Page 37 of Dark Mafia Bride

“Mirabella will be my wife in three days. Two days, technically, since today’s almost over,” I say calmly, even though every part of me wants to throw them out of my office. “You will treat her with the respect she deserves.”

“Respect?” Camilla scoffs, folding her arms. “Ettore, after I got her name from the maid, I looked her up. And I was appalled. She doesn’t even have a degree. No respectable job—unless you consider waiting tables, cleaning rooms in a seedy motel, and cashiering at a mallrealwork,” she hisses. When I remain silent, she presses on.

“She lives in the slums with her family. She comes from nothing, so she has nothing of value to bring into this family.”

I clench my jaw as Aunt Francesca nods, her voice softer but no less pointed. “What Camilla is trying to say, Ettore, is that…Mirabella doesn’t belong here. She’s not…one of us.”

“One of us?” I let the bitterness slip into my tone. “Like my mother, you mean?” I watch as Camilla visibly flinches at the mention of my mother.

“Your mother, God rest her soul, was different,” she retorts, her gaze flitting away like a guilty child. “We accepted her because your father was obstinate in his affections. But this girl?” She shakes her head, her disdain palpable. “Do you even love her? Could you ever lower yourself to love someone like her?”

I rise to my feet, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. They all flinch at the sudden movement.

“You’ve always resented my mother because she wasn’t born into wealth. The whispers, the scornful looks…I grew up watching all of it.” I step closer, eyes fixed on Camilla. “But let’s make something clear. I don’t need your approval. Mirabella is going to be my wife, and the first person who disrespects her will regret it.”

“I will not tolerate any more of this. You can’t stand here in my office in myhouseand insult both my mother and the woman I’m about to marry.”

Camilla’s lips press into a thin, disapproving line, momentarily silent. Aunt Marta seizes the pause to speak up for the first time.

“Some people may be hereto insult your mother, dear nephew,” she says, a sneer curling her lips, while I catch Camilla rolling her eyes. “But I’m here to bring you back to reality. Dragging a girl like her into our family would be seamless. You can’t expect us to embrace her with open arms.”

“We are merely protecting the family’s reputation,” Aunt Francesca adds, her tone suggesting that family honor trumps all. “People will start to talk.”

“The public will tear us apart,” Camilla cuts in, shaking her head as if the opinion of strangers is the ultimate tragedy.

“Mirabella is to be my wife,” I bite out, my voice echoing through the office. “You don’t have to accept her, and I don’t care if you don’t like her. But youwillrespect her, and that is final.”

Just before I finally tell them to leave, Vittorio strides in through the open door, taking one look at the scene and sighing.

“I could hear the raised voices from the hallway. What’s going on here?”

“Ask your brother,” Camilla huffs, still avoiding my eyes. “Have you evenseenthe woman he plans to marry?”

“No, I haven’t,” Vittorio replies, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “But I’m sure she’s delightful.”

Camilla shoots him a glare, but before she can protest, he places his hands firmly on her shoulders.

“I think it’s time for a break. You’ve been working tirelessly on this wedding, and I assure you, it’s happening whether you approve or not.”

“Vittorio…”

“It wasn’t a suggestion, Aunt Camilla,” he counters, his tone dropping an octave as he surveys the others. “And I wasn’t just addressing her.”

Tension thickens the air, words left hanging as Camilla narrows her eyes, but Vittorio’s unwavering gaze silences her. With a final look of distaste, she turns on her heel and storms out, Francesca and Marta trailing close behind.

“I was seconds away from tossing her and her cohorts out,” I mutter as soon as they’re gone.

“Out of your office or out of the house?” Vittorio smirks, stepping closer.

“Both. The only thing that stayed my hand was Papa’s dying wish…”

Our father’s last request—that the family remain united. Vittorio nods, as though recalling the same words.

“So, is this really what you want, Ettore? Our family already has divisions from the fallout of our parents’ marriage. Do you really want to go down this path?”

His tone isn’t judgmental, just curious.

I rake a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of our father’s wish. It’s the only reason I haven’t shown my aunts the door, despite their constant meddling. But this—I won’t sacrifice my own life to keep together a family that’s already fractured.

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