Page 62 of Dark Mafia Bride

I hate how his words send a shiver of fear down my spine. I shouldn’t believe a single word coming from Abruzzi’s lips, but I’d be foolish to ignore the hint of truth in what he’s saying.

“I have bodyguards,” I finally say, feeling an inexplicable urge to defend my fake husband.

“Bodyguards?” Abruzzi snorts, his disdain palpable. “And where are they now?”

I fall silent, just staring at him as my mind swims with a whirlwind of thoughts. The longer I remain quiet, the more that smirk of satisfaction spreads across his face.

“You know I’m right.” His voice softens, dangerously so, as he steps closer. “Ettore probably told whatever bodyguards he claims to have to keep me away. But here we are—minutes later—and no one has shown up. No one’s even watching.” He leans in slightly, his tone turning almost conspiratorial. “Do they even know you’re gone?”

“You’re wrong,” I mutter, though his words gnaw at the edges of my thoughts, planting tiny seeds of doubt.

“Am I?” he asks, his eyes studying me like he’s peeling away every layer. His smirk shifts, becoming something sharper, almost…interested. His fingers brush mine, a fleeting touch that sends an involuntary jolt up my arm. “You should be more careful who you trust,tesoro. Even the strongest men have blind spots.”

His eyes flick to my lips for a moment, and I catch my breath, the air between us crackling with something I can’t quite place. “You seem so sure of yourself,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

“Confidence is earned,” he replies smoothly, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “But you…you’re an enigma.” He steps closer again, the space between us shrinking. “Tell me, Mirabella, do you always throw yourself into danger so recklessly? Or is it just with men like me?”

My pulse spikes at his words, and I refuse to look away. “I’m not afraid of you.”

His brow arches, amusement glinting in his eyes. “No? Then why is your hand shaking?”

I glance down, realizing my fingers are trembling slightly against the edge of the railing I’m holding. I tighten my grip, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Maybe it’s because you’re in my personal space.”

“Or maybe,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, “you’re afraid of what youfeelin my presence.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then he takes a step back, deliberate and measured, his gaze lingering on mine as if committing me to memory. His eyes flick to my lips again, and a ghost of a smile crosses his face.

“You’re intriguing,tesoro. I wonder if Ettore knows just how much.”

He calls me that name again.

With that, he straightens, his smirk back in place like armor. “Enjoy the rest of the event,” he adds smoothly, his tone light but laced with something darker. He turns and walks away, shoulders relaxed, leaving the weight of his presence looming long after he disappears into the crowd.

I don’t move for a long moment. The nausea I felt earlier is replaced by a cold chill running down my spine. I glance around, wondering where Ettore or any of my so-called bodyguards are, and why they haven’t noticed my absence yet.

Absentmindedly, I return to the grandstand, trying to watch the rest of the race, pushing Abruzzi’s words from my mind.

About thirty minutes later, Ettore sits beside me in the backseat of his car as we ride back to the hotel in the small western village we arrived at last night. I steal glances at Ettore, who scrolls mindlessly through his phone, the glow illuminating his intense features.

Abruzzi’s words haunt me, twisting in my mind like a relentless current. The whiplash of emotions I feel sitting close to him is almost driving me insane.

“Why do you still let your family live with you?” I blurt out, breaking the heavy silence. It’s a question I’ve wanted to ask for a while, a way to understand the dynamics of his family.

Ettore drops his phone into the cup holder and looks at me. “It’s always been that way. My father wanted us to be united, to all live in the same house. Plus, I don’t have a reason to send them away.”

I nod, a breath escaping me as he continues.

“I never had a reason to send them away until you came along.”

I turn to him, surprised by the seriousness in his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“I hate the way they treat you. I warned them...” His jaw clenches. “I told them I’d send them away if they ever disrespected you. If you want me to do it, I will.”

I stare at him, taken aback by how readily he offers that. “No, it wouldn’t be fair. They might not like me, and they have valid reasons not to, but they’re still your family.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asks, his tone low and edged.

“Your aunts...they’re right. I don’t deserve to be a Greco.” I chuckle harshly, finally voicing the insecurities that have haunted me since our marriage. “I’m not even sure I deserve love. At least that’s what my father thinks. Didn’t even bat an eyelid before opting out of his responsibilities when my mom got diagnosed. We used to be close before he left, so for him to abandon us one day...I guess he thought I wasn’t good enough to make him stay.”

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