Page 1 of Dark Mafia Vows

1

GINEVRA

My knuckles are white as I grip my steering wheel firmly, trying to navigate the congested streets at 8:30 in the evening. The roads are packed with cars, their honking horns drowning out the music blaring from my car’s Bluetooth speaker.

As I sing along to the lyrics of Pharrell Williams’ “Happy,” my stomach twists with nerves, trying to distract myself from the impending breakdown that’s bound to occur any minute from now.

I hate being late. I hate being stuck in traffic, and most importantly, I hate it when my brother is pissed at me.

As if on cue, my music pauses abruptly, overridden by the shrill sound of my ringtone.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath as Lorenzo’s name flashes on my phone screen.

I place a hand over my racing heart and clear my throat, forcing a strained smile as I answer the call. “Hey, big brother?—”

“You’re this close to getting a security detail and a nanny, Ginny,” Lorenzo’s impatient voice booms through the speakers. “Where are you? The event started already!”

My smile wavers, and I let out a sigh. It’s not the first time he’s made this threat. We both know assigning a security detail would be pointless. I’ve managed to evade every bodyguard and infuriate every nanny since day one, much to Lorenzo’s consternation.

“I know, I know! I’m on my way,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light, but my frustration bubbles beneath the surface. “I’ve been stuck in traffic for almost thirty minutes now.”

His exasperated sigh fills the car’s interior. “You wouldn’t have been stuck if you’d left the house earlier. Or, hell, if you’d let your fiancé pick you up.”

I roll my eyes as he continues. “Rinaldo is already here, and he’s getting pissed. He wanted to introduce you to some important people.”

“I got held up discussing ideas for the bakery. You know how it is.”

“Discussing ideas?” he scoffs. “What the hell, Ginny?”

I steal a glance at the dashboard and huff. “Relax, I’m right on time. The party doesn’t really even start until eight.”

“Ginny, the event started thirty minutes ago,” he informs me. “I must’ve told you the time a hundred times, but then again, you’ve always had selective hearing.”

I groan. “It’s not my fault today.”

“Hmm,” Lorenzo hums sarcastically. “Where and when have I heard that before? Oh yeah— from you, every other day.”

His tone makes me bristle. Lorenzo has never fancied the idea of me starting a business of my own. He’s always taken pride in taking care of me, and now that the family business is facing challenges, he’s more determined than ever to keep me under his wing.

Rinaldo Sanchez, my fiancé, hails from a family of affluent politicians and is one of Lorenzo’s business associates.According to my brother’s grand plan, Rinaldo is supposed to ensure I’m well taken care of.

So, the idea of me starting my own bakery? It drives him up the wall.

“I’ve been out with the people who can help me.” I try to make my tone light. “Small business owners, locals, exactly the kind of people who know what works. You know that.”

“Is this really necessary, Ginny? You could just focus on socializing with Rinaldo, keeping up appearances for the company, and maybe your upcoming marriage,” he huffs, and I roll my eyes again. “Why do you even need this bakery?”

I can almost hear him pacing on the other end, his overprotectiveness almost suffocating. I don’t take offense, though. It comes from a good place. We’ve been on our own for so long, separated from the rest of our extended family, that we’re all we have for each other. I’m just as protective of Lorenzo as he is of me.

Okay, maybe not as much. My brother can be a bit overbearing, but I still love him.

Lorenzo loves me too, that much I know. He’s the best big brother anyone could ever ask for, and if there’s a next life, I’d definitely want him right back in his role as protector, pseudo parent, and sibling. He’s been my only family since our parents died, and I wouldn’t trade him for anything.

If only he didn’t still see me as that five-year-old with missing teeth, pigtails, and a jean romper. It’s frustrating how he treats me like I’m made of glass, something fragile that needs to be handled with care.

I can’t even tell the most important person in my life about my passion because he thinks I don’t need to make money, that I should be devoting my time to broadening my social circle and prepping to begin my role as a trophy wife.

“It’s a passion project, Enzo.” I feign a chuckle, trying to lighten up his mood. “And how many times do I have to tell you I’m doing this for myself?”

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