Page 71 of Dark Mafia Vows

But then his voice, broken and pleading, cuts through the haze of my anger. “Please,” he whispers, barely audible through his tears. “I’m begging you. I’ll pay back every cent, every ounce of it. I’ll do anything. Just...don’t let her die because of me.”

I freeze, the knife hovering in mid-air.

Don’t let her die because of me.

Suddenly, the image of my mother flashes in my mind—her pale face, weak hands trembling as she tried to hold mine. The cold, sterile hospital room we could barely afford, and the helplessness I felt as I watched her frail body succumb to the pain, powerless against the stings that shot through her. I blink, feeling a tightness in my chest, something I haven’t allowed myself to feel in years.

I lower the knife, taking a small step back, my anger giving way to something else—something I don’t want to acknowledge.

Compassion? Pity?

No. That part of me died the moment I was left to fend for myself. The Dario I am now is the one people fear, the one who doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch.

But then there’s Ginny.

As much as I hate to admit it, she’s changed me. Because of her, I feel things—things I didn’t give two fucks about before.Emotions I’d successfully mastered the art of hiding away now refuse to stay buried. And it’s all because of her.

I grit my teeth, fighting the inner battle raging inside me. One part of me still wants to finish this, to beat Rafe within an inch of his life, to kill him so that no one dares to cross me again. But the other part—the part that Ginny has softened, the part buried deep under layers of darkness for so long—won’t let me. She’s unlocked something in me, something I can’t quite control anymore.

And it terrifies me.

“Leave us,” I order, my voice sharp.

Vito and Gabriel, my other two men, move quickly, but Anton hesitates, clearly confused by the sudden shift in my demeanor. But he knows better than to question me. He nods, following the others out. The door clicks shut, and suddenly it’s just Rafe and me in the room.

I stare at him, my chest tight, my mind racing. I should hurt him. I should make him suffer. I should inflict unforgettable pain. But I can’t. Not after hearing that.

I crouch down in front of him, grabbing his chin and forcing him to meet my gaze. His eyes are wide with terror, but there’s something else there now—hope.

“I’m not going to kill you,” I say, my voice low and controlled. “But you’re not walking out of here without punishment.”

Rafe lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging with the slightest hint of relief. “Th-thank you?—”

“Don’t thank me,” I snap, cutting him off. “You’ll pay me back. Every cent. And if you ever cross me again, you won’t live to see your wife’s next treatment.”

He nods furiously, tears streaming down his bloodied face. “I swear. I won’t... I’ll do anything. I won’t mess up again.”

But I’m not done. I lean in closer, tightening my grip on his jaw until a whimper escapes his lips. I bring the knife to the sideof his face, hovering just over his skin, watching as he trembles under my touch.

Then, with one swift motion, I drag the blade from the edge of his eyebrow down to his jawline. A deep groan rips from his throat as blood pours from the gash, staining my hands.

“This is your warning,” I tell him, pushing his head back so hard it slams into the ground.

His groans and whimpers echo in the room as I leave him there, stepping out into the cool hallway. My men are waiting outside, silent, their eyes locked on me. Anton hands me a white handkerchief just as Timoteo opens the car door. I wipe the blood from my hands, the fabric soaking it up as if it’s nothing. Then, I slide into the waiting car.

Minutes later, I’m back in my office, collapsing into the leather chair behind my desk. But my mind won’t settle. I run a hand down my face, feeling the anxiety creeping in, that familiar pressure tightens around my chest, suffocating.

Ginny.

Her beautiful face fills my mind, and I close my eyes, imagining her. She’s a mix of softness and strength, sass and warmth. I recap the past few days. In the quiet moments, when we’re not tangled up in each other, we talk. About everything and nothing.

I’ve memorized every sound she makes when she laughs—her mocking snicker, her amused chuckle, that soft, sarcastic laugh. And the way she looks at me... like she sees right through the walls I’ve spent years building. Like she loves the hidden parts of me I’ve long since buried.

Her eyes... they shine brightest under the sunlight, sparkling with hints of green and gold. But when she’s aroused, they darken to a deep forest green, shadowed with brown. And when she looks at me with admiration, they soften, glowing with a warmth that makes me feel... exposed. Seen.

I’m not a saint. But with her, I want to be better.

My stomach churns as my thoughts begin to spiral. They turn darker, sharper. What if she ever gets sick? What if she leaves me? What if I lose her the way I lost my mother?

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