Page 25 of Dark Mafia Bride

“Nah, I don’t believe it.” Vittorio chuckles. “Did you hit your head today?”

I can hardly believe it myself. While I wasn’t surprised when Luca called earlier to tell me that Bella had agreed, it still feels a bit surreal.

I’m getting married.

“Who’s the lucky woman?” Antonio chimes in, leaning back in his chair. “Or should I say unlucky? You’re not exactly husband material.”

“You must be kidding,” Leonardo replies, shooting Antonio a look. “Ettore is exactly the type of man most women would die to have...”

“Because he was named the sexiest bachelor in New York?” Antonio snorts. “He’s assistant probably paid the newspaper to run that.”

I can’t help but chuckle.

“Because everyone wants to be a Greco,” Leonardo corrects, rolling his eyes with arrogance. I feel sorry for the girls who had to deal with him at UCLA.

“That’s exactly why she’s unlucky,” Bianca adds, surprising me. She rarely speaks at the table. “She’s going to be under so much public scrutiny. People will hate her just for marrying into the Greco family, but really, they’re just jealous because that’s what they want.”

“I’m sure this conversation is doing wonders for your ego,” Vittorio mutters beside me.

Antonio huffs at his sister. “They only want Ettore because they don’t really know who he is.” I catch the slight edge in his voice.

Interesting.

It doesn’t surprise me that I’m not my cousin’s favorite person. His mother, Francesca, doesn’t like me, so why would he?

Our family dynamic is...complicated. The Greco family has always been wealthy, but our fortune skyrocketed when my father took over the family business at a young age after his father died. He worked hard, reinvested his inheritance, and tripled his wealth. He became significantly wealthier than his three sisters, even though they all received the same inheritance from their father. I suspect they were a bit jealous, but my father held no ill will toward his siblings. When he built the Greco estate, he invited them all to live with him.

Their animosity toward us began when he married my mother. To them, she didn’t meet the family’s standards. It worsened when my parents died, and as expected, eightypercent of my father’s possessions went to my brother and me. Apparently, my father should have left more than the beach houses abroad and stocks he distributed to each sibling and their children.

But they are all good pretenders—except for the children, of course. Marta, Leonardo’s mother, is more subtle, cutting into her steak with slow precision, her eyes flickering with intrigue as she listens to her children’s conversation.

I almost forgot about Zia Camilla, my father’s older sister and clearly the boldest among the three.

I let their comments wash over me as my gaze locks with Zia Camilla’s. She remains eerily silent, but her eyes gleam with curiosity. There’s also a sharp edge to her gaze, the same look she always had when questioning my late father’s choices—especially marrying my mother, a woman who wasn’t born into wealth like the rest of them.

“When are we going to meet her? Is she pretty?” Aunt Marta asks, a calculating smile on her lips.

Mirabella’s face flashes in my mind—her long auburn hair, big brown eyes, plump lips, and perfect nose...

She’s not just pretty. Her beauty is ethereal.

I’ve only seen her twice, yet the image of her face hasn’t left my mind for even a moment.

“I’ll tell you more in time,” I reply, refusing to indulge their curiosity.

Vittorio shifts beside me. He’s perceptive, so I know he can sense the strange energy in the air. My brother is my closest family member. We’ve been inseparable since he was born, despite the seven-year gap between us. At twenty-five, he already runs a significant part of the business, and I’m grateful to have someone like him by my side.

Leonardo and Antonio exchange knowing glances while Bianca returns her attention to her phone.

Finally, Zia Camilla’s voice cuts through the air—soft yet laced with venom. “Well, isn’t that a surprise?” Her fingers tighten around the stem of her glass. “One can only hope you’ve chosen someone suitable. Someone who understands our family’s traditions.”

Traditions. Her not-so-subtle way of saying I’d better not marry someone like my mother—someone beneath the Greco name.

“You’ll meet her soon enough,” I respond, my tone neutral but firm. I’m not in the mood for her thinly veiled insults tonight.

Vittorio leans over, muttering under his breath, “You’re actually serious about this? When did you decide? Is she someone I’ve met before?”

“I wouldn’t announce it if I wasn’t serious,” I tell him. “And like I said, you’ll all meet her at the right time.”

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