Page 50 of Dark Mafia Bride

Then, laughter filters in through the chapel windows. My attention snaps to a few cars parked outside, and a handful of well-dressed guests stepping into the main cathedral. Reality crashes back into focus.

It’s my wedding day.

“You need to get ready,” Ettore says, his gaze sweeping over my T-shirt and jeans. “Everything’s prepared for you in the dressing room.”

Of course, he’s arranged it all. It’s almost as if he anticipated that today would unfold exactly like this, that we would be married no matter what.

As I’m ushered to a small room nearby, the weight of it all bears down. Inside, my family waits, their faces etched with worry and uncertainty.

“I’m getting married to him,” I announce, attempting to plaster a smile on my face.

“Mirabella, are you sure about this?” Nonna’s voice trembles.

I swallow hard, nodding with resolve. “This is my decision. I’ll make it work. And it’s just for a year.”

Guilt tightens in my chest as I catch the worried expressions on my mother and Nonna’s faces. I know they’ll feel guilty, as if somehow it’s their fault I’ve been pushed into this situation. The thought makes me ache inside. But there’s no other way.

“Mom’s surgery is happening,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “He’s going to pay for it, and she’ll feel so much better in no time. It’s strictly business. I need to pretend to be his wife for his reputation. Besides, it’s only for a year. This will end soon enough. The money I’ll get will pay off all our debts, and we won’t have to worry about money anymore. I won’t have to wait tables anymore.”

Nonna’s lips quiver, and Mom looks like she’s about to say something, but I raise a hand to stop her. “It’s okay,” I insist, my voice softer now. “There’s no other way to find the money for the operation. Trust me, this is for all of us.”

For a long moment, the room falls silent.

“Everything will be fine,” I add, my voice firmer now, as I meet each of their gazes. “Trust me.”

Nonna frowns. “I’m sorry, but I’m still not okay with this.”

“Nonna…” I plead, hoping for some understanding.

She glances at my mother, searching for backup. “Isabella, talk some sense into this girl. This is ridiculous.”

My mother sighs, looking at me with a mixture of worry and reluctant acceptance. “She’s right, Mira,” she says softly.

“I’m just happy he’s not old and ugly,” my sister Giulia interjects with a wry smile.

“Giulia Isabella Ricci,” Nonna scolds, her voice sharp. “Watch your mouth,ragazza!”

“What? I know we’re all thinking it,” Giulia defends herself. “Besides, he doesn’t seem so bad. Not like Mirabella has men gunning down her door anyway. Might as well take this one while we have him.”

“Oh, shut up, Giulia,” I snap, my frustration bubbling over.

My mother laughs lightly, trying to ease the tension. “She does have a point. I think this is the first man, apart from Giovanni—who is taken, by the way—that I’ve seen you interact with like this.”

“Mama,” I groan, heat creeping into my cheeks.

For the first time all day, a genuine laugh escapes my family, momentarily lifting the heavy atmosphere. Nonna chuckles too, though I can still see the disappointment etched on her face. I wish there were something more I could do to ease her worries, but I’m equally as uncertain about how this will all play out.

Our moment is interrupted when the stylist rushes in ready to help me with my dress. As I steal one last glance at my family, who are huddled together in the back, I prepare for the beginning of my new life.

The next fewminutes blur together in a whirlwind of activity. My family is ushered into the cathedral as I finish getting ready. The stylist adjusts my dress, and the makeup artist adds a final touch. When I slip into the dress, its fabric molds perfectly tomy shape, but the bouquet feels almost too heavy in my hands, anchoring me to this moment.

As I’m led toward the front doors of the church, everything fades away.

I ignore everyone else in the room, my attention focused straight ahead on the man standing at the altar. Soft music fills the air as I slowly walk down the aisle decorated with colorful flowers. The hall feels suffocating despite its size and grandeur. My heart races faster in my chest the closer I get to the altar. I ignore the way the delicate lace of my dress itches against my skin and fight the urge to wipe my clammy hands on the fabric.

I keep my gaze locked straight ahead, looking at him—Ettore.

He stands tall and imposing in his black suit. His light brown eyes are a darker shade of hazel as he watches me approach. His gaze is intense, but his expression gives nothing away. How can he be so composed? I feel like I’m about to unravel right here in front of everyone.

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