Page 79 of Dark Mafia Bride

The temptation to keep refusing flits across my mind, but he’s persistent, and there’s something about the normalcy of grabbing some snacks with a friend that makes me want to indulge. I think about how everything in my life has shifted so drastically lately. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to take a small detour, even if only for a few minutes. It’ll be nice to pretend, just for a while, that I’m a normal college student again.

“Fine,” I finally say, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “Lead the way.”

“That’s more like it.” Milo laughs, flashing me that goofy grin as he takes my hand. As we step outside and cross the street, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Milo’s holding my hand. I gently let go, pretending to fix a loose curl in my hair.

We reach a small, cream-colored building with a large pink sign above the door.Sweet Tooth.The name’s cute, and it matches the vibe of the place perfectly.

Milo opens the door for me, and as I step inside, I feel his hand briefly brush against my waist. It’s quick, casual, but...it feels intentional, like he meant to do it.

As we step inside, the rich aroma of coffee and freshly baked pastries envelops us, making my mouth water. The café is cozy and inviting, filled with warm lighting and mismatched chairs scattered around every corner. Milo approaches the counter with enthusiasm, clearly in his element, and orders like a regular. He insists I have a cappuccino and a croissant, swearing by their almond cream filling.

When our orders are ready, I reach for mine, but he beats me to it, deftly grabbing everything in his hands. I’m amazed nothing spills as he navigates the space. We find an empty booth tucked into the corner of the café, and he places our orders on the table before pulling out a chair for me.

“Thank you,” I mutter, suddenly feeling a little strange about the situation. I should have insisted I didn’t want to come.

Milo slides into the chair across from me, flashing that effortless smile that sets off alarm bells in my head.

“You know,” he says, breaking off a piece of his croissant, “I’m honestly still shocked this is your first time here. I thought every student came here after classes for a snack with friends.”

“All students?” I chuckle, trying to keep the mood light. “The café might be popular, but there are thousands of students at this college. It can’t possibly be everyone’s cup of tea.”

“You’ve got a point,” he muses, sipping his cappuccino. “I’ll narrow it down to every student with a sweet tooth, and you, my friend, definitely fit that description.”

“You don’t even know me like that,” I say with a smile, taking a bite of my croissant—and wow, it’s incredible.

“I know that,” he replies, his eyes lighting up as he watches my reaction. “From the look on your face, I can tell you love the croissant.”

His expression shifts to one of genuine awe. That’s the only word I can use to describe it. And before I can say anything, he reaches over the table to wipe something off the corner of my mouth.

Okay...this isn’t just him being friendly. Theres a glimmer in his eyes that hints that he wants something more.

I clear my throat, sitting up a little straighter. “Milo, I just want to make sure we’re on the same page here. You know I’m married, right? I’m not…” I hesitate, the words feeling awkwardon my tongue. “I’m not interested in anything more than friendship.”

He blinks at me, looking momentarily shocked before chuckling softly.

“Relax, Mira. I know that,” he says, waving his hand as if to brush my words away. “We’re just two friends grabbing coffee. Nothing more.”

I give a polite smile, hoping that settles it, but as we sit there, I can’t help but notice how his glances linger and how his hand keeps brushing against mine when he demonstrates something or shows me a photo. The more time we spend together, the more I feel like he’s not being entirely honest. There’s definitely something there—maybe a little crush, or perhaps more.

Just as I start to think of an excuse to leave, I hear a familiar voice.

“Bella.”

My heart thuds heavily in my chest as I turn slowly toward the voice.

Ettore.

He strides toward our table, and even though he called my name, his eyes are locked onto Milo, a simmering rage flickering across his face that I’ve never seen before.

Oh shit.

26

ETTORE

A FEW HOURS EARLIER.

“Repeat yourself,” I growl, glaring at the man standing before me.

---