Page 105 of Dark Mafia Bride

“Hey, baby boo. What’s up?” Her voice is warm, cheerful, like nothing’s wrong, and for a split second, I want to crumble into it.

I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “Alessia...I need a ride. Can you come pick me up?”

There’s a pause on the other end, and then she speaks, her tone softer now. “Of course, Bella. Where are you? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I tell her where I am, giving the description of the spot before hanging up. I sink down onto the bench, my body shaking. I bite my lip, trying to hold the tears back. I won’t cry. Not here. Not now.

Not for him.

36

ETTORE

The sound of laughter and soft jazz music drifts through the ballroom, blending with the delicate clink of champagne glasses. I don’t want to be here—not at another soul-sucking charity gala that’s more about flaunting power than promoting genuine goodwill.

Honestly, I don’t want to be anywhere without Mirabella by my side. My arms feel hollow, aching for the weight of hers, her presence I haven’t felt in days.

Still, I circulate around the room, shaking hands, offering up rehearsed smiles while my mind drifts elsewhere.

Mirabella and I barely speak anymore. Since that night, I can count the times I’ve seen her at the house. And when I do catch a glimpse of her—maybe chatting with Paula in the kitchen or doing yoga in the garden at dawn, by the time I decide to approach her, she’s already disappeared, leaving behind only a faint lingering scent, a maddening reminder of her absence. It eats at me more than I’m willing to admit.

I’m heading to the champagne bar when I feel someone sidle up beside me. I already know who it is before he speaks—Abruzzi. The smug grin on his face is unmistakable. I don’t have the patience for him tonight.

“Ettore,” he calls, his voice louder than necessary, drawing the attention of a few nearby guests.

“Abruzzi,” I ground out, my steps slowing. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” He laughs, a self-satisfied chuckle. “Life’s been good to me. Just picked up a custom-built Maserati. Business is booming. Can’t complain, man. I’m living large and giving back to the people.”

I hum, barely listening. My glass is empty, and I could really use another drink.

“But you didn’t expect me here because you still think I’m just some underground thug, huh?” He smirks. “Still stuck in your old ways, Ettore. I told you—I’m global now. Bigger than ever.”

He spreads his arms wide like he’s the king of the world, and I roll my eyes.

“I told you,” he continues, lowering his voice as he steps closer. “We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I. I guess that’s why Mirabella’s into both of us. Though, she’d rather die than admit it. She’s got a thing for dangerous men, guys who would kill for her…”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I see the ghost of that night we’d both shot Riccardo for her flash in my mind.

I clench my jaw. “What did I tell you about mentioning my wife’s name?” I step closer to him, keeping my voice low and dangerous. “I see you haven’t learned your lesson.”

The smugness falters in his eyes for a split second, and I savor the sight, feeling the adrenaline surge through me at the remainder of what I did to him.

“That’s funny,” I mutter, stepping right into his space. “I thought you’d be lying low after that whole drug scandal. Didn’t expect to see you at an event like this.”

His eyes darken, but he doesn’t back down. “You’re not the only one with connections, Ettore. It’ll take more than a little setup to bring me down.”

I smirk. “Of course, I knew that. Just messing with you.”

“But here’s the real question,” he says, his voice dropping to a casual drawl as his gaze studies me. “Why isn’t Mirabella on your arm tonight?”

I freeze, and I see that glint of satisfaction in his eyes, the same one I’ve seen a thousand times before.

“You usually bring her along to these things, Ettore. Then again, if I were married to Mirabella, I’d flaunt her everywhere too...” Abruzzi’s voice slithers into my ear, venomous and low. My fingers curl into fists, the urge to shut him up scraping at my restraint.

“Watch your mouth,” I warn, the words ice-coated, but he doesn’t flinch. In fact, he leans closer, eyes gleaming with a sinister delight.

“Oh, hit a nerve, did I?” His voice drops to a murmur, the kind of mock sympathy that only serves to dig deeper. “She didn’t want to come with you tonight, huh? Trouble in paradise? It was just a matter of time. She’s a sharp woman, that Mirabella. Sooner or later, she’d have to see what you are. I’m glad she’s finally woken up.”

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