Page 79 of Dark Mafia Vows

I manage a weak smile, thanking him softly before heading to the door. The moment I step outside, the cool air slaps my face, and all the emotions I’ve been holding in come crashing down on me at once. It feels as if everything is closing in, suffocating me. I can’t keep it inside any longer.

Tears blur my vision as I slump against the car, my body wracked with silent sobs. How could Dario do something so thoughtful, so kind, and still keep secrets from me? How am I supposed to trust him with a baby, with my heart, when he’s still hiding things? His mercurial nature, his hot and cold demeanor—how many more secrets does he have buried away?

And now there’s a baby. A piece of him is inside me. How am I supposed to tell him? What if he’s not ready for this, just like I’m not? The weight of everything presses down on me, and I feel utterly lost.

I’m still trapped in my thoughts when I sense someone behind me. Before I can turn, a sharp, searing pain shoots through my arm. I barely have time to process what’s happening before a hand clamps over my mouth, and a sickly sweet scent invades my senses. My vision swims, and panic rises, clawing at my throat.

No, no, not again...

I try to struggle, but my body feels heavy, my movements slow and uncoordinated. My knees buckle beneath me as the world starts to spin, darkness creeping in at the edges.

The last thing I hear is a voice—low, cold, and unfamiliar.

“Don’t fight it, sweetheart.”

And then...nothing.

34

DARIO

The moment I step inside the house, I know something is wrong.

It’s too quiet. Too empty. Normally, I’d hear Ginny somewhere in the distance—her soft humming as she helps Rosa in the kitchen, the mouth-watering aroma of something baking, her laughter as she plays with her dog…something—but today, there’s nothing. Just the eerie silence that claws at my chest.

The air feels colder, heavier, as if the house itself is bracing for something. I pause, listening, but the emptiness presses in on me from every direction. My heart picks up, thudding uneasily as I walk deeper inside. I can’t shake the feeling. It’s gnawing at me—like something is missing, something vital.

“Ginny?” My voice echoes through the house, but there’s no response.

The knot in my stomach tightens. The farther I go, the worse it gets, the silence deafening. Every step makes the dread build, my mind racing through every possible scenario. Where is she? Why is it so damned quiet?

I reach the kitchen, my eyes darting around. It’s spotless. No sign of her usual baking supplies strewn across the counters. Noflour, no bowls, no Ginny. Panic flashes through me, a sharp, cold wave.

Something’s not right. Something’s terribly, terribly wrong.

I clutch the small box containing the Harry Winston bracelet tightly in my hand. The moment I saw it behind the glass display—the silver chain adorned with delicate charms, tiny stars, and crescent moons—I thought of her.

I can already picture her smile, that teasing glint in her eyes when I give it to her. She’ll probably laugh and call me cheesy, but I couldn’t care less. I’ve fallen too hard for her to worry about that now.

I head upstairs, shaking the feeling that something is wrong. She must be asleep. Ginny goes to bed early sometimes. My little sleepyhead.

But when I check her bedroom and then mine, she’s nowhere to be found. My sheets are slightly rumpled, showing that she was here. But it feels cold to the touch.

I drop my briefcase and step out into the corridor. Running a hand through my hair, I wonder if she’s somewhere in the house. As I rush down the stairs again, my eyes briefly glance out the window, taking in the night sky. She must be here. Ginny can’t be out at this time of the night.

“Boss...” Rosa’s voice breaks through the silence as she emerges from the back door. She looks almost hesitant, and her face is pale.

I frown, slipping the box into my pocket. “Where’s Ginny?”

Rosa’s expression tightens, and she avoids my eyes, a sure sign that something’s gone terribly wrong.

“I asked you a question, Rosa. You know I hate repeating myself.”

Her breath hitches. “I...I’m so sorry, sir, I?—”

“Rosa,” my voice hardens, my patience shredding. “Where is she?!”

“She left this morning. Alone. We thought she’d be back quickly, but...”

---