Page 106 of Dark Mafia Bride

My chest tightens, and I want to shove him away, make him regret ever speaking those words. I want to scream that Mirabella hasn’t left me, that she’s at home—our home—but the truth hangs over everything like a dark cloud. The only thing keeping her there is the contract we’re bound to until the end of this charade.

The silence between us is thick, charged with something I don’t want to acknowledge. Abruzzi’s smirk never fades. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and that’s the most dangerous part.

Satisfied that his words about Mirabella finally struck a nerve, Abruzzi slinks away, still wearing that insufferable smirk. The anger surges through me, a hot wave that fills every inch of my body. I ball my hands into fists, my knuckles cracking with the tension.

My blood hums, that dangerous anger simmering just below the surface. He thinks he’s won. He has no idea. My mind has already shifted into something darker, colder. If he thinks he’s bruised me, then he’s about to understand the real cost.

I turn to Luca, who’s been watching quietly nearby. A subtle nod is all it takes. He follows as I slip out through the back of the ballroom. Luca waits, his posture alert, and I take a moment, feeling the careful calculation settle over me.

“Abruzzi’s car,” I say, my voice steady and low. “I want it to send a message, Luca. Something he’ll understand.”

Luca’s eyes gleam as he nods. “Understood, boss.”

“Make sure he watches,” I add. “No loose ends.”

Luca vanishes into the night, as the air hits me sharply, cold enough to wake up the part of me that craves control. It always feels this way—when I’m about to take something back.

From my pocket, I retrieve a phone, dialing in instructions with practiced efficiency, watching the ballroom from the shadows.

Using a secure VoIP address, I’ll place a call to him from a disguised number, knowing my call will appear asUnknownon his screen. Abruzzi might still be smiling in there, still smug, but he has no idea the clock has started ticking.

In the next twenty minutes, Luca will have everything in place. I glance down at my Rolex, each tick bringing me closer.The faint sound of laughter reaches me as I watch from across the compound. I watch as Abruzzi exits with his usual smile on his face.

At exactly 11:17, I make the call using the encrypted line. Abruzzi answers with an impatient, “Who the hell is this?”

The automated voice comes through loud and clear. “Check your ride.”

A pause. I imagine his irritation fading, replaced by confusion. From my vantage point, I see him outside now, scanning for the caller, before he approaches his Maserati, his jaw tightening in annoyance. The night is so still, I can almost hear his footsteps.

Then, the silence is shattered. A flash of light, a thunderous roar that ripples through the compound, flames erupting in a fiery bloom as his car ignites.

Abruzzi is thrown back, landing hard, the heat licking at his face as he scrambles to his feet, coughing and stumbling. He watches, horrified, as the machine he boasted of just minutes ago crumbles into twisted metal, the acrid smoke billowing into the night air. His smirk is long gone, replaced by a look of pure terror as he stares at the wreckage.

In that moment, satisfaction rolls over me like a slow, dark wave. I don’t have to touch him to make him bleed. And as Abruzzi gapes at the ashes of his arrogance, I step back into the shadows, a smirk edge on my lips for good measure.

It’s brief, but damn, is it gratifying.

Once the damage is done, I leave, heading back home just in time for dinner. The thought of what the chef might serve doesn’t even cross my mind. I’m not hungry, and honestly, I don’t care. The only thing that matters is seeing her. I haven’t seen Mirabella at dinner for days now. She’s been eating with her family in their wing. I think about enforcing a rule thatwould require everyone to gather in the main dining room, but I’m not that cruel.

I know the tension between our families all too well. Pushing things any further would only make it worse. But the need to see her, even if it’s just for a few minutes, is too strong to ignore. I’ll crash if I don’t.

The universe seems to be on my side tonight because, at dinner, she finally appears. Her head is held high as she positions herself beside Bianca and opposite Vittorio. In other words, the spot farthest from me on the table. She’s wearing a gown that accentuates her curves and, annoyingly, the slight swell of her breasts. It catches my attention, and a thought claws its way to the surface, ugly and unwelcome—she’s glowing because there’s another man’s baby inside of her.

Guilt explodes in my chest as Vittorio’s words haunt me. I know I should just ask her instead of assuming, but I can’t bring myself to do that.

The dinner proceeds with the sound of polite conversation filling the air. The food is served, and people dive in, murmuring around me. I steal glances at her, watching her every move. I can usually read her, feel what she’s thinking just by looking into her eyes. But tonight, I can’t read her. There’s a distance in her gaze, a coldness that I can’t shake off. It boils something inside of me, an anger that I try to suppress but can’t.

My breath hitches when our eyes meet, but the indifference in hers nearly knocks the wind out of me. She barely acknowledges me before turning her attention back to her plate. It’s as if I don’t even exist to her anymore.

As dinner drags on, the tension in the room grows thicker. My aunts, my cousins—they’re all watching, flicking nervous glances between me and Mirabella. It’s obvious to anyone with a pulse.

“You haven’t come down to dinner in days, Mirabella,” Zia Camila begins with a forced smile on her face. “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t everything be okay?” Mirabella replies, her voice cool as she takes another sip of juice.

“Tell me,” Aunt Camila presses, her eyes flickering between us. “Is everything all right? Are you…ill?”

Aunt Camilla is edging her on, and even though I hate it, I won’t interfere. A part of me wants to see how this unfolds and if Mirabella’s expression or words will give anything away. But the other part of me admires the unbothered calm she maintains.

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