Page 81 of Dark Mafia Bride

Alessia hesitates again, then gives a small nod. As she turns to leave, I catch the faint murmur of her voice behind me, almost inaudible. “Don’t make me regret trusting you, Ettore.”

The fierceness in her voice has an edge to it that catches me off guard. She means every word she says, and I can’t help but respect that.

I almost smile but stop myself. Instead, I nod, acknowledging her loyalty. She turns toward her car, slamming the door shut with a quick, sharp motion before driving off. I watch her go, and finally, a smile tugs at the corner of my lips.

Alessia and Giovanni may both hate me, but it’s clear they don’t take Mirabella’s well-being lightly. That’s something I can’t help but admire. I wish I could relate.

I glance at my watch. Mirabella’s last class should have ended about ten minutes ago, but something must’ve held her upinside. I’m about to head back to my car to wait for her when my eyes catch the café across the street. Perfect. I can keep an eye on the parking lot from there.

The smell of coffee hits me the second I walk in. I scan the small space for a good vantage point, finally finding a spot that gives me a clear view of the lot outside.

And then I see her. But she’s not alone.

She’s sitting with some guy—an American, by the looks of him.

He’s tall, with sandy blonde hair that falls messily over his forehead, and a smile that’s too easy, too familiar. His eyes are a sharp blue, and they’re trained on her with an intensity that sends a jolt of irritation through me. The way he leans in—close, too close—and the way he smiles at her...it rubs me the wrong way. There’s something about the casual confidence in his posture, the relaxed manner in which he occupies her space, that I don’t like. It’s as if he’s already comfortable in a place that he has no right to be.

My feet start moving before I even think about it. The guy says something that makes her laugh, and I feel my fists clench as I tear my eyes away from him, focusing on her instead. The way her face lights up, the way she’s listening to him... I know that look. She’s relaxed, open—she likes this guy.

My body tenses, my jaw tightens. Before I even register what I’m doing, I’m calling her name.

“Bella.”

She freezes, as if she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t, and turns to look at me. As I approach, I grab her wrist, my grip firm but not rough.

“Let’s go,” I hiss, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Ettore, what are you?—”

“Who are you?” the guy asks, and I feel a flash of anger rise in me. Who the fuck does he think he is, trying to protect her from me?

But I don’t waste another second on him. I’m livid, and I know causing a scene here would only draw attention—attention I don’t care about. It’s Mirabella I’m worried about, because I’m sure she won’t appreciate this one bit.

I don’t answer his question as I pull Mirabella to her feet, leading her out of the café. She’s silent, but I can feel the anger radiating off her, her body stiff with suppressed fury. I steer her across the street toward my car, the silence between us thick, almost suffocating—her anger, my barely-contained frustration.

I open the passenger door for her, and when she’s inside, I slam the door a little harder than necessary. I walk around to the other side and climb into the driver’s seat.

The drive back to the estate is stiff and uncomfortable. The seconds stretch on endlessly. Occasionally, I steal a glance her way. She’s staring ahead, her lips pressed tight, refusing to look at me or anywhere else.

Finally, I can’t take it any longer.

“Who the fuck is he?”

She doesn’t answer, and I grip the wheel tighter, my jaw clenched. “I asked you a question, Mirabella. Who is he?”

Silence. She folds her arms and looks out the window, refusing to say anything. I feel the rage simmering off her body, and I’m boiling by the time my car drives into the estate and pulls over in front of the house.

Before the engine is completely cut off, Mirabella throws the door open and storms into the house. I follow her closely, hot on her heels, as she marches along the marble floors and up the stairs.

When we reach our room, the tension finally snaps. I slam the door shut behind me, and she throws her bag onto the bed.

“So, this is how it’s going to be?” I demand, my voice harsh. “You’re just going to go around campus with guys like that? Pretend you’re not married...”

She whips around, eyes blazing with fury. “Pretend I’m not married?” She scoffs, holding up her hand to show me the diamond glinting on her ring finger. “He knows I’m married. He’s a friend. Not that you’d understand the concept of friendship.”

“Friend?” I let out a dry laugh, disbelieving. “It looked like more than that, Mirabella. He saw your ring, but it didn’t stop him from asking you out on a date...”

“A date?” she mutters incredulously, but I don’t let her get a word in.

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