Page 118 of Dark Mafia Bride

She lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Like the last time?”

“I’m sorry about that,” I say, my voice quiet but sincere as we wind through the busy streets. “Give me a chance to prove that I’m better now. For you. For our children.”

She turns her face away, staring out the window, and a sickening fear grips my chest. The kind of fear that tells me I’ve lost her for good, that nothing I say or do will change anything. But then, after what feels like an eternity, she sighs. Her voice is softer when she speaks again.

“I have scheduled an appointment with the doctor next week,” she says, her tone quieter, almost hesitant. “It’s my first official doctor visit. We can go together if you have the?—”

“I’ll make the time, Bella. I promise,” I interrupt. My heart leaps in my chest, relief flooding me like a wave. “Together,” Irepeat, the word in my mouth, like it the last two minutes might disappear if I don’t. But it’s something. It’s hope.

The silence in the car settles again, but it’s different now. It’s not as suffocating.

As we pull into her neighborhood, I glance over at her, and I swear I see something shift in her eyes. It’s not trust—not yet. But it’s a flicker of something that may just be the beginning of what I thought was the end. Maybe it’s a hint of the connection we used to have.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself hold on to that. It’s not much, but for now, it’s enough.

41

MIRABELLA

The fluorescent lights hum above me, casting a harsh, sterile glow over the rows of students hunched over their notes. I sit at the back of the lecture hall, my pen tapping absently against the blank page in front of me.

My attention is less on Professor Ricci’s lecture about global governance than on the empty seat beside me. The one that should be occupied by Milo. If he were here today, that spot would be his.

I haven’t spoken to him since the day I walked out on him at the café. At first, he tried reaching out—calls, messages, endless attempts to apologize. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I let his messages pile up, unread. Then, one day, everything stopped. He vanished. It’s been weeks now, not since I resumed classes after being discharged from the hospital.

At first, I didn’t mind the silence. I almost preferred it. I didn’t have to face him in class, didn’t have to listen to his apologies, didn’t have to be reminded of everything we’d been through. Hell, the pictures of him kissing me were used against me by my own husband. I hated how easily everything had crumbled.

Then, the absence starts to gnaw at me. It’s been over a month now. I try not to care. I shouldn’t care, especially not after everything he did. I know it was his fault.

So why does my chest feel so tight? Why does a part of me still want to know what happened?

But I can’t control the feeling that worries me as I struggle to make out what might be wrong.

The professor drones on about ‘economic diplomacy’ and ‘global governance.’ The words bounce around the room, meaningless, while my mind races with questions I can’t seem to quiet. What’s going on with Milo? Is he sick? Out of town? Taking a break from college? Or worse...is he avoiding me?

I scoff at the thought. Milo wouldn’t ditch classes for almost a month just because we’d fought. This is something more serious.

The lecture finally ends minutes later, and the room becomes noisy and bustling with activity as students pour out of the lecture hall in chattering groups. I sling my satchel over one shoulder and make my way towards the door.

In the hallway, the voices grow louder, and I feel a pang in my chest. It feels like I’m just going through the motions. I pull my phone out of my bag and, before I even realize what I’m doing, I’ve dialed his number.

It rings once. Twice. And when the third ring comes and goes, I can’t stop myself. I pull up our last conversation. The last message from him was an apology—a desperate, heartfelt one. My fingers hover over the screen, guilt sinking in as I realize I’ve never replied to any of his messages.

I bite my lip, then type the words.

Hey. Haven’t seen you in a while. Just checking to make sure you’re okay. Call me if you want to talk.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself. Immediately, the guilt coils tighter in my stomach. I know Milo crossed a line, but it doesn’t erase the time we spent together. The friendship, theway he made my first days here easier, the fact that he genuinely seemed to care about me...It doesn’t just disappear, no matter how hard I try to ignore it.

And then there’s the darker worry I can’t shake.

Did Ettore do something to him? He’d threatened to kill him before, and knowing him, he isn’t one to joke about certain subjects like that.

I force the thought from my mind, but it lingers. Ettore wouldn’t...would he? He’s always made his feelings clear about Milo, but would he go that far?

I close my eyes as flashes of the hospital flood my mind—doctors, beeping machines, the overwhelming fragility of life. It all feels so delicate, so fragile. That withing a blink of eye everything you’ve ever known can change quickly.

I can’t shake the image of Milo fading into the background of my life just because I’d let my anger take over. If something happened to him, and I didn’t know...I wouldn’t forgive myself.

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