Page 32 of Dark Mafia Vows

“Maybe I just like seeing you squirm.”

I grin, feeling a flutter of excitement.“Is that all? I thought you cared.”

“I thought you denied being a stalker. How did you get my number?”

A chuckle escapes me, and I have to remind myself that I shouldn’t like Dario. Yes, he saved me, but that’s all.

“My brother, obviously,”I text back, adding an eye-roll emoji.

I wait for his response. One minute. Two. Five.

“I have to go.”

I stare at my screen, disappointment snaking through my chest.

Yeah, no. I’m definitely reading too much into this.

Shaking my head, I decide to take it easy for the rest of the day. I get up from the bed and head to the theater room—a part of Lorenzo’s house I rarely visit—hoping a movie will distract me.

An hour into the romantic comedy, my phone buzzes with a new text. I glance at the screen and see a message from an old friend. Well, I wouldn’t exactly call her a friend. We attended the same private high school and run in similar circles. She’s always had a competitive edge and enjoyed poking fun at others. Unfortunately, I bump into her often, and we just sort of have each other’s contact information.

“Congrats, girl! Although I’ll say this came as quite a surprise,”it reads.

Confused, I try to reply, but more congratulatory messages start pouring in. My heart races as I scroll through my notifications, each one leaving me more confused and panicked than the last.

When I read one of them that congratulates me on my engagement, my heart drops.

“What’s happening?” I mutter, sitting up and deciding to go online.

I already ended my engagement with Rinaldo. If that fucker tried something stupid...

All breath leaves my lungs when I see an article announcing my “upcoming marriage.” Panic sets in as I read the headline:

“GINEVERA BIANCHI, SISTER TO CONSTRUCTION MOGUL LORENZO BIANCHI, ENGAGED TO CONGLOMERATE OWNER, DARIO DE LUCA.”

“What?!”

This has to be a mistake. Who would spread false rumors like this?

I dig deeper, frantically searching for more articles. That’s when I see the photos of Dario and me leaving the club together that night plastered all over the internet.

My mind spins, and I can’t breathe. How did this happen? Why didn’t anyone tell me?

Lorenzo.

I shoot up from my seat, rushing out of the room to catch Lorenzo before he leaves the house. My heart pounds with a mix of urgency and frustration. When I burst into the living room, I find Lorenzo, but my anger quickly fades when I seehim.

Dario is lounging on the sofa, his posture relaxed yet commanding. His dark suit and coat highlights his broad shoulders and muscular build. His emerald, green eyes are sharp and intense, like polished gemstones, and his dark hair falls in messy waves over his forehead.

The slight smirk on his chiseled face adds to his cold, intimidating presence —an enigma that draws you in while warning you to stay away.

The tension in the room is thick. Every glance between us is charged. I can’t shake the feeling that what I’m about to hear is something I’d very much rather avoid.

“Ginny,” Lorenzo says, concern evident in his voice as he notices my expression.

Before I can respond, Dario’s eyes meet mine, his smirk widening. “Ah, she wakes,” he says, his voice smooth with a dangerous allure.

The way he says it, with that knowing look, sends a shiver down my spine. I feel a rush of anger, fear, and, more intensely, a deep, searing hatred.

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