Page 88 of Dark Mafia Vows

My gun is still in my coat pocket, but I’ve lost the coat in the fray.

Staggering forward, I spit blood and glare at Rinaldo through swollen eyes. “Touch her again, and I’ll break every bone in your body,” I hiss, my voice low, dangerous.

Rinaldo’s smirk falters for just a second. “You’re in no position to make demands,” he says, a sharp edge to his voice. “But tell you what,” he continues, his fingers trailing down Ginny’s arm, “I’ll spare her life if she admits she made a mistake. If she begs for me to take her back.”

Ginny shudders but stays silent. Her jaw clenches, and she glares at Rinaldo with pure hatred.

“Tell me, Ginny,” Rinaldo mocks, grabbing her face in his hands. “You left me for this brute. Do you regret it? Do you regret humiliating me in front of the world?”

I snarl, surging forward even though my body is screaming in protest. Rafe steps right before me, into the large gap between me and Rinaldo. “Not so fast,” he mutters with a gun pointed directly at my head.

Gritting my teeth, I glance behind him. “She left you because you’re weak. You’ve always been weak, Rinaldo.”

His face twitches. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” I spit. “Remember when I broke your nose? You couldn’t touch me then, and you can’t now.” I laugh, blood dripping down my chin. “You’re pathetic. Hiding behind daddy’s money, sending thugs to do your dirty work.”

Rinaldo’s eyes blaze with fury, but he keeps his voice calm. “Your problem is that you like to act so tough. Look at you now.” He chuckles. “You look unrecognizable, and I didn’t even have to lift a finger.”

He takes a step closer, tugging Ginny along with him. “That’s the problem with you commoners. Why get my hands dirty when I have men to do that for me?”

“That’s exactly why you’re weak and no one wants you,” I snarl. “Send your men away. Face me, one on one. Let’s see how tough you are then.”

Rinaldo hesitates, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitching. But instead of responding, he waves his hand.

“Beat him.”

The men rush in again, fists, bats and boots crashing down on me. I swing the knife wildly, not caring who it hits. They land more blows, but the pain is drowned out by one thought--

Ginny.

Amidst the chaos, I hear her scream. Rinaldo’s soft, taunting voice cuts through the noise. “Let’s end this right now, Dario,” he says, fingers trailing over Ginny’s face. “I didn’t call you here to kill you. I want you to watch while this weak man kills the woman you love, alongside your unborn child, right before your eyes.”

I look up, barely able to see through the blood and pain. But I see enough.

The gun in Rinaldo’s hand is now pressed against Ginny’s head.

37

GINEVRA

I’ve never imagined how I would die.

Death is something I don’t really like to think about. It’s inevitable at the end of the day. So why spend all your life thinking about something that’s bound to happen?

But now that I’m standing directly in the face of death, the fear I assume everyone feels in this moment is nowhere to be found. Instead, clawing at my chest is pain, digging its fangs into the numbness that has enveloped me.

The cold barrel of the gun is hard and unforgiving, pressing directly against the side of my head. The metallic chill seeps into my skin, and all I can do is stand there frozen. Every nerve in my body is screaming, but my mind seems calm. Terror skirts around my heart, waiting for the right opening. My body trembles uncontrollably from the harsh cold biting my skin.

Everything crumbles when my eyes meet Dario’s again.

He’s been pushed back to his knees. He keeps fighting to stand, but the men keep dragging him down. His face—god, his face—is bloodied and swollen. And like Rinaldo said, unrecognizable.

But I recognize him. My Dario. His emerald green eyes are wild, locked on me, and I can see him fighting to breathe. He’s trying so hard to stay conscious, to protect me, but he can’t even stand. They’ve beaten him so badly, he can barely move.

Helpless. We are both helpless and hopeless.

The tears fall fast, no longer controllable, pouring from me in waves of desperation. The hot liquid streams down my face, mixing with the grime that coats my skin. The gun digs deeper, forcing my head to tilt slightly, my wet cheek brushing against the metal.

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