Page 7 of Dark Mafia Vows

I’ve seen the way people shift in their seats when Dario enters a room. There’s an undeniable chill that fills the air, a mix of fear and respect that commands attention. I can’t shake the feeling that he holds immense power, both in the legal world and in the realm of organized crime. Lorenzo doesn’t reveal a lot to me about stuff like this. He only tells me that Dario is an arrogant, conceited prick who thinks he’s hot shit because of his money.

But oh, hot he is.

My throat hitches at the memory of him looking at me across the ballroom two nights ago. I remember the way my body shivered at the way his gaze travelled from head to toe, drinking in my curves until I felt naked. My whole body burned from desire, and then mortification. I was in the arms of my fiancé while feeling hot and bothered by another man across the room.

He was not only hot. He was handsome in a way that made my heart flutter. I can’t help but remember the boy he used to be—the one who played basketball with my brother, the one I had a crush on when I was just a girl. Back then, I thought he was the most beautiful boy in the world. That opinion hasn’t changed much in over fifteen years.

My stomach drops as I recall the way his heated gaze hardened the moment his eyes met my brother’s. I wonder what exactly came in between them. They used to be inseparable when we were younger.

Back then, Dario was just the son of one of my Papa’s henchmen, not the powerful man he is today. My parents alwaysdisapproved of him, especially my mother. Yet Lorenzo kept hanging out with him. I wonder what changed.

The memory of Dario’s smile surfaces, and this time around, I push it away. He didn’t even recognize me when we spoke the other night. Although I don’t blame him. I was just a kid the last time he saw me, and I’ve changed so much since then—my hair color, my body, the fact that I’m no longer a fucking kid.

No longer motivated to continue my routine, I feel the need to go grab some coffee from my favorite cafe. Going on a short drive this morning would definitely brighten my mood.

Just as I’m about to head out of the door, the intercom on the wall buzzes.

“Ms. Ginny, you have a package waiting. Would you like us to bring it up?” the lobby attendant asks.

I’m already slipping into my shoes, so I wave them off. “Leave it by my car, please! I’ll grab it on my way out.”

I assume it’s the car seat covers I ordered two days ago, and I’m surprised at how fast it arrived. Usually, it takes me a couple of days to receive my deliveries, but I guess I’m just fortunate this time around.

Grabbing my car keys from the magnetic key holder on the wall, I leave my apartment and head for the elevator. The doors open with a soft ding, and I make my way to the outdoor parking lot where I left my car last night.

I step out of the building and walk towards my car. At a distance, I spot my package in a brown box beside the Porsche Macan Lorenzo got me for my twentieth birthday. It’s been two years, and yet it still looks brand new with its sleek exterior gleaming under the morning sun.

A small frown appears on my face as I see how small the box is. It’s much smaller than I expected, and confusion washes over me. Did I order something else? Or did the delivery driver mix up my order? A car seat surely wouldn’t fit in such a tiny box.

I feel myself getting pissed again. It’s too early in the day for this. I’m temporarily pulled from my anger as I bask in the sun, bright yet not too hot, against my skin. Ugh! What I wouldn’t give to lounge on a beach somewhere right now.

Speaking of beaches, I remember suggesting to Rinaldo that we go to Santorini, Greece, for our honeymoon. He dismissed the idea immediately, claiming that the term “honeymoon” was meaningless. According to him, every day of our marriage should be special, and we didn’t need any pointless vacations to mark our union.

I roll my eyes at the memory.

‘Way to ruin your entire day, Ginny,’my inner voice mocks.

Just then, as if on cue, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see that it’s Rinaldo calling. I answer with a sigh.

“Did you not get my text?” he snaps as soon as I place the phone against my ear.

“No, I didn’t,” I sigh, already fed up before the conversation even unfolds. “I must have missed it.”

“What were you busy with this time around? Doing Yoga?” he taunts. He knows I do yoga almost every morning, and it’s another of my interest he thinks it’s pointless.

‘If you want to get some movement in your body, get a gym membership or something,’ he’d said the last time he stayed over. He was irritated when he woke up expecting morning sex and found me doing yoga instead.

I feel my eyes twitch in irritation.

“I know you’re still mad about that night, but I don’t appreciate you talking to me like this,” I say, trying to stay calm. “I’ve apologized, and it’s been two days.”

“You apologized, yet there’s always something silly distracting you from more important matters,” he retorts. “Like, I don’t know, your fiancé’s texts and missed calls.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sigh.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“We’ve been engaged for two months, and you’re still not wearing my ring, Ginny. Do you know how that makes me look?”

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