Page 2 of Dark Mafia Vows

“Passion project or not, you’re late. You need to prioritize family over... whatever this is.”

“I promise I’ll be there in no time. Just give me a moment,” I tell him. “The traffic is clearing up.”

I hear his heavy exhale before the goes dead.

“Rude,” I scoff, pressing the gas pedal as my car inches forward.

The song resumes right where it left off, and I hum along, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease just a bit. I’m finally ready to launch my bakery, and I won’t let anyone—not Lorenzo, and certainly not Rinaldo—make me feel guilty about it.

I merge onto the main road, the city’s tall buildings rising against the night sky, their glass shining with the city lights. Each one feels alive, showing the energy of the city, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like I’m in sync with it.

As I drive farther, the street opens up with fancy shops and nice cafes, their glowing signs lighting up the evening. I glance at the time again, and...shit, I’m running late. I hope I can still make a grand entrance with Rinaldo if I hurry. Otherwise, he’ll be pissed, too. Not that I care all that much, but having a grumpy fiancée by my side all night will definitely be my thirteenth reason.

Finally, I arrive at the luxurious hotel, its bright entrance looking inviting. The valet area is busy, and I decide not to use it. I don’t want to hand over my keys in this casual outfit.

My faded blue jeans and a simple white top feel utterly inappropriate for the fancy party and the high-profile guests inside. I can already picture the glances I’ll receive from the socialites if I’m caught wearing this, or worse, if anyphotographers or paparazzi take pictures and they end up online.

Lorenzo would be livid for sure. Rinaldo, too. I can just imagine the scandalous headlines. I shudder slightly at the thought. The last thing I want is to attract any more negative publicity to me or my brother. The best plan is to drive inside myself and change into the clothes currently sitting in the backseat of my car.

The cool air greets me as I pull into the underground parking garage. White lights flick overhead, illuminating the sea of already parked flashy cars. The concrete walls are designed with sleek artwork, and the lighting is soft, creating an inviting atmosphere. I quickly scan the space, relief washing over me when I spot an empty space near the back.

The overhead lights cast a soft glow on the polished concrete floor as I maneuver my car. I signal and steer into the spot, my eyes again glancing at the time. I exhale in relief when I realize I may not be as late as I thought.

Just as I’m about to put the car in park, a sleek, tinted sedan suddenly swerves into my lane and cuts me off. My heart races as I slam on the brakes, the tires screeching loudly against the pavement. I grip the steering wheel tighter, irritation bubbling up inside me.

“What the hell?” I hiss as my car comes to a stop.

Seriously? Who does that?

I take a moment to steady my breath, frustration coursing through me like hot embers. After everything I’ve gone through today, this is the last thing I need.

I throw the car into park and fling open the door, my heels clicking sharply against the concrete as I step out. The air is sharp and cool, and adrenaline courses through my veins.

The driver of the tinted car remains inside, seemingly unfazed as he scrolls through his phone, my presence not appearing to matter. My annoyance is growing.

“Excuse me!” I call out, raising my voice to cut through the low hum in the garage. “Do you mind? You just stole my spot!”

Silence. The driver doesn’t even glance my way. My frustration intensifies, and I take a step closer, my heart pounding in my chest. “Hey! I’m talking to you,” I shout, my hands on my hips, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

When he doesn’t budge, I go red in anger. I raise my hand and bang the inside of my fist against his window.

That’s when the driver opens the door.

“How dare you?—”

My words are cut off when the culprit emerges from the car. A man steps out, tall and imposing. The familiar sharp features—high cheekbones and a strong jawline—are striking.

A deep scowl etches his handsome face, the same face gracing covers of various business magazines and news articles, giving him an air of arrogance. Dark hair frames his piercing green eyes, which seem to hold an intensity that commands attention. Dressed in a tailored suit that fits him perfectly, he exudes a stinking level of wealth.

Dario De Luca.

The name hits me like a punch to the gut, bringing back a flood of memories I’d rather forget. Me, a little girl with a silly crush, and he, my brother’s former best friend, who only saw me as that and nothing more. Over the years, he has turned into the man about whom I’ve only heard bad things. His reputation precedes him like a storm cloud.

What is he even doing at an event like this? Last time I checked, he never socializes or attends parties like this. Lorenzo claims he sees everyone as beneath him, and now, judging from the way he’s looking at me, my brother’s right.

“Yes?” His tone is dismissive, as if I’m nothing more than an annoyance.

And that’s when I realize that he doesn’t even recognize me. I can’t help but feel a mix of anger, embarrassment, and disbelief.

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