Page 13 of Dark Mafia Bride

An annoyed groan escapes my lips. I’ve built this empire with blood, sweat, and ruthless ambition. And now Aldo’s telling me I need a woman to clean up my image? It feels ridiculous.

All the years I’ve endured to escape my father’s shadow don’t seem to matter. I’ve fought tooth and nail not to let his failed legacy overtake me, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. I’ve clawed my way to the top through grit and determination, taking the less-than-honorable path when necessary. I’ve made tough choices, choices that weigh heavily on my conscience, yet here I am—richer, more successful, and still standing.

Yet, despite all I’ve achieved, the idea of becoming a mere shadow of myself for some woman feels unbearable. I’ve watched countless men—my father included—fall victim to love’s fickle nature, losing themselves in the process.

I refuse to be another casualty in that game. Love feels like a mirage—something beautiful yet elusive, promising everything but delivering little more than heartache.

I won’t allow a fleeting emotion to unravel the empire I’ve built. I’ve come too far, sacrificed too much.

But deep down, I know Aldo might be right. I can’t ignore the gnawing feeling that I may need more than just power to truly succeed.

“Fine,” I say finally, my voice low. “You find the right woman, and we’ll talk.”

Aldo nods, satisfied. “I’ll start looking into suitable candidates. But Ettore...” His voice trails off, and I glance at him, raising an eyebrow.

“What?”

He shifts in his seat, choosing his words carefully. “You need to take this seriously. Your past...it shouldn’t get in the way of the future you’re building.”

It’s not really my past if I killed three men just a few days ago, but I nod.

As Aldo packs up his files and leaves, I stay seated, staring out the window. The weight of his words settles over me, but it’s not the fake wife or business expansion that fills my thoughts.

It’s her. Mirabella.

With a frustrated growl, I pull out my phone and dial my righthand, the same man I called to clean up the mess I’d left behind from saving Mirabella. His unwavering loyalty and willingness to get his hands dirty keeps the chaos at bay.

He picks up after the first ring. “Boss?”

I run a hand through my hair, cursing inwardly as I break another one of my rules just because of her.

“I need you to find someone for me.”

5

MIRABELLA

“Are you sure this is the place?” I ask, unable to hide the confusion in my voice. This looks...well, like a regular laundromat. I didn’t pay to rent a dress and four-inch heels that hurt like hell to visit a laundromat!

“Am I sure this is where I work?” Giovanni chuckles through the receiver. “Yeah, I’m sure, Mira.”

I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me. I’m not in the mood for his jokes.

“I’m serious, Gio,” I sigh.

When I asked for an invitation to The Temple, one of the most notorious underground poker clubs in the city, I expected glitter, glamor and opulence—not this. I’ve spent a lot of money and time I don’t even have just to be here.

“You’re in the right place, Mira. Just walk into the laundromat and head toward the inner door on the left.”

I sigh again before ending the call and slipping my phone into my purse. My eyes scan the signQuick Cleanersabove the door as I move forward. I push the door open and step inside.

The place smells faintly of detergent. Stacks of clothes are neatly folded on counters, and old machines hum in thebackground. A bored-looking woman behind the counter gives me a small nod before refocusing on the computer screen in front of her. I look around until I spot a wooden door just as Giovanni described. My heels click on the tiled floor as I approach the door and slip through it.

The exit leads me into a narrow corridor. My pulse quickens. Distant music filters through the unpainted walls, accompanied by a low thumping that vibrates through me. With each step forward, my heart races in anticipation. At the end of the corridor, I stop in front of a steel door. Two massive bouncers flank the entrance, their eyes locking onto me immediately. They’re dressed in black, with muscular builds and expressionless faces.

One of the bouncers scans me up and down, his gaze lingering just long enough to make me uncomfortable.

Can he tell I’m trying hard not to sweat in a dress that costs more than my annual rent? I hope not.

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