Page 93 of Dark Mafia Bride

Just then, a loud commotion pulls me from my thoughts. I glance up, my spoon frozen halfway to my mouth, and I see three young men standing near a small snack shack. One of them has a firm grip on the arm of the local girl selling snacks, his face twisted in anger as he yells at her in a mix of Spanish and Creole.

A pulse of anger flares inside me as I watch the scene unfold. My eyes dart to the cabin, and I wait impatiently, hoping Ettorewill come out soon. My mind races. The girl can’t be more than twelve, and it’s clear she’s terrified. My knees bounce with agitation, the need to do something overwhelming.

Then, one of the men grips the girl’s arm even tighter, trying to drag her away from the shack. That’s the breaking point. Before I even think about it, my feet are moving. I stand up, my heart pounding with adrenaline, and I stride toward them, my voice sharp and commanding.

“Hey!” I shout. “Let her go.”

The men turn, muttering in Spanish, their eyes narrowing, their sneers growing as they size me up. I see the fear in the girl’s eyes, wide and panicked, and it ignites something deep inside me. I have to protect her.

“¿Quién diablos eres?” one of the guys growls, storming toward me.

My heart hammers in my chest, but I don’t flinch. I stand my ground, taking a quick step back and crouching low. Before the man can reach me, I grab two handfuls of sand from the ground and fling it at him. The sand hits his face and his friend’s, both of them recoiling in shock, curses spilling from their lips in rapid-fire Spanish.

I don’t waste a second—I grab the girl and draw her close. “Come on, let’s go,” I say, trying to pull her away.

But before I can move us away, a rough hand clamps down on my arm, jerking me backward. A sick sense of déjà vu floods me, reminding me of the night I’d been cornered by Abruzzi’s men. I react on instinct, kneeing the guy hard in the groin. He gasps and loosens his grip just long enough for me to shout.

“Help! Somebody help us!”

The shout catches the attention of a couple of locals, two fishermen and a trader who rush over. They shout at the men, waving sticks and yelling in the same rapid Spanish, and withinmoments, the men stumble back, cursing and retreating into the distance.

The girl clings to me, trembling. I glance down at her wrist and the red marks left behind by the man’s grip, and anger surges in me again.

“You’re okay now,” I say softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My heart aches at seeing her this shaken. From the corner of my eye, I spot Ettore rushing over, worry etched on his face.

He skids to a halt beside me, his eyes darting between the retreating men and the girl still clinging to my side.

I rub my thumb over the girl’s wrist, offering her the smallest smile, my heart still racing. Ettore places a hand on my shoulder, his voice low with concern. “Are you okay?” he asks, but his eyes are already flicking to the girl, assessing the situation with the precision of someone who’s seen far too much violence in his life.

I glance at the girl, then turn to Ettore, my own anger still boiling beneath the surface. “Do they do this often? Do these men usually bother you?”

She shakes her head. “Sometimes they get drunk and bother people here. Today they wanted free snacks. I said no, and they got angry.” Her eyes meet mine then, still full of fear, but there’s bravery there, too. “I’m sorry,” she says softly, her small voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

My heart swells. I shake my head, my grip on her shoulder tightening in reassurance. “You didn’t cause any trouble,” I say, my voice firm. “They were in the wrong.”

Ettore’s gaze softens, but the tension in his body hasn’t fully released. He looks at the girl, then back at me, his jaw tightening. The storm that’s been brewing in his eyes is no longer about me—now it’s about them. Those men. The ones who thought they could take whatever they wanted.

I nod to him, gesturing for him to leave us, and he turns away to talk to two fishermen who just arrived, probably about what just happened, all the while still staring at me, a tense look in his eyes.

I turn back to the girl, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “What’s your name?”

“Maria,” she says, and she gives me a shy smile that tugs at my heart. She reminds me so much of Giulia.

“There’s a local hospital nearby that can check on both of you for any injuries,” Ettore says, his voice laced with worry. “The fishermen just told me how to get there. I can get a cab right away. Should I grab your bag, and we can go?”

I shake my head, forcing a smile even though I feel the weight of his concern. “I’m good, Ettore. Perfectly fine. Those men didn’t get the chance to do any harm. I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, his brow furrowing as his hand stays firmly on my back. “I know, but I’ll sleep better once you’re checked by a doctor. You too young lady” he adds, glancing at Maria with a stern look.

Maria shakes her head, though her words are soft. “I’m fine, sir. This happens all the time, especially when tourist visits are high. A good rub from mama’s special oils, and my wrist will be just fine.”

Ettore nods but still doesn’t look entirely reassured. He glances at me again, as if waiting for something more. His lips part as if he’s about to say something, but I can’t let him go any further.

“I’m fine, Ettore,” I interrupt, forcing a reassuring smile. “Really. Nothing I can’t handle.”

It’s the truth, but it’s also not.

There’s something else keeping me from going to the hospital—something I’m not ready to tell you yet. SomethingI’m not sure how to explain without making you question everything. The last thing I want is for you to find out like this, while we’re on this fake honeymoon, of all things.

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