Page 54 of Dark Mafia Bride

Mirabella nods, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Of course. Bella’s fine.”

The others exchange glances, and it’s clear they’re sizing her up, curious but welcoming. Vittorio catches her eye, chuckling. “Trust me, you’ll get used to them. They’re not as scary as they look.”

Mirabella laughs, relaxing even more as she looks at him. “I’m sure I will.”

“Now, you’ve been with Ettore all night,” Vittorio pulls her away from my grip. “Come dance with me. I know how overwhelming my brother can be sometimes. You won’t admit it because you’re his wife and it’s your wedding day, but I can.”

I watch as he spins her away to the dance floor. He says something to her, and she laughs again. He’s always had that ability to make people love him at first glance. His easygoing nature is a stark contrast to mine, and for the first time, I find myself getting jealous.

Mirabella has never laughed that hard at my words.

My mind flashes back to the only time I’ve seen her laugh like that around me, uninhibited and carefree. Now, I stand here separated by more than just a few feet of dance floor.

A sudden shift in the air pulls my focus, and I spot Luca approaching, his face grim. He leans in close. “You have a phone call, sir.”

I frown, waving him off. “I told you—no calls tonight.”

Luca’s gaze darts around us before he whispers, “It’s Abruzzi.”

The name alone sends a chill down my spine, and I clench my jaw as I take the phone from Luca’s hand, stepping away from the crowd and into the garden. I haven’t heard from Abruzzi since I took him down and took over the mafia world, and he’s tried his best to stay away from me.

For him to call me now could mean only one thing—Mirabella.

I grip the phone tightly. “What do you want?”

His voice slithers through the line, dripping with mockery. “Relax. I just called to congratulate you on your marriage. Pity I didn’t get an invitation. After all, you did steal my girl the same way you stole my territory.”

My fist clenches, my voice sharp. “Don’t ever mention Mirabella with that filthy mouth. She’s mine, and you’ll keep your distance from her and her family.”

Abruzzi’s laugh grates on my nerves. “No need to be rude. This is just a harmless call, Ettore.”

My bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it. “I know you too well to believe that. I know you’ve been looking for an excuse to make this harmless call ever since I took out your men like rats.”

His tone turns darker, his words calculated to hit where it hurts as always. “You think this marriage act fools everyone, but not me. I know Mirabella. I know she’d never marry youwillingly. You’re no different than me, Ettore. You can try to cover it up, but we’re the same kind of man.”

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay calm, to deny him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten under my skin. “We are nothing alike. Don’t fool yourself.”

“Oh, but we are,” he chuckles. “Your marriage won’t last. People like us, we don’t have happy ever afters—we always fuck up the good things in our lives. And when you finally do, I’ll be there ready to pick up the pieces. I’ll be her savior.”

His words hit harder than I want them to. I clench my fist, resisting the urge to fling my phone across the garden. Instead, I inhale deeply, reminding myself that this is exactly what he wants. To have me rattled and bothered. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Enjoy your pathetic life while you can, but stay the fuck away from Mirabella,” I say coldly before hanging up.

As I return to the reception, the tension in my chest refuses to ease. Abruzzi’s words echo in my mind. I can’t help but wonder he’s right. If men like me—men who’ve built their lives on blood and power—are destined to ruin anything good that comes their way.

Monster. Reaper.

That is what I am, but I find myself wondering if that is what I will always be. My eyes drift to Mirabella, who’s still with Vittorio, laughing as he leans in, no doubt telling her some ridiculous story. She looks...happy.

I realize she was only able to show me that side of herself because she never thought we would be meeting again.

As I reach my family’s table, Zia Camilla approaches, her voice cutting through the soft background music.

“They could have at least dressed better. If not for their daughter, then certainly for the honor of being in the same room as the Grecos,” she mutters, just loud enough for me to catch.

Following her gaze, I see she’s looking at Mirabella’s family, her lips curling with quiet disdain. Annoyance flares up. I’m not in the mood for this tonight.

“Enough, Zia,” I snap. “This is the only time I’ll say it.”

---