Page 133 of Dark Mafia Bride

Her nails dig into my shoulders as she calls out my name in pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” I groan, sliding one hand around her throat while I find a steady pace that hits her right where she likes.

“Oh, fuck,” she chokes. “Ettore...”

The seductive sounds she makes are like music to my ears, sending shivers down my spine. I rock my hips harder, faster, and deeper until I feel her body stiffen slightly before she begins to shudder. My own orgasm hits me, and we ride out our climax together.

When we both come down from our high, I lean slightly back to take in her flushed face.

“Welcome home, Bella.”

She laughs, and fuck...I’ve missed that sound.

“I'm happy to be home,” she says dreamily, gazing at me with adoration in her eyes. “I missed you.”

I lean in to kiss her again, softly, tenderly and full of the emotions words can’t convey.

“I love you so much,” I whisper against her lips.

She smiles back at me. “I love you, too.” And minutes later, she falls asleep in my bed—our bed—a place where we can finally be together after being apart for far too long.

Golden sunlight streamsthrough the curtains, painting delicate patterns across the bed and bathing the room in a soft glow. I wake slowly, cocooned in the warmth of the sheets—and the warmth of Mirabella.

She lies curled against me, her breathing steady, her dark hair spilling over the pillow like a cascade of silk. The air still carries traces of last night, a reminder of how far we’ve come.

I watch her for a moment, unable to tear my gaze away. From a one-night stand—a night born from a whirlwind of adrenaline and gratitude after I saved her life—to this.

Falling hard and fast, we’ve weathered a rollercoaster of emotions, yet every twist and turn is one I’m more than willing to go through again because it’s worth it.

Carefully, I reach out and brush a strand of hair from her face. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, her peaceful expression tugging a small smile from me. She looks so innocent, so content.

A glance at the clock on the wall tells me it’s 7:36 a.m. I slip out of bed quietly, not wanting to disturb her, and head to the kitchen.

“S-sir!” Paula stammers, startled as I enter, heading straight for the coffee machine.

“You can leave, Paula,” I instruct calmly. “Also, let the others on kitchen duty know that I’ll handle breakfast myself today.”

Her wide eyes betray her surprise, but she nods quickly and hurries off, likely wondering why I, of all people, am suddenly interested in cooking—a task I haven’t taken on in years.

The answer is simple: Mirabella.

I set about preparing coffee for myself and tea for her. As the kettle comes to a boil, I crack a few eggs into a pan, the aroma of sizzling bacon soon filling the air.

Just as I flip the bacon, I hear soft footsteps behind me. Turning, I see Mirabella standing in the doorway, her eyes adjusting to the light. Sleep still lingers in her expression, but when her gaze finds me, a slow, sweet smile spreads across her face.

“Good morning,” I say, my voice warm as I focus on the pan.

“Good morning...Chef Ettore,” she teases, her voice carrying a playful hum as she approaches. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

I chuckle, glancing at her over my shoulder. “I’m not just some spoiled rich boy, Bella.”

Her laughter rings out, and she wraps her arms around me from behind, her touch sending a surge of warmth through me. In that moment, I can see our future—a life filled with laughter, quiet mornings like this, the sound of little feet running through the house.

It’s a vision of perfection.

As minutes roll by, we settle into an easy rhythm, working together to finish breakfast, our lighthearted banter flowing like music. When the food is ready, I serve her a plate of fried eggs and bacon, setting it on the small round table in the kitchen.

Just as we sit down, the television in the background breaks through our quiet moment.

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