Page 102 of Dark Mafia Bride

Mirabella and I have only been together for a handful of nights. Three times. The first night we fucked I’d used protection. The second and third times where I’d gone without bare only happened a week ago. If she suspected she was pregnant, it couldn’t have been from those last two times. And if she didn’t use the test right away, she must have already known.

That leaves only one possibility:him. Milo. The man in the pictures. The man who’s now a part of this twisted mess.

How long had she been playing me? Had this always been her plan? To use me for my money, then run back to her lover the moment our marriage was over? Was that why she’d told me she was on birth control? Or had she planned to lie, to say that Milo’s baby was mine? To trap me? To milk me dry until there was nothing left?

The questions flood in, relentless, each one more bitter and cutting than the last. I’d opened my heart to her. I’dlovedher. I’d thought we had something real. I’d waited for her...

My phone buzzes in my pocket, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. I pull it out, barely able to focus as I see an incoming message from a client.

Get it together, Ettore,a harsh voice whispers in my ear.

And I try. I fucking try.

I manage to pick up the mess on the floor, pushing the scattered papers and files back onto my desk, trying to restore some sense of order. Then, I force myself into a scheduled online meeting. But my mind is elsewhere, lost in a fog of confusion and hurt. Twenty minutes of Skype, and I can barely remember a word anyone said. I sign the wrong documents, send the wrong emails.

I’m a damned mess.

A heavy knock echoes against the door a moment later, and before I can react, it swings open. Vittorio steps in, his eyes scanning the room with his usual confidence, but then they soften when he sees me.

“You look like shit. And why the fuck is it so dark in here?” He strides over, yanking the blinds open. The sudden light slices through the room, and I flinch, like it’s burning my skin.

He walks back to the desk, sitting across from me, his gaze sharp. “I saw Zia Camilla, Francesca, and Marta leaving. What the hell’s going on?”

I push the file across the table without a word, watching as he flips it open, pulling the photos out and examining them. His brow furrows as confusion and sympathy cloud his expression. He lets out a heavy breath, then looks back at me, shaking his head.

“I don’t buy this.”

“What...?” I choke out, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.

“And I’m shocked you’re buying into this nonsense. You know Aunt Camila,” he continues, his tone measured but firm. “She hates Mirabella. Hates being wrong even more. You know how she is.”

He lifts one of the pictures between his fingers.

“This isn’t what it looks like?—”

My harsh laugh cuts him off before he can say whatever bullshit he was about to spew.

“I’ll tell you exactly what it looks like.” I snatch the picture from his hand, my finger stabbing at the faces in the frame. “This is my wife, Mirabella, kissing another man. The same man I saw her with a few weeks ago, all cozy with him. I asked her about him, and she lied to my face. Told me he was just afriend.”

Vittorio leans back, his expression softening slightly, as though he’s trying to calm the storm he sees brewing. “The picture could be taken out of context, Ettore. I’m just saying, you shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions. Why don’t you talk to her first?”

“Talk to her?” I snap, my voice sharper than I intend. “Why, Vittorio? So I can hear her tell me more lies? So she can look me in the eye and deny everything like she did before?”

“You’re overreacting, brother.”

“Oh, fuck you, Vittorio.” I stand suddenly, pacing the office, feeling my frustration boil over. “What the hell do you even know? You’re so high up in your happy little world, you don’t seehow shitty people really are. That’s why I never let you get mixed up in family business. You’re just a child.”

“I’m a child?” He stands too, his voice biting. “Oh, please. Show me how to be an adult. A grown man like you gets handed pictures of his wife’s infidelity from the same people who hate her guts, and instead of even giving her the benefit of the doubt, you go ahead and blindly believe them. Why? Because you’re too afraid to look like some simp?”

“That’s not?—”

“No, tell me I’m wrong,” he cuts me off. “Tell me this isn’t about you being scared to love someone the way our father did. That in your twisted head, admitting you’re a different person because of your feelings makes you weak.”

“Just shut up, Vittorio,” I mutter, my hands clenched at my sides. “Father’s life and love for our mother have nothing to do with this.”

He shakes his head slowly, disappointment in his eyes. “You’re even weaker than I thought, brother. What would it cost you to just talk to her first? I’m sure she has a reasonable explanation.”

His words hit harder than they should, and I let out a shaky breath, my chest tight with emotion I can’t keep inside any longer. “I loved her, Vittorio. Hell, Istilllove her. I thought she loved me too. I should’ve seen the signs when she kept shutting me out. I thought she was just sad because of how the family treated her. I thought she was nervous, dealing with the pressure of being newly married, of all the scrutiny. I even killed for her...” My voice cracks, and I hate the weakness I can’t hide.

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