Page 73 of Dark Mafia Vows

I lose track of time, and I don’t know how long I’ve been lying on the bed when I hear the sound of Dario’s car driving into the compound. I tell myself that I’ve stripped off the effect he has on me, so why does my breathing stop at the knowledge that he is home?

The door downstairs creaks open, and his familiar heavy footsteps echo in the distance. My body clenches even further as I hear him climb up the stairs with a female voice overlapping his deep ones.

I tense as the footsteps stop in front of my door, listening as he speaks to Rosa. His voice is low, but I can still hear the frustration laced in his words.

“She hasn’t come out all day?” His tone is clipped, sharp.

“No, Boss,” Rosa replies, sounding worried. “I’ve tried.”

A heavy silence follows. It’s thick and uncomfortable, curling around my throat. I can imagine the look on his face—those clenched jaws and balled fists he does when things don’t go his way.

“I’ll deal with it,” he says finally, his voice gruff.

For a moment, I think he might come up, bang on my door, and demand that I face him. A small part of me wants him to do that. But he doesn’t. The house falls quiet again, and I can almost feel the tension evaporate, leaving behind a strange emptiness.

Maybe he’s given up. Or maybe he’s just as tired of pretending, as well.

My chest squeezes at the thought. At this point, I don’t know what to feel anymore.

I roll over, staring at the ceiling, letting the silence wash over me. My thoughts swirl in endless loops—frustration, confusion, anger, all tangled up with something else I don’t want to admit. I’ve spent so long telling myself this marriage doesn’t matter. That Dario doesn’t matter. But the truth is more complicated than that.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours, before I hear something odd—a soft bark. I freeze, not sure if I imagined it. But then I hear it again, clearer this time. I sit up slowly, confusion marring my features.

Is that a dog?

Curiosity stirs inside me as I throw my legs out of bed and slowly near the door. I crack it open, just a sliver, peering out into the hallway.

And there, sitting right outside my door, is the last thing I expected to see—a small, fluffy Norfolk Terrier with bright eyes and a red ribbon tied neatly around its neck.

My heart stutters in shock, then swells in my chest as I take in the sight. Slowly, I open the door wider, stepping out into the hall. The cute brown dog wags its tail, looking up at me with big, expectant eyes.

“Hey cutie,” I whisper, crouching down and stretching out a tentative hand toward the little thing. The dog nudges its head against my palm, and warmth spreads through me—something soft and familiar. Memories flood back. Harlow, my dog when I was about twelve. She was the same breed, the same color, and had the same bright expressive eyes. My throat tightens at the thought.

The only person who knew about Harlow was Lorenzo. Dario and Lorenzo weren’t even friends when I had her, so there’s no way Dario could know about Harlow on his own. Which meant he’d asked Lorenzo about something I loved and had gone out of his way to get it for me.

Harlow was a rare breed, not common in the U.S., which meant Dario must have gone to great lengths to find this dog. I’d cried for days when Harlow had died, and Lorenzo knew how much she’d meant to me. I’d never gotten another pet because my dad had felt I was too old to get attached to something “not worth it.”

I glance down and spot a small, folded note next to the dog, tied with the same ribbon as around its collar. My fingers tremble slightly as I pick it up and unfold it. The handwriting is neat and slanted, and tears well in my eyes as I read the words.

You’re mad at me for some reason, and I figured you need some company while you sulk. Don’t expect this very often. I’m not always this nice. Just wanted to make things less unbearable. —Dario.

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. I guess it’s typical of him to act like this isn’t a big deal, downplaying it with his usualcold and nonchalant attitude. But I know better. He’d gone out of his way to do this. And he most certainly didn’t have to.

As I stroke the terrier’s soft fur, I feel something shift inside me. The tension I’ve been holding onto loosens just a little, and I can’t stop the warmth spreading through my chest. Dario did this for me.

I stand up, holding the note in one hand, and look down the staircase. And there, at the bottom of the stairs, leaning casually against the banister, is Dario himself.

He doesn’t say anything—he just watches me, his eyes unreadable but locked on mine. He’s still in his work clothes—a dark, tailored suit that fits him perfectly, his tie loose around his neck. His hair is a little messy, as if he has run his hands through it too many times, and the security lights from outside stream in through the windows, catching the sharp angles of his face.

My heart stutters again, and I hate that it does. Why does he have this effect on me?

I bite my lip, unsure what to say. Unsure if I even want to break the silence. But he’s staring at me, waiting, the strain between us thick and crackling in the air. I can feel my pulse in my throat as I take a deep breath, my feet slowly carrying me toward him down the stairs, step by step.

As I get closer, my heart pounds harder. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, but his eyes follow me, watching every step I take. I don’t know what’s pushing me forward, what’s making me feel this pull toward him, but I can’t stop.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I stop in front of him. My breath hitches in my throat, and for a moment, we just stand there, inches apart, the air between us charged. His eyes flicker, something unreadable, yet hot and heavy, flashing in them. I feel my pulse race even faster.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and rough. “Why were you hiding from me, Ginny?”

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