Dark Mafia Bride: Chapter 35

I’m one unlucky bitch.

Why, of all days, did I have to choose today—the one day I finally planned to tell Ettore everything—for him to not come home at all? I was ready to get everything off my chest, but now I’m stuck with this secret lodged in my heart for another night. He doesn’t know, and I feel like I’m drowning in it.

I wake up early, the tightness in my stomach gnawing at me. It’s a weekend, so I know Ettore will come back. He always does. Whatever kept him late last night better be resolved because I need some time alone with my husband. Time to talk. Time to finally breathe.

The seconds tick by, slower than I can stand, each one scraping against me like a dull blade. The clock in the living room chimes loudly—noon—and already, the day feels as if it’s stretched out forever.

My stomach twists tighter with nerves, excitement, and dread. I’ve worked up the courage to tell him everything, and it’s all I can think about. I’m desperate to share it, to finally tell him the truth. He’ll be angry, of course. He has every right to be. But he loves me. He’ll forgive me. After the storm, we can start fresh.

Then, finally, I hear his car. It pulls up in front of the house, and my heart skips. I straighten up, smoothing my hair and glancing at my reflection in the hallway mirror. Paula’s already rushing to the door. The moment he walks in, I can’t wait any longer. I rush toward him.

“Why didn’t you come home last night? I missed you,” I say, throwing my arms around his waist. My voice is soft, but my chest is tight with hope, with need.

But instead of the warmth I’m expecting, there’s nothing. Nothing at all. I wait for him to pull me in, to lift me up, to tell me how hard it was to be apart. I wait for the affection, the familiarity of his embrace. But nothing happens. When I pull away, he just dusts his hand over his suit jacket, barely glancing at me.

“Ettore?” I manage, my voice catching, the words sticking in my throat like they’re too heavy to speak.

Without sparing me another glance, he brushes past me, walking down the hall like I’m not even there. I stand frozen, the world suddenly too quiet, too still. Paula stands there, too, looking between us, but I don’t care. I follow him.

Something’s wrong. Maybe it was a tough day at work. Maybe something with the project. He’s been stressed about it, constantly on the phone with his lawyer, debating over things I don’t even understand. But this…this is different. I can feel it in the air, thick and suffocating. Something’s broken, and it’s not the project. It’s him. It’s me.

He’s mad at me.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice small as I follow him into our room. “Did something happen at work?” I keep my tone careful, hoping I don’t push him further away. Whatever’s wrong, I don’t want to make it worse.

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he takes off his jacket like I’m invisible and walks into the bathroom without a word. I stand there waiting. My heart pounds, my mind racing through all the possible reasons for this sudden coldness. What could have happened? Did I do something wrong? Does he still love me?

When he steps out of the bathroom, I move toward him, desperate for some connection. I reach out to touch his arm, but the moment my hand brushes his skin, he flinches. He actually pulls away. It feels like a slap on my face, sharp and cold.

The rejection stings deeper than I expected. My throat tightens, and I have to blink hard to hold back the tears. “Ettore, if I did something, just tell me…please.” My voice cracks at the end, a rawness leaking through that I can’t control.

Still nothing. He walks toward the closet, taking his time as if I’m not even in the room. I follow him, a hollow ache spreading through me. I feel so small, so foolish. I keep waiting for him to turn around, to say something—anything—to make sense of all this. But he doesn’t. The silence grows louder, heavier. His back to me, like I don’t even exist.

“Fine,” I snap, the words coming out before I can stop them. “You’re mad at me? Well, I’m mad at you too…” My voice wavers, but I stand my ground.

His movements stop, just for a second. A flicker of attention. I exhale, relieved for a moment that I’ve gotten through to him, that maybe—just maybe—he’s finally going to say something.

“You left me all alone last night,” I say, my voice barely a whisper, but it feels like a scream in my chest. I take a step forward, standing just behind him. “Do you know how cold and empty this room feels without you here?”

I move to wrap my arm around his waist, but before I can even touch him, his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist and dropping it back to my side.

“Okay,” I exhale, the breath shaky. “You’re definitely mad at me. What did I do?”

He doesn’t answer. He just pulls on a simple T-shirt and shorts. Then, without a word, he heads back to the bedroom. My eyes follow him, my heart hammering. I watch as he picks up his discarded jacket and pulls an envelope from the pocket, tossing it onto the bed like it’s nothing.

I stare at the envelope, confusion churning inside me, but when I look back at him, he’s already moving toward the door.

“Separate rooms have been arranged,” he says, his voice cold and flat, like he’s reading from some script. “Our one-year contract will soon be over, so this agreement will proceed exactly as planned for the remainder of the months.”

Contract? Agreement?

The words don’t make sense. They hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me.

“Ettore, what are you talking about? What exactly is going on?” I manage to croak, panic rising in my throat.

His hand twists the doorknob, and his words slice through the air. “It’s what we should have done from the beginning. There’s no need for pretense anymore.” He doesn’t even look at me when he says it.

I stand there, rooted to the spot, my mind racing, but I can’t seem to move. I feel like I’ve been frozen in place, a statue of shock, as he walks out of the room and slams the door behind him.

What the hell just happened?

My hands are trembling as I walk toward the bed, reaching for the envelope. I open it slowly, my fingers clumsy and unsure, and pull out the pictures inside. As I unfold them, the air seems to disappear from the room, from my lungs.

It’s me. And Milo. In all of them.

Frozen moments of us, captured in these damning images—his arm around me, my head on his shoulder, his hands cupping my face, his lips brushing against mine…

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My mind is spinning, questions flooding in, one after another. Who did this? Who sent these to Ettore?

Abruzzi? No, he’d stayed away since the fire, hadn’t he? Maybe it’s someone else…someone from the past? The person who’d set that fire?

Or maybe Ettore had Luca watch me?

But why?

No, he wouldn’t. We’ve been in a good place lately. It doesn’t add up.

For a long moment, I just stand there staring at the door. I should be angry. Furious. I should be burning with rage that Ettore could think so little of me, that he could believe this, but I feel nothing. Just emptiness. A hollow ache spreads through my chest, freezing me from the inside.

I don’t know why, but I don’t run after him to give him an explanation or shout the truth in his face. I won’t beg him to listen. I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t break down over a man. I wouldn’t let a man’s actions pull me under. I watched my mother break apart piece by piece every time my father broke her heart, and I swore to never let myself become her.

I inhale deeply, and with trembling hands, I shove the photos back into the envelope, trying to ignore the weight of them. I toss the envelope onto the bed, as if discarding everything that I once thought we had. Then, without another thought, I rush downstairs and out of the house.

I don’t look back.

My breath comes in shallow pants, each step heavier than the last as I head toward the estate gates. Just before I leave the compound, I glance back, almost against my will. I see a shadow shift behind the curtain of his home office. I know he’s watching me, and it hurts. It stings more than I thought it would that he doesn’t try to stop me.

The guards at the gate don’t stop me. No one does. By the time I reach the end of the street, my heart is a battlefield—anger and heartbreak warring inside me. I reach the nearest bus stop, my hands shaking as I pull out my phone. I dial the one number I know will bring some sense of peace, even if it’s temporary.

Alessia picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, baby boo. What’s up?” Her voice is warm, cheerful, like nothing’s wrong, and for a split second, I want to crumble into it.

I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “Alessia…I need a ride. Can you come pick me up?”

There’s a pause on the other end, and then she speaks, her tone softer now. “Of course, Bella. Where are you? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I tell her where I am, giving the description of the spot before hanging up. I sink down onto the bench, my body shaking. I bite my lip, trying to hold the tears back. I won’t cry. Not here. Not now.

Not for him.