Page 104 of Dark Mafia Bride

“Fine,” I snap, the words coming out before I can stop them. “You’re mad at me? Well, I’m mad at you too...” My voice wavers, but I stand my ground.

His movements stop, just for a second. A flicker of attention. I exhale, relieved for a moment that I’ve gotten through to him, that maybe—just maybe—he’s finally going to say something.

“You left me all alone last night,” I say, my voice barely a whisper, but it feels like a scream in my chest. I take a step forward, standing just behind him. “Do you know how cold and empty this room feels without you here?”

I move to wrap my arm around his waist, but before I can even touch him, his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist and dropping it back to my side.

“Okay,” I exhale, the breath shaky. “You’re definitely mad at me. What did I do?”

He doesn’t answer. He just pulls on a simple T-shirt and shorts. Then, without a word, he heads back to the bedroom. My eyes follow him, my heart hammering. I watch as he picks up his discarded jacket and pulls an envelope from the pocket, tossing it onto the bed like it’s nothing.

I stare at the envelope, confusion churning inside me, but when I look back at him, he’s already moving toward the door.

“Separate rooms have been arranged,” he says, his voice cold and flat, like he’s reading from some script. “Our one-year contract will soon be over, so this agreement will proceed exactly as planned for the remainder of the months.”

Contract? Agreement?

The words don’t make sense. They hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me.

“Ettore, what are you talking about? What exactly is going on?” I manage to croak, panic rising in my throat.

His hand twists the doorknob, and his words slice through the air. “It’s what we should have done from the beginning. There’s no need for pretense anymore.” He doesn’t even look at me when he says it.

I stand there, rooted to the spot, my mind racing, but I can’t seem to move. I feel like I’ve been frozen in place, a statue of shock, as he walks out of the room and slams the door behind him.

What the hell just happened?

My hands are trembling as I walk toward the bed, reaching for the envelope. I open it slowly, my fingers clumsy and unsure, and pull out the pictures inside. As I unfold them, the air seems to disappear from the room, from my lungs.

It’s me. And Milo. In all of them.

Frozen moments of us, captured in these damning images—his arm around me, my head on his shoulder, his hands cupping my face, his lips brushing against mine...

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My mind is spinning, questions flooding in, one after another. Who did this? Who sent these to Ettore?

Abruzzi? No, he’d stayed away since the fire, hadn’t he? Maybe it’s someone else...someone from the past? The person who’d set that fire?

Or maybe Ettore had Luca watch me?

But why?

No, he wouldn’t. We’ve been in a good place lately. It doesn’t add up.

For a long moment, I just stand there staring at the door. I should be angry. Furious. I should be burning with rage that Ettore could think so little of me, that he could believe this, but I feel nothing. Just emptiness. A hollow ache spreads through my chest, freezing me from the inside.

I don’t know why, but I don’t run after him to give him an explanation or shout the truth in his face. I won’t beg him to listen. I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t break down over a man. I wouldn’t let a man’s actions pull me under. I watched my mother break apart piece by piece every time my father broke her heart, and I swore to never let myself become her.

I inhale deeply, and with trembling hands, I shove the photos back into the envelope, trying to ignore the weight of them. I toss the envelope onto the bed, as if discarding everything that I once thought we had. Then, without another thought, I rush downstairs and out of the house.

I don’t look back.

My breath comes in shallow pants, each step heavier than the last as I head toward the estate gates. Just before I leave the compound, I glance back, almost against my will. I see a shadow shift behind the curtain of his home office. I know he’s watchingme, and it hurts. It stings more than I thought it would that he doesn’t try to stop me.

The guards at the gate don’t stop me. No one does. By the time I reach the end of the street, my heart is a battlefield—anger and heartbreak warring inside me. I reach the nearest bus stop, my hands shaking as I pull out my phone. I dial the one number I know will bring some sense of peace, even if it’s temporary.

Alessia picks up on the second ring.

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