Page 89 of Dark Mafia Bride

“And what’s the difference?” The woman from earlier asks again, her smile now replaced by something more condescending. I catch Zia Camilla’s grin spreading wider.

“I’m just worried about her priorities.” Zia Camilla sighs theatrically, her voice laced with a false air of concern. “She has...other things to focus on now—her real responsibilities. Her wifely duties. Don’t you think those should come first?”She turns to the other women, her eyes narrowing slightly, and they exchange a subtle, knowing glance, their little alliance unmistakable.

“You’re right, sister,” Francesca chimes in smoothly, her voice laced with that same practiced sweetness. “The marriage was a while ago now. I think we should be expecting some good news soon, don’t you? It’s been...long enough, if I may say so myself. Back in my day, we moved into our husbands’ homes on a Saturday and by Monday, we were already...well, I’m sure you can guess.”

Another woman, whom I don’t recognize but can already tell is part of their silent coalition, adds, “Well, you know how these young kids are these days. They can’t seem to hurry into such things. They’re so fixated on keeping their figures, they forget what it really means to be a woman.”

Zia Camilla laughs lightly. “Which they do, of course, until they’re too old to conceive properly.”

I force a smile, trying to ignore the burning anger crawling up my throat, and my hands tense under the table, digging into my palms. I glance at Mamma, who shifts uncomfortably in her seat, clearly sensing the change in atmosphere.

The tension is thick enough to cut through.

“My granddaughter has her whole life ahead of her,” Nonna interjects, her voice sharp and unwavering, slicing through their insinuations like a blade. “Education is important. People like you should know that.”

There’s a brief pause before Aunt Marta leans forward, her smile twisting into something that barely passes for polite. It’s a smile with teeth, all edge and no warmth. “That’s...admirable,” she says, her voice laced with the faintest hint of mockery. “But don’t you think it’s more practical to focus on bearing Ettore his heirs now? Education is lovely, of course,” she adds, her eyesflicking dismissively toward me, “but there’s a family to think of now, isn’t there?”

I force a polite smile, willing myself to remain calm. Maybe it’s the hormones, or maybe I’m just plain tired of their nonsense, but their words are hitting harder today.

“My daughter can do both.” Mamma suddenly speaks up. The surprising strength in her tone catches me off guard. “She doesn’t have to sacrifice her future to be a good wife. You have daughters, don’t you? So, this insinuation is especially disappointing coming from you.”

Zia Camilla’s face tightens, her pleasant demeanor replaced by a cold, hard mask. I can see a few other relatives nearby noticing the shift in the room, but none of them dare speak up.

“Well,” Zia Camilla drawls, her eyes narrowing like a predator sizing up its prey. “Herbrightfuture didn’t get her here, now did it?” She sneers at my mother. “You’re living here for free, getting treatment for your filthy disease, and it’s only because your daughter got lucky enough to catch my bored nephew’s fancy.” Her words drip with venom. “Not because of anybright futureshe has.”

“How dare you?” I leap to my feet, my voice loud, trembling with the force of my anger.

I feel Nonna’s hand on mine, tugging gently, but the conversation on the other side of the table halts—everyone’s attention is now on us.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic now,” Zia Camilla smirks, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “We were just having a friendly chat. You don’t need to clamor for your husband to defend you?—”

“You’re too young to be this bitter,” Nonna hisses from beside me. Her voice sharp and unyielding. “How old are you? Forty? Fifty? You could pass for my age because your nasty spirit is aging you out.”

Gasps ripple through the room. Zia Camilla leans in, her face twisting with rage. “You want to educate me about bitterness?” she spits, her voice now low and deadly. “Look at you! Are you happy with your life? Your only daughter married a poor deadbeat who abandoned her and her two children with nothing. You should be enjoying the fruits of your children’s success, but instead, you’ve been stuck taking care of them for years.”

“I feel sorry for you,” Nonna bites back, her voice cutting like steel. “Despite everything you claim to have, you don’t understand unconditional love and the meaning of family.”

“My family is the reason you’re even sitting among powerful people like us,” Zia Camilla retorts, cocking her head to the side. “I understand family just fine.”

Her gaze shifts to me, and I feel a malicious glint in her eyes as she continues. “You should direct that question to your granddaughter. After all, she doesn’t know what it’s like to have a father figure in the home, does she?”

“Enough!” Ettore’s voice booms across the table, but Nonna doesn’t care.

“You’re a disgrace to everyone around you,” she spits at Zia Camilla. “We may be poor, according to you, but we have something you’ll never have: a family that loves unconditionally, a family that would weep the day any one of us dies. A family that would go to war for each other. What do you have, Camilla?”

Her face contorts into a deep, ugly scowl.

“You old hag—” she starts, but Nonna cuts her off.

“Where are your children? I’ve heard one of them has a child. Have you ever held your grandchild?”

The air grows heavy. Zia Camilla’s face tightens in anger, and I catch Ettore’s jaw clenching as he runs a hand through his hair.

An uncomfortable chuckle breaks the tension—one of Ettore’s distant cousins, a man who looks far too eager tolighten the mood. “Oh, come on.” He laughs, glancing around at the growing storm. “This argument didn’t need to go this far,” he says, his voice condescending. “In families like ours, it’s all about connections and money. You have to bring value, and if you don’t, well, you’re as good as useless.” His eyes slide toward Zia Camilla. “Aunt Camilla has served her purpose—she raised children for her husband’s family. Now, it’s up to her kids to continue that cycle in their own homes.”

Zia Camilla’s face softens for a moment, but my stomach churns as the man continues.

“Human relationships are transactional. And you married into the Greco family.” He gestures toward me. “You’re not some charity case. It’s a partnership. You bring value, or you don’t. No offense,” he adds, looking toward Ettore now, “but a girl with no father, no real connections...what does she bring to the table?”

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