Page 95 of Dark Mafia Bride

Ettore speaks up again. “You didn’t have to get involved, you know.”

“She needed help,” I reply with a shrug. “I couldn’t just sit there while those guys harassed her.”

A shiver runs through me, and Ettore instinctively pulls me close, wrapping an arm around me. His warmth seeps into my skin, calming me more than I want to admit.

“Hey, I’m not chastising you,” he murmurs, his voice gentle but firm. “Yes, it was risky.” He pauses, his gaze softening. “But it was also brave. You did well, Bella.”

I swallow, his words hanging in the air between us, stirring something deep inside. I’m not sure what to say, or if I even want to let myself feel what’s threatening to surface.

A soft gasp escapes my lips as Ettore lifts my hand to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss to the back of my palm. My body tenses instinctively at the touch, then relaxes, drawn to the familiarity of his skin against mine. Part of me wants to pull away, to guard myself from getting too close. But another part of me aches for him to keep touching me, to keep closing the distance between us.

But the guilt gnaws at me, hollowing out any chance of truly enjoying this moment. I know I have to tell him, to face what I’ve been hiding.

Just...not now.

Not yet.

32

ETTORE

Something’s bothering Mirabella. I can feel it.

Her shoulders are stiff when I hand her a cup of jasmine tea.

“Thank you,” she mutters, her voice quieter than usual, before taking a slow sip.

I watch her, my mind racing, trying to figure out what’s wrong. She’s been fine since we arrived here—happy, even. Happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. But now, there’s this sadness in her eyes. It’s heavy and unsettling, and I can’t just pretend I don’t see it anymore.

“Let’s go for a walk,” I suggest, taking the cup from her gently.

She hesitates, blinking up at me. “But?—”

“I’ll make you another one when we get back.” I reach out for her hand, and she finally stands, sighing, before placing her hand in mine and jumping down the kitchen counter.

I squeeze it gently, offering her the comfort I can give. Then I pull her toward the door, determined to get her to open up, to talk.

The sand feels warm beneath our feet as we walk along the shoreline of the private beach just outside our room. The stars shine brightly overhead, and I imagine telling her something sweet, like how she’s as beautiful as the stars that fill the night sky. I’d expect her to laugh and call me corny, her eyes lighting up with mischief.

But today isn’t that day. The air between us feels thick with tension, and I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. I rack my brain for something—anything—that could chase the sadness from her eyes.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” I say before I even think about it.

She glances at me, and for a moment, her lips twitch, almost like she’s trying to smile.

“That’ll be the day. You, Ettore Greco, wouldn’t survive living on some little island in the middle of nowhere. I’d bet my left tit on it.”

“Please don’t. You know I’m especially fond of that one.”

She smacks my arm, rolling her eyes. “Get your mind out of the gutter, silly man.”

I chuckle. “Not joking. That’s a serious topic.”

“My body, my choice.”

“Oh, now it’s like that?” I tease, giving her a smirk. “Didn’t seem that way when you were practically begging me to—how did you put it? ‘Oh please, Ettore. Fuck me. Make me forget,’” I add, mimicking her voice with exaggerated longing.

She shoves me with a huff. “I hate you sometimes.”

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