Page 127 of Dark Mafia Bride

My mind whirs, pieces finally clicking together. “You found someone?” I echo, my voice low but threatening. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

For the first time, Camila’s eyes widen with panic. Her control slips, a crack in the mask she’s so carefully constructed. “I-I didn’t—” she stammers, but I cut her off before she can regain her footing.

“No more lies, Camila,” I say with razor-sharp finality. “I’ll ask you one more time before I do something that will make you question whether we really are family. What the fuck do you mean byyou found someone who does?”

Her hesitation dissolves into a sneer. “I couldn’t risk handling the transaction myself,” she spits. “Not when there was a chance that foolish American boy might rat me out. Someone helped me set up an offshore account for the transfer. Using my own account would’ve left a trail.”

Her voice softens as she meets my glare. “I did this to protect the family, Ettore. Our family.”

I take a slow, deliberate step closer, my gaze fixed on hers. “Who was it?” I demand.

Camila hesitates, her lips parting as if to speak, but then she closes them again, her eyes darting away for the briefestmoment. The silence stretches, heavy with anticipation, and for a moment, I think I know the name she’s about to say.

Then she speaks, her voice calm and almost mocking. “The person the tramp belonged to in the first place.”

Her words blur in my mind, the puzzle pieces snapping together in rapid succession.

‘Ettore couldn’t see that, so I found someone who did...’

‘Someone helped me secure an offshore account to carry out the transfer...’

Abruzzi.

This scheme reeks of him. His signature chaos, his appetite for destruction—all to maintain his leverage over others. And Camila? That she would stoop so low as to ally herself withhim—just to torment Mirabella—is enough to make my blood boil.Fuck!I’m barely hanging onto my restraint.

My fists clench at my sides as I fight to maintain control. The air around me feels charged, heavy with blinding fury, but even through the haze of anger, one question still burns in my mind—a question that has haunted me, unanswered, for months.

The fire.

The fire that had destroyed Mirabella’s house, upended her family’s life, and set this entire nightmare into motion. No matter how hard I tried to uncover the truth, it always led back to dead ends, half-truths, and shadows. But now, standing here staring into the eyes of the woman who has confessed to orchestrating Mirabella’s suffering, I know.

It’s all connected.

“The fire at Mirabella’s house,” I say, my voice dropping to a cold, deadly calm. “Was that part of yourmaster planto protect this family with yourhelper?”

The room seems to hold its breath.

Camila freezes, her carefully constructed composure splintering. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and she stiffens in her chair. I catch Mirabella’s confused gaze flicker toward me.

Mirabella shifts beside me, her brow furrowing in confusion. “The fire...it was an electrical issue, wasn’t it?” she whispers, her voice barely audible, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Camila.

She pales, her lips trembling. “I-I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” she stammers. “He said it was just to scare her… I didn’t?—”

“You do realize,” I say slowly, “if the house burns down, I’ll just move them into your place. Or didn’t you think that far ahead?”

Camila’s face drains of color. Her lips part, and she stammers, “I… I… I didn’t?—”

“Didn’t what?” I press, leaning forward. “Didn’t think about the consequences? That they could have ended up dead?”

Her voice shaking, clearly showing that she didn’t think this well enough.

Mirabella lets out a strangled sob, her hands flying to her mouth as the weight of Camila’s words hits her. Her anguish slicing through me, and whatever restraint I had left shatters. The betrayal, the fury, the sheer audacity—it consumes me.

In a blur, I close the distance between us, grabbing Camila by the throat and slamming her against the wall. The impact sends a framed family portrait crashing to the floor, shards of glass scattering across the marble. My grip tightens as I watch her struggle, her hands clawing at mine, her face etched with terror.

Her hands claw at mine, her nails scraping against my skin as she gasps for air. Her face contorts with terror, her composure shattered like the glass scattered at our feet.

“You nearly killed her,” I snarl through clenched teeth, my voice a guttural roar. “You almost killed her entire family—for what? Yourpride? Your fuckinggreed?”

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