Dark Mafia Bride: Chapter 19

Being married to a wealthy man comes with perks I never imagined. My marriage to Ettore was primarily about survival. All I initially thought I could gain from him was protection and money for my mother’s treatment, to take care of my family, and to finally go back to college.

But one perk I hadn’t anticipated was attending high-profile events. In the week since our marriage, I’ve gone with him to everything from charity galas to exclusive balls.

Today, we find ourselves at a horse racing event.

Horse racing—the kind of sport only the rich can indulge in.

The sun beats down on the arena, its heat baking the ground beneath my feet as we weave through the buzzing crowd. Laughter and low murmurs drift across the wide expanse of the racecourse. I’m struck by the opulence around me—the sharp suits and elegant dresses everywhere I look. Everyone here exudes money, power, and privilege.

Ettore tightens his grip on my hand as we navigate the field. “You know, I attend events like this at least once a month,” he tells me, a hint of pride in his voice.

I suspect it’s less about the sport and more about mingling with other wealthy attendees.

I scan the vast green field, taking in the horses glistening in the sunlight. I never realized horses could be so beautiful and majestic. They look well-fed, their coats gleaming with health and strength.

I stifle a laugh at the irony of my situation. Just weeks ago, I was buried in debt, feeling hopeless. Now, here I am at a posh horse racing event, admiring the shine on the horses. It’s astounding how quickly priorities shift when problems seem to disappear. Except, are all my problems actually solved?

The track stretches out, a wide expanse of reddish dirt that looks far more polished than anything I’ve seen on TV. But it’s not the horses that capture my attention. It’s the people. Wealthy investors, influential figures—this place feels like a playground for businessmen involved in dubious dealings.

Ettore looks completely at ease. Why wouldn’t he? This is his turf.

He guides me to the grandstand, secures a seat with a perfect view of the field, and leans down to press a gentle kiss on my forehead before walking away. I know he’s here for an important meeting, not just to watch the races, and I’m aware he has a bodyguard somewhere in the crowd keeping an eye on me.

I watch as he strides toward a group of men I vaguely recognize from other events. He’s in his element. The way even older men pay rapt attention whenever he begins to speak. It does something to my insides.

Today, he’s dressed casually yet classy. No suit jacket or tie; instead, he wears a crisp white T-shirt tucked into dark blue jeans. His long hair is pulled back, with a few strands artfully falling across his forehead. I catch a glint from his Rolex as he raises a champagne glass to his lips, taking a slow sip.

Across the rows of bleachers, our eyes lock. My breath catches as he looks at me as if he hadn’t just left moments ago. There’s something electrifying in his gaze.

But then, someone interrupts him, and I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

Moments later, the race begins. I try to focus on the field, but the atmosphere is overwhelming—the loud cheers as the horses take off, the announcer’s booming voice over the loudspeaker, and the constant buzz of conversation swirl around me. It’s a sensory overload. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washes over me. Everything feels like it’s spinning out of control.

And that’s when I see him.

Matteo Abruzzi.

He stands in the midst of a small crowd just behind the metal track rail. Dressed in a fitted black dress shirt and sleek black pants, Abruzzi’s attention is locked on the race before him. For a moment, I freeze. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since I paid him off. My heart falters, and his warning about Ettore rushes back into my mind.

In the past seven days, no reminder of how dangerous Ettore could be has crossed my mind. He has been nothing but kind. So far, he’s kept his promises to me and my family—except for the sharing a bedroom part, which I’m still a bit annoyed about. He’s opened doors to a world I never thought I’d see, but just the sight of Abruzzi sends my doubts and fears bubbling back to the surface.

Suddenly, I feel a cold splash on my dress. Liquid trickles down my skin, jolting me back to reality.

“Signora, I’m so sorry!” A waiter with empty champagne glasses hovers above me, panic etched on his face as I look up at him. “Let me help you clean up.”

“It’s fine,” I mutter, brushing him off. I need air. The dizziness is intensifying, and my head is spinning. “Just tell me there’s a bathroom around here.”

He gestures vaguely to an area behind the grandstand, but I’m already pushing myself to my feet and walking away as he stammers about the location. I maneuver through the crowd, ignoring the distant roar of the race behind me.

The world blurs as I stumble out onto the back of the track field, clutching the nearby wall for support. I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, but it doesn’t help. Nausea rises in my throat, threatening to overwhelm me.

“Mirabella.” A familiar voice cuts through the haze.

I open my eyes to see Abruzzi approaching, concern etched on his face as he steps closer. “You don’t look well. Let me help you.”

I instinctively take a step back. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

“Listen, I mean no harm,” he offers, his tone dripping with insincerity, “I can take care of you until you feel better. Or call someone. I have a personal doctor I trust.”

“Like you took care of me last time?” I shoot back, remembering how he sent his goons to hunt me down the last time. “You think I’d trust you again after what you did?”

His eyes narrow, but a smirk creeps onto his lips. “You didn’t seem to mind my help then. It’s not too late to reconsider.”

I scoff, trying to brush him off. “What do you want, Abruzzi?”

“Just to make sure you’re safe.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “Tell me, has Ettore even bothered to look for you since you left the party?”

“Why would he?” I challenge, though a seed of doubt takes root in my mind. “He’s probably busy.”

“Busy? Or indifferent?” Abruzzi presses, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “It’s only a matter of time before something worse happens. You should know that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you sitting all alone. Did he leave you, his vulnerable wife, to attend to more pressing matters?”

I want to snap back that I have a bodyguard, but that would only play into whatever twisted game he’s trying to play. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest, feeling slightly better now that I’ve gotten some fresh air.

“Why are you really here? Why pretend to care about me? You’ve already shown me the monster you are.”

Abruzzi’s lips curl into a faint smile, a mix of amusement and something darker. “I only want to protect you, Mirabella. You deserve better than this. This man…he’s only going to drag you into deeper trouble.”

“And what? You’re suddenly worried enough to warn me?” I hiss, my agitation rising. I’m done with the doubts, the mind games, and the lies.

“Ettore Greco is powerful,” he continues, his tone lowering, almost conspiratorial. “That means he has powerful enemies. Enemies who want to strike at him by hitting him where it hurts most. What better way to bring down a man than by attacking his newlywed wife?”

“Stop it!” I snap, shaking my head. “You’re trying to manipulate me, and it won’t work.”

“I’m not manipulating you, Mirabella. I’m trying to help you see the truth.” He steps closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate level. “Open your eyes. If you stay with him, you could become collateral damage in a dangerous game. Think about that.”

I hate how his words send a shiver of fear down my spine. I shouldn’t believe a single word coming from Abruzzi’s lips, but I’d be foolish to ignore the hint of truth in what he’s saying.

“I have bodyguards,” I finally say, feeling an inexplicable urge to defend my fake husband.

“Bodyguards?” Abruzzi snorts, his disdain palpable. “And where are they now?”

I fall silent, just staring at him as my mind swims with a whirlwind of thoughts. The longer I remain quiet, the more that smirk of satisfaction spreads across his face.

“You know I’m right.” His voice softens, dangerously so, as he steps closer. “Ettore probably told whatever bodyguards he claims to have to keep me away. But here we are—minutes later—and no one has shown up. No one’s even watching.” He leans in slightly, his tone turning almost conspiratorial. “Do they even know you’re gone?”

“You’re wrong,” I mutter, though his words gnaw at the edges of my thoughts, planting tiny seeds of doubt.

“Am I?” he asks, his eyes studying me like he’s peeling away every layer. His smirk shifts, becoming something sharper, almost…interested. His fingers brush mine, a fleeting touch that sends an involuntary jolt up my arm. “You should be more careful who you trust, tesoro. Even the strongest men have blind spots.”

His eyes flick to my lips for a moment, and I catch my breath, the air between us crackling with something I can’t quite place. “You seem so sure of yourself,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

“Confidence is earned,” he replies smoothly, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “But you…you’re an enigma.” He steps closer again, the space between us shrinking. “Tell me, Mirabella, do you always throw yourself into danger so recklessly? Or is it just with men like me?”

My pulse spikes at his words, and I refuse to look away. “I’m not afraid of you.”

His brow arches, amusement glinting in his eyes. “No? Then why is your hand shaking?”

I glance down, realizing my fingers are trembling slightly against the edge of the railing I’m holding. I tighten my grip, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Maybe it’s because you’re in my personal space.”

“Or maybe,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, “you’re afraid of what you feel in my presence.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then he takes a step back, deliberate and measured, his gaze lingering on mine as if committing me to memory. His eyes flick to my lips again, and a ghost of a smile crosses his face.

“You’re intriguing, tesoro. I wonder if Ettore knows just how much.”

He calls me that name again.

With that, he straightens, his smirk back in place like armor. “Enjoy the rest of the event,” he adds smoothly, his tone light but laced with something darker. He turns and walks away, shoulders relaxed, leaving the weight of his presence looming long after he disappears into the crowd.

I don’t move for a long moment. The nausea I felt earlier is replaced by a cold chill running down my spine. I glance around, wondering where Ettore or any of my so-called bodyguards are, and why they haven’t noticed my absence yet.

Absentmindedly, I return to the grandstand, trying to watch the rest of the race, pushing Abruzzi’s words from my mind.

About thirty minutes later, Ettore sits beside me in the backseat of his car as we ride back to the hotel in the small western village we arrived at last night. I steal glances at Ettore, who scrolls mindlessly through his phone, the glow illuminating his intense features.

Abruzzi’s words haunt me, twisting in my mind like a relentless current. The whiplash of emotions I feel sitting close to him is almost driving me insane.

“Why do you still let your family live with you?” I blurt out, breaking the heavy silence. It’s a question I’ve wanted to ask for a while, a way to understand the dynamics of his family.

Ettore drops his phone into the cup holder and looks at me. “It’s always been that way. My father wanted us to be united, to all live in the same house. Plus, I don’t have a reason to send them away.”

I nod, a breath escaping me as he continues.

“I never had a reason to send them away until you came along.”

I turn to him, surprised by the seriousness in his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“I hate the way they treat you. I warned them…” His jaw clenches. “I told them I’d send them away if they ever disrespected you. If you want me to do it, I will.”

I stare at him, taken aback by how readily he offers that. “No, it wouldn’t be fair. They might not like me, and they have valid reasons not to, but they’re still your family.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asks, his tone low and edged.

“Your aunts…they’re right. I don’t deserve to be a Greco.” I chuckle harshly, finally voicing the insecurities that have haunted me since our marriage. “I’m not even sure I deserve love. At least that’s what my father thinks. Didn’t even bat an eyelid before opting out of his responsibilities when my mom got diagnosed. We used to be close before he left, so for him to abandon us one day…I guess he thought I wasn’t good enough to make him stay.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Ettore interrupts sharply.

I meet his gaze, and the anger etched on his face is almost amusing, yet it surprises me. “Why do you care?” I ask, pushing back against the weight of his concern.

“Because you deserve better than this,” he replies fiercely. “You deserve to be treated with respect, not like some mistake.”

I feign a laugh. “You don’t need to be mad on my behalf. I’m fine. His leaving made me stronger. I’ve always had to fight for what I have. Maybe that’s why I don’t think I deserve to get things easily…”

“You have a wonderful family. Do you know how much I wish I had a close-knit family like yours?” He says, his voice tinged with unexpected emotion.

“Yeah, I may live with my family, but there’s no real love in that house. Everything revolves around money, fame, wealth, status. My aunts have hated my mother for as long as I can remember. Even now, years after her death, they always find a way to bring her up in conversations…”

“Ettore, I’m…” I choke, struggling to find the words.

“There’s so much competition, gossip, and backstabbing. The only person I can trust in that house is my younger brother,” he breathes out heavily. “You have something rare. You have genuine love and affection. You have people you can count on when things get tough. So don’t ever say you don’t deserve to be loved again. You have love in abundance already.”

I swallow hard, unsure how to respond. A mix of emotions swirls in my throat as he squeezes my hand affectionately, then turns to face forward.

The rest of the drive is quiet, and by the time we reach the hotel, the tension between us feels thicker. We step into the elevator, and the silence stretches uncomfortably.

Once we’re in our hotel room, Ettore breaks the silence. “Why did you leave that morning? Why did you run?”

His question hangs in the air like a heavy weight, and I feel my throat tighten.

“I didn’t run,” I reply, my voice stiff. “What we had was a one-night stand. It was supposed to end that way.”

He laughs bitterly, and the sound grates on my insides.

“You’re lying,” he accuses, stepping closer, his eyes locked onto mine.

“I’m lying?” I scoff, crossing my arms defensively. “Why would I lie? Do all the one-night stands you have stay back and cuddle in the morning? I have a life. That night was supposed to be my escape, and after that, I had to go back to reality!”

“Again, that’s not the reason you left, Bella.”

“Then what the fuck do you want to hear?” I say, my voice louder than I intended.

“The truth,” he insists, his eyes blazing as he closes the gap between us. “I want you to tell me the truth, Bella.”

He studies me intently, and I can feel the heat creeping up my cheeks under his gaze.

I exhale slowly. “I left because…I didn’t think I was good enough for you. It felt amazing, but I wasn’t sure if I did anything you liked. It was my first time, okay? I was terrified of what your reaction would be the next morning. I didn’t know if you’d want to see me again or if you’d just brush me off like some cheap fling…”

“Fucking hell, Bella,” he murmurs, his hand finding my waist and pulling me closer.

My breath hitches as his other hand caresses my face. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about that night. You made me feel like a starving man, like a dog craving more.”

His confession hits me hard. He sounds genuine, but a part of me still feels as if something isn’t right.

He watches me closely, his fingers tracing my face while I fight the rush of desire coursing through me.

After what feels like an eternity, he speaks again, his voice low and daring. “You want to learn,” he tells me, not as a question but as a statement. He knows what I want, how to give it to me.

“Tell me, Bella,” he whispers, brushing his finger over my lower lip. “Tell me to teach you.”