

Lucy bites her lip, glancing at Sophia for support. “With everything that’s happened...it’s just...” she starts, but her words trail off.

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