Page 11 of Dark Mafia Bride

I watch as Nonna helps my mom to the bedroom, my chest tightening with worry. Every time I see her like this, I’m reminded of how little time we have left. The medication I’vemanaged to scrape together with the money from Abruzzi and other loan sharks barely helps at this point.

The rheumatoid arthritis is eating away at her more each day. The doctor said she needs surgery, but that’s a dream I can’t afford. All I have is debt, and now I owe Abruzzi twenty thousand fucking dollars. I’ll have to work like a slave for years before I’m able to pay him back.

As I sit back at the table, Giulia lowers her voice. “Is she getting worse?”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah. She’s trying to hide it, but the pain’s getting really bad.”

Giulia frowns, her shoulders slumping. “I wish there was something we could do.”

Me too. I wish I could do more than work odd jobs, more than borrow money from dangerous men who can destroy everything we have with a single phone call. But I can’t.

I reach out and squeeze her hand. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Giulia looks up at me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. I ruffle her hair, trying to lighten the mood. “Finish your breakfast. You’ve got school.”

The rest of the day moves in a blur. Luckily, I have the day off from two of my three jobs, so my late-night escapade didn’t mess me up too much this morning. The last thing I need is to lose pay because I spent the night having sex with a stranger. I push those thoughts away as I go through the motions—chores, checking on Mom, making sure Giulia has what she needs.

By evening, I’m getting ready for my shift at the bar. I slip into the simple black dress that serves as my uniform and pull my hair into a tight ponytail. As I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I feel the weight of everything press down on me.

And then, just like that, my mind drifts to Ettore. His face, his deep green eyes, the intensity in the way he looked at me,like he could see every inch of my soul. I don’t know why I keep thinking about him. I have enough real-life problems to deal with—debts, my mom’s illness, keeping the roof over our heads. But something about Ettore lingers. The way he appeared out of nowhere and saved my life is a memory I won’t be forgetting anytime soon.

I pull on my jacket, much warmer than the flimsy one I wore last night, and Nonna’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

“So, where exactly did you go last night?” she asks, standing at the door of my room, her sharp eyes narrowing at me.

I pause, slipping an old umbrella into my bag. “I told you, Nonna. I had dinner with a friend.”

“And does this ‘friend’ have a name?” she presses, not missing a beat.

I roll my eyes, trying to brush it off. “It’s not a big deal, Nonna. We just talked. I told you Alessia came by afterward.”

I hate that I’m lying to her, but what am I supposed to say? That I spent the night with a dangerous man who saved me from being assaulted, then killed three people without blinking? That I saw blood and death, and I’m still thinking about a man whose last name I don’t even know? I can already hear her gasp, see her clutching her rosary like it’ll protect me from the world.

Nonna just hums, clearly not convinced, but she doesn’t push. “Hmm. Be careful with those ‘friends,’ my dear. It’s a wicked world out there.”

“I will, Nonna,” I say, forcing a smile.

I follow her out of the room, say my goodbyes to Giulia, who’s curled up watching TV, and step out into the cold night. As the chill hits me, my thoughts flicker back to him again. Even the freaking biting cold seems to remind me of him, of his presence that wrapped around me like a shield in the darkest moment.

I groan under my breath, annoyed with myself. Ettore was a fleeting moment, an escape from my reality. Nothing more.

I should be focusing on my jobs, my family, and the debt hanging over my head. But no matter how hard I try to shake it, a part of me, a bigger part than I care to admit, hopes I’ll see him again.

4

ETTORE

“You need a wife.”

Aldo’s words cut through the silence like a blade, jarring me out of my thoughts. My hand freezes midair, whiskey glass poised at my lips. I stare across the table at my lawyer-turned-friend, raising an eyebrow. “A wife?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up slightly, as if he finds my reaction amusing. “You need to project the image of a humble, loyal family man.”

I let his words hang in the air between us. In the vast expanse of my luxury mansion, Aldo and I sit across from each other at the glass dining table. The walls are lined with abstract art, each piece worth hundreds of thousands. The floor beneath our feet is made of Calacatta marble, one of the rarest varieties of natural stone.

I’ve achieved a great deal of success in my life, yet Aldo thinks I need to create an image...forwhat, exactly?

“I didn’t call you here for this,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “I wanted to talk about the company’s expansion.”

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