Dark Mafia Bride: Chapter 31

The moment I step out of the private car, everything feels different.

Ettore kept his promise, bringing me to this tiny, tropical town on the island of Providencia, Colombia. Palm trees sway in the warm breeze, and a thrill surges through me as Ettore and I make our way to the little cabin ahead.

I glance around the beach, still in awe. It doesn’t feel real that I’m here—in a place so breathtaking it seems like it only exists in movies. As we reach the cabin door, Ettore flashes me a smile, and my heart skips.

The small house is tucked away in a quiet corner of the island, with soft pastel-painted walls and a hammock on the porch just steps from the water. I close my eyes, imagining myself lying in that hammock, letting the golden sun warm my skin, inhaling the faint, sweet scent from the hibiscus bushes nearby.

Inside, the cabin is like a little paradise. Everything is crafted from rich, polished wood, from the low ceilings to the countertop in the small kitchen. It’s simple, cozy, and feels like stepping into a dream. I linger in the small living room, marveling at the space around me, when Ettore comes back after dropping off our bags.

“Do you like it?” he asks, wrapping his arms around me.

“It’s better than anything I could have expected,” I whisper, leaning up to kiss him.

A low groan escapes him as his lips press against mine, his tongue teasing as his hands begin to wander beneath my sundress. I let out a quiet laugh, playfully slapping his hands away.

“Hey, that’s not why we’re here,” I tease. “Take me to the beach!”

Under my sundress, I’m wearing the bikini I’d slipped on this morning back in New York. During the five-hour flight, I couldn’t stop thinking about sinking into the sea, letting the ocean carry me away.

“Oh? So you’re saying we’re not going to have sex the whole time we’re here?” he asks, grinning.

I give him a serious nod, trying to keep a straight face.

He chuckles, kissing me again, and I can’t hold back my laughter. I feel like the luckiest woman in the world, wrapped in his arms in this paradise.

“You know that’s impossible,” he says, pulling back with a smirk. “You’re on birth control, right? I have some very good ideas for wild, adventurous places we could…enjoy ourselves.”

I force a laugh, nodding a bit too quickly at the mention of birth control. “Yeah, I’m on birth control,” I lie, my voice smooth. “Now, come on. Take me to the ocean!”

Our days here on Providencia fall into a rhythm—swimming in the sea at sunrise, exploring hidden coves by day, and strolling along the beach in the evening as the ocean stretches endlessly around us. Each day, the locals greet us warmly, often offering us freshly caught fish or tropical fruits. Our cabin neighbors are an older Black couple from England who moved here seven years ago. They’re the sweetest people.

“Providencia is a beautiful place to live,” the man tells us one morning as we all walk toward the beach. “The people here are goodhearted, and the culture is lovely. It’s mostly safe, though you have to keep an eye out for a few thugs who show up when tourists start pouring in over the summer.”

The days slip by in a blur, each one more vibrant and carefree than the last. Ettore keeps me busy, and I can tell he’s trying to keep me from overthinking. And it’s working. It’s working almost too well. Here, it’s easy to pretend, to let myself believe we’re just like any other couple. It’s easy to lose myself in this tranquil paradise.

Today, we’re kayaking down a slow-moving river, but my paddle keeps getting stuck in the shallow water.

“Here, let me help,” Ettore says from behind me, guiding my hands on the paddle. A shiver runs through me as his arms stay around me just a moment too long.

We haven’t done anything more than kiss since we got here, partly because, after each day’s adventures, I’m so exhausted I fall asleep the instant we return to the cabin.

But now, with his arms around me, something inside me stirs. It’s not just attraction—it’s something deeper. Something unsettling. Something I’m not ready to admit to myself.

Things have changed between us, and there’s no denying it.

We spend the next few hours exploring the river’s coastline, weaving our way through mangroves, watching colorful fish dart and glide beneath the kayak. At some point I’m paddling along, feeling at ease, when I suddenly spot a large stone ahead—a second too late. Ettore’s laughter rings in my ear as he tries to help steer us clear, but it’s no use. We collide with the rock, and before I can even brace myself, the kayak tips over. With a yelp, I plunge into the cold water, and Ettore’s hand grabs my waist, steadying me. When we surface, we’re both laughing so hard that it quickly turns to coughing.

“Hey, are you okay?” Ettore asks between laughs, his eyes alight with mischief.

I catch my breath and look at him, drawn to the way his green and brown eyes sparkle in the sunlight. His wet hair falls just to his neck, and he looks so carefree, more than I’ve ever seen him.

Before I know what I’m doing, I wrap my arms around him and kiss him. It’s a slow, sweet kiss, one that lets us savor the moment, savor each other. It’s as if time stretches, letting us forget everything else.

By the time we return to shore, the sun is setting, casting a golden glow over the island. Ettore watches me with a relaxed, knowing smile, as if he understands he’s slowly breaking down the walls I’ve built around myself. I want to ask him what he’s thinking, to hear about his deepest fears, his greatest joys. But I can’t shake the guilt.

I know I’m lying to him, that all of this is built on a lie. A lie that won’t last. And I fear this will all take a different course if the truth comes out. I’m not ready for that yet.

So I stay silent, letting myself enjoy this brief, beautiful moment between us.

Later that evening, Ettore arranges a cozy, romantic dinner for us on the beach. A small table is set with an array of delicious seafood, surrounded by flickering candlelight, and beyond us, the vast stretch of ocean fades into the night.

“This is breathtaking,” I gasp, glancing at Ettore as he settles into his seat across from me. He’s changed into a colorful polo shirt and casual shorts, and I can’t help admiring how beautiful he looks.

“Are you talking about dinner, the beach, or me?” he teases, a playful spark in his eyes.

“All of the above.” I chuckle, feeling warmth in my cheeks.

Just as I’m about to dig into the mouthwatering food, I realize I left my phone in the cabin. “Shoot. I forgot my phone,” I say, looking at him apologetically.

Understanding crosses his face. Nonna has called me every night since we arrived here, and she usually passes the phone around so everyone can talk. The second night, I noticed the look in Ettore’s eyes as I spoke with my family—a mix of admiration and maybe longing.

Ever since we arrived till now, none of his family members have called him. I overheard him speaking to Vittorio once, and even though they laughed over the phone, the call had been work-related.

So from the third night on, whenever my family called, I put it on speaker and tried to involve Ettore in the conversation. Giulia adores my husband, my mother doesn’t hold anything against him, and Nonna, well, she’s beginning to warm up to him, as well.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, starting to get up, but Ettore raises a hand and stands.

“Stay. I’ll get it,” he says with a smile, and before I can argue, he’s gone, leaving me alone under the moonlit sky.

I take a spoonful of the creamy crab soup and let the taste fill my mouth. “Oh, my God,” I groan, unable to hold back a satisfied moan. It’s too good to wait for him, and I can’t resist taking another sip, even though I’d promised myself I’d save it for when Ettore comes back.

Just then, a loud commotion pulls me from my thoughts. I glance up, my spoon frozen halfway to my mouth, and I see three young men standing near a small snack shack. One of them has a firm grip on the arm of the local girl selling snacks, his face twisted in anger as he yells at her in a mix of Spanish and Creole.

A pulse of anger flares inside me as I watch the scene unfold. My eyes dart to the cabin, and I wait impatiently, hoping Ettore will come out soon. My mind races. The girl can’t be more than twelve, and it’s clear she’s terrified. My knees bounce with agitation, the need to do something overwhelming.

Then, one of the men grips the girl’s arm even tighter, trying to drag her away from the shack. That’s the breaking point. Before I even think about it, my feet are moving. I stand up, my heart pounding with adrenaline, and I stride toward them, my voice sharp and commanding.

“Hey!” I shout. “Let her go.”

The men turn, muttering in Spanish, their eyes narrowing, their sneers growing as they size me up. I see the fear in the girl’s eyes, wide and panicked, and it ignites something deep inside me. I have to protect her.

“¿Quién diablos eres?” one of the guys growls, storming toward me.

My heart hammers in my chest, but I don’t flinch. I stand my ground, taking a quick step back and crouching low. Before the man can reach me, I grab two handfuls of sand from the ground and fling it at him. The sand hits his face and his friend’s, both of them recoiling in shock, curses spilling from their lips in rapid-fire Spanish.

I don’t waste a second—I grab the girl and draw her close. “Come on, let’s go,” I say, trying to pull her away.

But before I can move us away, a rough hand clamps down on my arm, jerking me backward. A sick sense of déjà vu floods me, reminding me of the night I’d been cornered by Abruzzi’s men. I react on instinct, kneeing the guy hard in the groin. He gasps and loosens his grip just long enough for me to shout.

“Help! Somebody help us!”

The shout catches the attention of a couple of locals, two fishermen and a trader who rush over. They shout at the men, waving sticks and yelling in the same rapid Spanish, and within moments, the men stumble back, cursing and retreating into the distance.

The girl clings to me, trembling. I glance down at her wrist and the red marks left behind by the man’s grip, and anger surges in me again.

“You’re okay now,” I say softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My heart aches at seeing her this shaken. From the corner of my eye, I spot Ettore rushing over, worry etched on his face.

He skids to a halt beside me, his eyes darting between the retreating men and the girl still clinging to my side.

I rub my thumb over the girl’s wrist, offering her the smallest smile, my heart still racing. Ettore places a hand on my shoulder, his voice low with concern. “Are you okay?” he asks, but his eyes are already flicking to the girl, assessing the situation with the precision of someone who’s seen far too much violence in his life.

I glance at the girl, then turn to Ettore, my own anger still boiling beneath the surface. “Do they do this often? Do these men usually bother you?”

She shakes her head. “Sometimes they get drunk and bother people here. Today they wanted free snacks. I said no, and they got angry.” Her eyes meet mine then, still full of fear, but there’s bravery there, too. “I’m sorry,” she says softly, her small voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

My heart swells. I shake my head, my grip on her shoulder tightening in reassurance. “You didn’t cause any trouble,” I say, my voice firm. “They were in the wrong.”

Ettore’s gaze softens, but the tension in his body hasn’t fully released. He looks at the girl, then back at me, his jaw tightening. The storm that’s been brewing in his eyes is no longer about me—now it’s about them. Those men. The ones who thought they could take whatever they wanted.

I nod to him, gesturing for him to leave us, and he turns away to talk to two fishermen who just arrived, probably about what just happened, all the while still staring at me, a tense look in his eyes.

I turn back to the girl, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “What’s your name?”

“Maria,” she says, and she gives me a shy smile that tugs at my heart. She reminds me so much of Giulia.

“There’s a local hospital nearby that can check on both of you for any injuries,” Ettore says, his voice laced with worry. “The fishermen just told me how to get there. I can get a cab right away. Should I grab your bag, and we can go?”

I shake my head, forcing a smile even though I feel the weight of his concern. “I’m good, Ettore. Perfectly fine. Those men didn’t get the chance to do any harm. I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, his brow furrowing as his hand stays firmly on my back. “I know, but I’ll sleep better once you’re checked by a doctor. You too young lady” he adds, glancing at Maria with a stern look.

Maria shakes her head, though her words are soft. “I’m fine, sir. This happens all the time, especially when tourist visits are high. A good rub from mama’s special oils, and my wrist will be just fine.”

Ettore nods but still doesn’t look entirely reassured. He glances at me again, as if waiting for something more. His lips part as if he’s about to say something, but I can’t let him go any further.

“I’m fine, Ettore,” I interrupt, forcing a reassuring smile. “Really. Nothing I can’t handle.”

It’s the truth, but it’s also not.

There’s something else keeping me from going to the hospital—something I’m not ready to tell you yet. Something I’m not sure how to explain without making you question everything. The last thing I want is for you to find out like this, while we’re on this fake honeymoon, of all things.

I’m terrified that if I tell you, it might be the end of whatever this is between us. I can’t risk you hating me or pushing me away before we even get a chance to see where this could go.

I don’t say any of that out loud, though. I can’t. And I pray to God that he doesn’t suddenly develop the ability to read my thoughts.

He nods, still a bit tense, then looks at Maria. “I talked to the locals. Those men won’t bother you or anyone else here again.” His voice is calm, but there’s a protective edge to it that makes my chest tighten.

Ettore steps away to call a taxi for Maria, and as he does, I feel her eyes on me. She glances between me and Ettore, then gives me a mischievous smile. “Is he your husband?” she asks, her eyes glinting with curiosity. She looks down at the ring on my finger before I can answer. “Ah I see. You’re a lucky woman. He never stopped watching you.”

I laugh softly. “Do you always say what’s on your mind?” I ask, smiling as she nods, a little shyly.

“Not always. But I thought you deserved to know since you saved my life,” she replies. “I’m glad you’re with someone who looks that worried when something bad happens.” She pauses, her lips curling into a small smile, a faraway look in her eyes. “My poppa used to look at my momma like that before he passed. It means he loves you.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. I feel a wave of guilt crash over me.

I know what Maria means, but I also know the truth is more complicated. Ettore may look at me with that same intensity, but it’s not love—not the way she sees it. Not the way I want it to be.

I can’t exactly tell her that my marriage isn’t real, that the man I’m with—the one who looks at me so fiercely, so protectively—isn’t really my husband. Not in the way she imagines. I can’t tell her that our marriage is a lie, that it’s built on a contract and promises that mean nothing once the ink dries.

I can’t tell her that it’s beginning to feel real—too real. Even though we’ve only had sex once, we’ve shared moments, quiet and intense, that feel like they’ve forged something between us.

The way he holds me, the way he touches me, the way he looks at me like I’m the only person in the room. It’s as if we’ve been together for years, not just months.

These moments, these gestures, feel more intimate than anything I’ve ever experienced. They’re more than just physical. They reach deeper, into a place where words can’t follow. And I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy or the time we’ve spent together, but everything is happening in a way I’m not ready for.

But most of all, I can’t say that I’m carrying his child. With every passing day, I wish I could tell him, wish I could share this part of myself with him, but it’s not that simple.

What if he doesn’t want this child? What if the truth destroys everything, as fragile as it already is?

I shake off the heavy thoughts and force a chuckle, trying to sound light. “I’m glad I met you today, Maria. You remind me of one big-hearted girl I’d go to the ends of the earth for.”

She smirks, a knowing glint in her eyes. “I’m sure she’ll do the same for you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. People like you are rare. I know how many tourists would’ve just looked the other way if they saw me in that situation. You didn’t even hesitate. You just stepped right in.”

Her words hit me harder than I expect. She’s sharp for someone her age—just like Giulia.

“Well, my Nonna taught me some self-defense when I was growing up. She always said, ‘Never run from a fight.’”

Maria grins. “She sure sounds cool, just like you.”

Before I can reply, Ettore pulls up with a taxi. I give Maria a quick wave, my voice struggling to stay steady. “Take care, okay?” I call, trying to sound normal. I can’t let her see how much I feel like I’m on the edge of losing everything.

She waves back, and as the taxi pulls away, her words linger in my mind. He never stopped watching you.

Part of me wants to believe it—wants to hold on to the hope that maybe this could be real, that Ettore could love me, that this could somehow turn into something more than a contract, more than a duty. But then the other part of me—the part that knows the truth, the part that remembers the coldness of our arrangement—reminds me of what’s coming.

Soon, the contract will expire. And then what?

I feel Ettore’s presence beside me as we start walking back to the cabin, and I try to smile, but it’s not easy. He notices the change in me immediately, his eyes narrowing in concern. But before he can ask any questions, I pull him in for a kiss, then suggest we get some shut eye.

The moment stretches out between us before Ettore finally breaks the silence. “Are you sure everything is fine?”

“I’m okay,” I say, my voice a little too quiet.

He doesn’t buy it. I know he doesn’t. But he doesn’t push. He just walks beside me, the air between us heavy with unspoken words.

And for the first time in a long time, I wish I didn’t have to keep pretending.

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.