Page 125 of Dark Mafia Bride

“I was going to come see you. I was going to confess what I did and ask for your forgiveness, even though I knew you’dprobably send me away. But…” His voice wavers, and I hear him swallow thickly. “Your husband came to see me first.”

The wordhusbandcrashes into me like a wave, and I feel a fresh surge of disbelief flood through me. I turn slowly to look at Ettore, his arms still crossed over his chest, his face a perfect mask of indifference.

“What did he do?” I ask, my voice low but urgent, the question hanging in the air like a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode.

Milo hesitates, then lets out a dry laugh. “He didn’t kill me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says, trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but it falls flat. “But I’m in the hospital…”

A sob rises in my throat, and I hang up the phone, letting it slip from my numbed fingers. My vision blurs with angry tears as I turn to face Ettore. “You put him in the hospital?” My voice shakes, a raw mix of horror and disbelief.

Ettore doesn’t flinch. His expression remains unmoving, and his eyes meet mine with an unyielding indifference that makes my blood boil. “He hurt you,” he says in a dangerously calm voice. “I made sure he understood the consequences.”

My hands ball into fists at my sides. “You can’t just put people in a damned hospital because they hurt me. That’s not how the world works!”

Ettore’s face darkens, and he takes a step toward me. “In my world, that’s exactly how it works,” he replies, his voice low and fierce. “And you should be grateful. I had Luca take him to the hospital. He could’ve bled to death in his own damned house.”

The cruelty in his words, spoken with such ease, makes my stomach churn. “You think I should be grateful?” My voice rises, and I hate that it wavers. “You think I want this? Violence and control? This is exactly why I left you!”

He takes another step closer, and I instinctively take a step back. I see the hurt flash in his eyes before he stops, his expression hardening once more.

“Get in the car,” he says, his voice harsh, carrying an unmistakable command. “We need to fix the real problem here.”

I glare at him, the heat between us thick and suffocating. “Why? So you can control my life some more? Beat up—heck, hurt—people who hurt me? What exactly did you even do to him?”

“I shot at him…” he replies, his voice colder than I expect.

A sharp gasp escapes me, but he doesn’t stop. “Fuck it, Mirabella, I wanted to do more than that,” he growls, his tone hardening with every word.“Believe me, I was tempted—so damn tempted—to aim higher. His chest. His head. One tilt of my hand, and he’d be done.” His jaw tightens, the veins in his neck visible as he fights to control his rage. “But I didn’t. You know why? Because of you. I knew you’d never forgive me. I knew he was your friend, and that you still cared about him. So I held back. For you.”

“Then how did he end up in the hospital?” I ask.

“The bastard panicked when he saw me,” Ettore says with a sharp laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Tried to bolt like a coward. Ended up tripping over himself and tumbling down the stairs. Lucky all he broke was his damn hip and nose. He could’ve died.” His lips curl into a cold sneer. “Would’ve served him right.”

“Ettore,” I chide softly, relieved he didn’t actually shoot Milo outright, though his anger still sends a shiver through me.

Ettore’s expression softens, but his intensity doesn’t fade as he steps closer. He cups my face with his calloused hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Why do you keep fighting me, Mirabella?” he murmurs. “Everything I do—every goddamn thing—is to protect you. Don’t you see that?”

His words shake something deep inside me. This is who Ettore is—violence, blood, and crime are etched into his soul. This is the world he knows, the only way he understands how to love and protect.

And I don’t want to accept it. I don’t want to understand him or this pull between us that never seems to fade. But I do. God, I do.

With a heavy sigh, I step back, breaking the spell between us, and slide into the passenger seat. Ettore follows, closing the door quietly before turning to me.

“Are you coming home?” he asks, his voice laced with something I can’t quite place.

I let out a sharp breath, my arms crossing tightly. “No, Ettore. I’m still mad at you. You can’t just go around shooting at people, no matter how justified you think it is.”

His jaw tightens, and he nods, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I told you I’d spend my whole life making up for what I’ve done, didn’t I?”

I narrow my eyes, leaning in slightly. “Then start now. For the next two weeks, you’re not coming to any of my appointments. None. You don’t get to be involved in this part of my life if you can’t control yourself.”

His eyes widen in shock. “Mirabella, come on. That’s not?—”

“Fair? No, it’s not. But neither is you playing judge, jury, and executioner. Actions have consequences, Ettore. You’re going to sit this one out and think about that.”

He looks like I’ve just punched him. “I can’t—what if something happens? What if you need me?”

“I’ll be fine,” I say firmly, holding his gaze. “Logan will drive me. Alessia can come if I need her. But you? You’re on timeout.”

His lips part like he wants to argue, but then he sighs, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “Two weeks?”

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