Page 113 of Mafia King's Forbidden Vows

I guess I’d never know.

I haven’t seen or spoken to Elio since that day he showed up here at school.

At first, I carried the grudge that he broke my heart, but then I realized that it’shisheart that’s been torn to shreds by mistrust.

I’ve picked up my phone many times, fingers hovering over the call button, heart pounding with anxiety from wanting to hear his voice, but every single time, I’ve dropped it back down.

Our separation is probably for the best. Elio doesn’t trust me anymore, and I don’t want myself entangled in his web of shadows and darkness. But God, do I love him...so much. More than I think is safe. No matter how much I tell myself that this is the right choice, I can’t stop wishing that things had turned out differently between us.

Once again, I release a deep sigh with the thought that some things aren’t meant to be saved.

I pick the phone back up to call Mia. She’s the only one who can come over to me right now without throwing a fit.

“Hi, girl.” Mia’s called me that since she first knew I was pregnant. She said she didn’t want it to be weird for me when my kid eventually started calling me Mommy.

“Hey. Are you busy? Do you think you can come over?”

“What? Did your water break? Do you need to go to the hospital?” I can hear the sound of keys and her breath coming out in short puffs.

“Look, it’s nothing dramatic, okay? I just need company.”

“Sure, I’ll be there soon.”

With a sigh, I turn off the stove and grab a plate. It’ll take at least thirty minutes for her to arrive here, but just as I scoop the eggs onto the plate, the doorbell rings.

I pause, plate in hand, heart stuttering in my chest. That can’t be Mia. I barely have friends here in law school, and the ones I have don’t show up unannounced.

Setting the plate down carefully and wiping my hands on a towel as I move toward the door, my hand feels for the baseball bat I’ve always kept in my apartment, my fingers closing around it before heading towards the door.

When I open the door, there’s a young man wearing a black baseball cap, holding a package and standing at my doorstep.

My stomach clenches as he bows and gently thrusts the package into my arms without a word. I watch with furrowed brows as he retreats into a black Mercedes parked under a tree just across from my apartment.

I look at it. The package is elegant and unmarked except for my name in neat, precise handwriting.

To: Aria Donatelli.

A tremor runs through me. It’s been three months since anyone addressed me by that last name. I turn the fairly large box in my hands, my fingers brushing against the smooth surface. The weight of it sends my mind spiraling back to the memory of the last package Elio had sent me earlier in our ‘engagement’for the charity gala event! That gorgeous dress.

That night flashes before my eyes, along with the fight we had because Elio was being an overprotective jerk.

But, this time, I should be wary of this package. There could be a thousand and one things in it. Among them could even be the papers to annul our marriage.

I’m tempted to leave it unopened and pretend like the package never arrived. But instead, I clutch it to my chest and step back inside, securing the lock on the door behind me.

Slowly, I move to the coffee table, setting the package down before sinking onto the couch. My hands tremble as I pull the transparent sticker to lift the lid.

Inside, swathed in delicate layers of tissue paper, is a dress with a pair of low heels and a clutch to match.

My breath catches.

Red. Luxurious. Exquisite.

Those words are what come to my mind to describe the dress as I take the layers of tissue off of it. It’s the kind of dress that belongs to a woman who turns heads when she walks into a room.

Nestled beside it is an envelope which I already know, from experience, contains an invitation.

I open it and see an invitation to the commissioning event of Elio’s newest hotel. It comes with instructions to get ready by 5 p.m. and get in the black Mercedes parked outside my apartment.

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