Page 43 of Dark Mafia Vows

For three days, I’ve tried and failed to purge her out of my mind. I’ve reminded myself of every possible reason why she should remain out of bounds. How her family brought me so much pain, how her brother turned his back on me when I needed him the most.

My mind drifts down memory lane, down to the memories I’ve tried to keep on a leash, the ones I only go back to when I need to fuel my quest for revenge…

The day my father got the job with Lorenzo’s family, his excitement was palpable. I could tell from the way his voice practically buzzed with energy when he told my mother and me that we’d be moving to live with his new boss in the staff quarters assigned to us.

We took a taxi from the countryside into the city, heading to the grand house he’d been raving about for days. I remember staring out the window, watching the towers and skyscrapers soar above us.

When we eventually arrived at Bianchi’s Mansion, it was even grander than I had imagined. The magnificent entryway still looms in my mind. The polished marble floors gleaming under the soft glow of the chandelier.

I stood there, a small boy feeling dwarfed by the opulence surrounding me. It was like I was in the scene of one of the movies I watch, the place I use to believe was only where that kind of wealth existed. The thick scent of polished wood and expensive perfume lurked in the air, making my stomach churn with nerves.

Then Lorenzo had appeared with a bright smile that instantly put me at ease. He was about my age, and his friendly face was a welcome sight in this intimidating new environment.

“Come on in, I have so many games you can play with,” he’d said, pulling me inside.

Lorenzo was incredibly kind, and at just ten years old, I felt like I’d found both a brother and a best friend. As we grew older, our bond only grew stronger, even though we’d gone to different schools and led separate lives.

My father worked as his father’s personal henchman for seven years, and during that period, we experienced a financial breakthrough. It was fortunate, especially since my mother had been diagnosed with stage II breast cancer and we could afford the treatment.

I remember the relief that washed over my father’s face when he talked about his earnings for my mother’s chemotherapy. The weight of fear lifted, even though it was only for a moment, grateful for the life Lorenzo’s family provided.

Despite how close Lorenzo and I were, I couldn’t help but notice the way his mother always looked at me—with a disdain so sharp it could cut glass. Even as we laughed and played, her eyes were a constant reminder that I didn’t belong.

I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the joy of being with Lorenzo and the news, a few years later, of his new sibling. I can still remember the excitement that bubbled through him. At twelve, he was finally going to be a big brother, something he’d always wanted.

When Ginny had arrived, Lorenzo was ecstatic, and I shared in his excitement, feeling a warmth bloom in my chest whenever we carried and played with her. And as Ginny grew, she became the light in our lives, her constant laughterand mischief blurring out their mother’s hatred for me, which worsened as I became a teenager.

But then, my mother’s cancer had returned, and everything had taken a dark turn. I was seventeen, Lorenzo was eighteen, and it was the summer before he left for college in the UK. Lorenzo invited me to their beach house in Italy, offering a brief escape from my troubles.

We spent a perfect day on the beach—sun shining, Ginny building sandcastles, and us splashing in the waves. But that night, everything had changed.

I remember the slap that pulled me up from my slumber, how harsh the fingers felt against my skin, and how I woke up startled and confused.

In the darkness, I was yanked from my dreams by a rough grip, dragging me down a hallway I had never known existed in that house. Each step felt like a descent into hell. I was terrified and confused. I could hear distant whispers from a room nearby. The air around me felt thick with tension, and my heart had raced with dread.

When I was pulled into that dimly lit room, the sight before me left me even more baffled. There was Lorenzo, his face stricken with guilt, while his mother looked on with disgust as usual.

But it was Antonio Bianchi, Lorenzo’s father, cigar smoke curling around him like a predator, that sent chills down my spine. His expression was foreign to me—cold, menacing.

And then I saw my own father in a corner, beaten and bruised, huddled on the floor. My heart sank, and I rushed toward him, desperation clawing at my throat. But a henchman had slapped me across the cheek, sending me sprawling back.

“Dario!” my had father shouted, pain and fear mingling in his voice, but all I could see was Lorenzo standing there, frozen,his eyes wide but unmoving. The betrayal felt like a knife twisting in my gut, sharper than the pain on my skin.

My best friend hadn’t lifted a finger to help me. Why?

I grit my teeth, blinking the memories away. They fade to the back of my mind, where they belong, but I can’t get rid of the emotions. As always, they linger like a shadow in the corners, waiting for the right moment to manifest.

This is one of those moments.

Balling my hands into fists, I resolve that I’ll never let what happened with Ginny happen again, even if it kills me.

19

GINEVRA

Iwake up to the soft morning light spilling through the curtains, a groan slipping past my lips as the rays hits my face. It’s day four of living in the enemy’s house, and I’m already dreading it.

Enemy who made you come all over his kitchen counter,my inner voice mocks.

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