Page 72 of Dark Mafia Bride

Riccardo’s eyes narrow at her retort.

“Quite the entrance,” he sneers, voice oozing with disdain. “You think you can barge in here and interrupt a meeting because—what? Your husband didn’t answer your call? Oh, poor Isabella,” he taunts mockingly.

“Funny,” Mirabella fires back, her tone sharp. “I don’t remember needing your permission to walk in. Only my husband can speak to me on such matter. So what are you going to do about it? Punish me for disturbing your oh-so-important meeting?”

His expression twists with contempt. “You’re insolent and disrespectful, and I bet you’ve been enjoying watching these two men fight over you as if you’re worth something.” He glances at me with a sneer. “Tell me, Ettore—why did you marry a woman like this? Is it just the sex? Because she looks like a cheap slut. She?—”

A deafening bang echoes through the room before he can finish. Another shot follows almost immediately, but it’s not from my gun.

Riccardo’s body collapses to the ground, a clean hole in his forehead and another in his chest. Slowly, I turn and see the faint smoke curling from Abruzzi’s gun. His dark eyesbore into mine, filled with something unfathomable, something dangerous and unreadable.

My pulse pounds as I take in the sight—the man, my rival, who just killed another man...over my wife.

23

MIRABELLA

The man’s body falls to the ground, crumpling with a lifelessness that chills me to the core. Blood—so much blood—pools beneath him, dark and viscous, spreading across the pristine white tiles like a grotesque painting. I can hear distant sounds in the periphery, but the thunderous echoes of the gunshots—the two deafening bangs—reverberate relentlessly through my bones.

“Mirabella.” Someone calls my name.

I look up to see Ettore approaching me, his gun still in hand, his expression like stone. I take a step back, and he halts, glances down before slipping his gun into his coat. Does he always have a gun with him? Is there is there a gun somewhere in the bedroom we share together?

Behind him, I see Abruzzi’s eyes narrow with annoyance as he tucks his own weapon back in the waistband of his pants.

My stomach lurches. These men...they just took a freaking life, yet their faces and expressions are devoid of remorse or empathy. It hits me all at once, heavy and suffocating—the emotions crash over me like a tidal wave. I can’t shake the memories—watching my childhood home engulfed in flames,my mother teetering on the brink of death tonight, and now this bloody scene laid out before me.

Horror and disbelief churn in my stomach. I stumble backward, clutching my hand over my mouth, but it’s futile. I double over and retch, the contents of my stomach spilling onto the tiled floor. The men’s voices fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding in my head.

“Get away from her.” Ettore’s low growl slices through the haze. I feel a hand reach for my shoulder—Abruzzi’s, I think—but it disappears as Ettore moves closer, his presence a looming shield.

“Everyone. Out.” Ettore’s voice brooks no argument. I raise my head weakly, my vision blurred, and I catch a glimpse of Abruzzi’s face. A flicker of something flits across his eyes, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a hardened mask. He nods before walking away, leaving just Ettore and me in the thick silence.

“Mirabella.” Ettore’s voice softens as he crouches beside me, but I can’t help flinching back when he reaches for me.

It’s all too much—the blood on the floor, the lifeless body on the other side of the room, and the coldness I saw in Ettore’s eyes when he pulled the trigger. My thoughts are jumbled, and I struggle to breathe.

“I’m...I’m fine,” I manage to say, but the words taste like brittle lies on my tongue. I attempt to stand, but my legs buckle beneath me. Before I can collapse, Ettore’s arms wrap around me, pulling me close as he lifts me effortlessly off the ground.

I squirm, weakly pushing against his chest, but he doesn’t let go.

“Drop me. I can walk,” I mumble, but he simply tightens his grip, carrying me bridal-style out of the room.

He carries me to his car, gently placing me in the front seat. I can’t help but notice he hasn’t brought a driver or any of his men with him today. How important was that meeting that he camealone? How crucial was it that he didn’t answer my calls the first time I reached out for help?

Ettore slides into the driver’s seat beside me, and the engine rumbles to life beneath us as we pull away from the curb. We drive in tense silence for a few minutes before Ettore finally breaks it, his voice laced with a dangerous, controlled edge. “How reckless can you be, Mirabella? Storming into a room full of men who could kill you in an instant? Are you out of your mind?”

My dizziness begins to fade, replaced by a burning rage. “I wanted to see what had my husband so occupied that he couldn’t answer my calls the one time I actually needed him to come save me!” I snap back, fire igniting in my voice.

“Who came up with the brilliant idea to go there? Was it you or your new boyfriend?”

“Oh, don’t even go there,” I retort bitterly, chuckling dryly. “Don’t make this about Abruzzi when it’s all on you. I have enemies now because of you! My family can’t even feel safe in their own home because I’m your fucking wife,” I scream, my voice thick with frustration.

His hands grip the wheel tightly, knuckles white with anger. “Why shouldn’t I mention Abruzzi? Is he your knight in shining armor now because he swooped in to save you, coincidentally, the exact moment you were in danger?”

“He was watching me,” I hiss, and that seems to infuriate Ettore even more.

“What? He was watching you? You knew he was watching you?” he spits, incredulity lacing his tone.

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