Dark Mafia Bride: Chapter 41

The fluorescent lights hum above me, casting a harsh, sterile glow over the rows of students hunched over their notes. I sit at the back of the lecture hall, my pen tapping absently against the blank page in front of me.

My attention is less on Professor Ricci’s lecture about global governance than on the empty seat beside me. The one that should be occupied by Milo. If he were here today, that spot would be his.

I haven’t spoken to him since the day I walked out on him at the café. At first, he tried reaching out—calls, messages, endless attempts to apologize. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I let his messages pile up, unread. Then, one day, everything stopped. He vanished. It’s been weeks now, not since I resumed classes after being discharged from the hospital.

At first, I didn’t mind the silence. I almost preferred it. I didn’t have to face him in class, didn’t have to listen to his apologies, didn’t have to be reminded of everything we’d been through. Hell, the pictures of him kissing me were used against me by my own husband. I hated how easily everything had crumbled.

Then, the absence starts to gnaw at me. It’s been over a month now. I try not to care. I shouldn’t care, especially not after everything he did. I know it was his fault.

So why does my chest feel so tight? Why does a part of me still want to know what happened?

But I can’t control the feeling that worries me as I struggle to make out what might be wrong.

The professor drones on about ‘economic diplomacy’ and ‘global governance.’ The words bounce around the room, meaningless, while my mind races with questions I can’t seem to quiet. What’s going on with Milo? Is he sick? Out of town? Taking a break from college? Or worse…is he avoiding me?

I scoff at the thought. Milo wouldn’t ditch classes for almost a month just because we’d fought. This is something more serious.

The lecture finally ends minutes later, and the room becomes noisy and bustling with activity as students pour out of the lecture hall in chattering groups. I sling my satchel over one shoulder and make my way towards the door.

In the hallway, the voices grow louder, and I feel a pang in my chest. It feels like I’m just going through the motions. I pull my phone out of my bag and, before I even realize what I’m doing, I’ve dialed his number.

It rings once. Twice. And when the third ring comes and goes, I can’t stop myself. I pull up our last conversation. The last message from him was an apology—a desperate, heartfelt one. My fingers hover over the screen, guilt sinking in as I realize I’ve never replied to any of his messages.

I bite my lip, then type the words.

Hey. Haven’t seen you in a while. Just checking to make sure you’re okay. Call me if you want to talk.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself. Immediately, the guilt coils tighter in my stomach. I know Milo crossed a line, but it doesn’t erase the time we spent together. The friendship, the way he made my first days here easier, the fact that he genuinely seemed to care about me…It doesn’t just disappear, no matter how hard I try to ignore it.

And then there’s the darker worry I can’t shake.

Did Ettore do something to him? He’d threatened to kill him before, and knowing him, he isn’t one to joke about certain subjects like that.

I force the thought from my mind, but it lingers. Ettore wouldn’t…would he? He’s always made his feelings clear about Milo, but would he go that far?

I close my eyes as flashes of the hospital flood my mind—doctors, beeping machines, the overwhelming fragility of life. It all feels so delicate, so fragile. That withing a blink of eye everything you’ve ever known can change quickly.

I can’t shake the image of Milo fading into the background of my life just because I’d let my anger take over. If something happened to him, and I didn’t know…I wouldn’t forgive myself.

The heat outside hits me like a wall when I step into the faculty parking lot. The sun is blinding. And there, unmistakable, is Ettore—leaning against his black Lamborghini Urus, wearing his usual look of effortless magnetism. He stands with his arms crossed, looking every bit as dangerous as he always does. His jawline is sharp, his hair a mess of dark waves I can’t seem to forget burying my hands into.

God, he looks good.

I hate the way my heart flutters at the sight of him. It’s so damned stupid. After everything, why does he still have this effect on me?

He straightens as he spots me, and I feel the weight of every eye around us as he walks toward me with those long, purposeful strides. There’s something magnetic about him—the way the crowd seems to part for him, as if they know exactly who he is. It doesn’t help that his presence seems to fill up the space between us before he even says a word.

“Hey,” he greets, and I don’t know how his voice can sound so soft yet gruff.

When he takes my bag from my shoulders, his hand brushes against my arm, and the electricity between us zings through my skin. My heart skips, then stutters, then races. The tension between us vibrates like a pulled string.

“Hey,” I croak, my throat suddenly feeling dry.

It’s been a roller coaster of emotions ever since I left him, but I never let myself revel in the fact that I missed him terribly. Not until now.

“Ready?” he asks, taking my hand and leading me toward his car.

I nod, though my stomach is in knots. I swallow hard, trying to hold myself together, but I’m not sure how long I can keep pretending. Today is our first doctor’s visit, and I’m terrified. Not just of the checkup, but of being there with him.

He opens the car door for me, and I slide inside, immediately hit by the scent of him—clean, expensive, and familiar. It wraps around me like a second skin, and for a moment, I forget the weight of everything else. The door shuts with a soft thud, and Ettore slides in on the other side, his presence suddenly filling the space.

The engine hums to life, and within seconds, we’re leaving the campus grounds and merging onto the highway. My heart hammers in my chest, a frantic rhythm I can’t ignore. The nerves crawl under my skin, twisting in all sorts of directions. I’m not just nervous about the doctor’s appointment. I’m nervous about the fact that I’m here with Ettore, that we’re together again like this.

“How are you?” he asks, his voice low as he turns a corner, his grip on the wheel tight and steady.

I notice the way he’s driving slower than usual, almost too carefully, as if every move he makes is designed to protect me. His voice is gentle, almost painfully so, and something about it makes my chest ache.

“I’m good,” I answer, my words coming out too flat.

“Just good?” he presses. “That’s it?”

I chuckle, trying to deflect. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

I raise an eyebrow, a flash of irritation stirring. “So you think I’m lying?”

“I want you to tell me everything, Bella,” he says, his voice intense, almost desperate. “I want you to tell me how you’ve been, how you’ve been managing college and work. Tell me if you really think being apart from me is working for you.”

“I knew it would come to this,” I mutter, folding my arms over my chest, already bracing myself for the familiar push and pull. “I’m fine, Ettore. I’ve got a good job, a supportive family, and my grades have never been better. Is that what you want to hear?”

I glance at him, but his face is tight, his jaw set in that way that makes me feel like he’s holding something back.

He chuckles bitterly, the sound slicing through the silence. “No.”

“No?” My head jerks back in surprise.

“I want you to admit that being away from me has been miserable,” he says, his voice growing raw, “that you made the wrong choice when you left, and that you miss me…”

I feel the words hit me like a slap to the face, and a wave of emotion crashes over me. “Ettore,” I warn softly, but I can’t stop the ache that spreads through me at his words.

“Because that’s how I’ve been, Bella,” he continues. “Miserable. Missing you. Hating myself for letting you walk away.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way…” I murmur, but even as I say it, I know it’s not enough.

“Are you?” He shoots me a look, his eyes dark, filled with too many emotions to name. I bite my lip, trying to keep my ground.

“No,” I admit sincerely, my voice softer than I want it to be. “I’m glad you regret what you did. I’m glad you see how wrong it was. But we can’t keep looking back, Ettore. We have to move forward. That’s why we’re going to this checkup today. To make sure the babies are okay. That’s all that matters now.”

He hums low in his throat, clearly not convinced. “And after that? What happens then? We just go our separate ways?”

I swallow hard. “Until we have to meet again for them, yes.”

“This won’t work, Mirabella, and you know it, I know it. We can’t do this…coparenting thing while we’re apart. We just can’t. We are better together as a family.”

A scoff leaves my throat. “So, what, you want me to move back to the Greco Estate?”

He doesn’t even flinch, his gaze locked onto mine as he drives. “I want you to move back home.”

I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know what I want.

Home. I hear the word, and for a fleeting moment, it sounds comforting. But deep down, I know he’s wrong. That place—his house—never truly felt like home. Not when our marriage was nothing more than a façade. Not when his family despised me.

“We don’t have to live as a couple,” he says, his voice soft but insistent. “You can stay in a different wing of the house. I just…I worry so much because you’re not close to me. Do you know the torture I’ve been subjected to?” He says it so earnestly, and I can’t ignore how his words tug painfully at my chest.

I force a smile, one that feels too thin, too brittle. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not alone. I have my family.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles white. “I am your family.”

I bite my lower lip to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill, and I turn to look out the window, trying to find something to focus on. Something, anything, to stop the emotions from overtaking me. I want the same things he does. I want us to be a family, but I can’t keep pretending it will be simple.

Even if I do move back, even if I raise our children in his home, it won’t change the fact that his aunts still hate me. Their disdain won’t just disappear. I’ve seen how Ettore interacts with them, how there’s no warmth, no love. It’s cold, and it’s harsh. The last thing I want is for my children to grow up feeling like they don’t belong, like they’re unwanted.

The streets blur past, and I focus on them, on the city’s landscape outside the window as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. The silence between us is heavy, but at least it’s peaceful. He doesn’t push. For now, that’s enough.

A few minutes later, we pull into the hospital parking lot, and Ettore opens the door for me. As I step out, I feel his presence behind me like a shadow. My breath catches when my body brushes against his.

“Come on,” he says, and I follow him, though every step feels like it’s taking me further from the calm I had in the car.

The walk through the hospital and to the doctor’s office feels like an eternity. Finally, we’re seated in a sterile, white room that feels as cold as the silence between us moments ago. But Ettore’s hand still grips mine, and that warmth—his warmth—sends a shiver through me.

“Mr. and Mrs. Greco,” the doctor greets, her smile kind. “It’s lovely to have you both today.”

The appointment begins in earnest, with Ettore asking so many questions that I can’t help but chuckle at his overzealous concern.

“Are you sure she’s getting the right vitamins?”

“What about the risk factors?”

“When should we schedule the next visit?”

“Do you think she should be working a job while also being a student?”

I roll my eyes at the last question.

“I have to work, doctor,” I say, though I can already feel how Ettore’s breathing picks up when I admit that.

“No, you don’t. You just want to work,” Ettore grumbles, turning to face the doctor again. “I’m sure you’ve dealt with stubborn pregnant women in your years of practice. Could you talk to her? Maybe she’ll listen to you…”

The doctor clears her throat, looking slightly amused.

“Well, it depends on the kind of job. It’s advisable for pregnant women to keep themselves busy, as long as it’s not too physically demanding.”

“See?” I shoot Ettore a smug look, but the doctor isn’t done yet.

“But if those activities involve physical or mental stress, then it’s not safe for the mother or the babies.”

“No stress whatsoever, Doc,” I quickly reply, a little defensive. “I love my job, and I’m pursuing a degree I’m passionate about.”

The only thing truly stressing me out is constantly thinking about Ettore and this…situation in which we find ourselves.

The doctor smiles kindly at both of us. “It’s natural for the expecting father to worry about his partner’s well-being,” she says.

I can hear Ettore’s frustrated huff beside me, and I can’t help but tease him a little. “He doesn’t just worry. He acts like he’s the one carrying the babies.”

And even though he acts like he’s upset, I see a crack of a smile on his lips.

“Can’t help it,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair. “I worry.”

For a moment, everything feels right. We share a small laugh as the meeting continues, and with time, the tightness in my chest eases a little bit. I know this moment will pass and we will snap back to reality when this is all over, but for now, I just want to pretend like everything is okay.

It’s fleeting, I know, but for now, I’ll take it.

Ettore holds my hand as we walk back to the car after the doctor appointment, his grip firm, as if we’re still a normal couple, as if nothing has changed between us.

There’s a silence that settles between us, not awkward or forced, but comfortable, as if we’re both content to just exist in the moment. It’s the kind of quiet where words feel unnecessary, where the space between us is filled with everything that doesn’t need to be said.

I can feel his hand still holding mine, his presence grounding me. I just want to hold onto this. Just us, here, as if nothing has changed.

I wish it could stay that way—quiet, simple, without all the mess. But then he speaks, his voice cutting through the stillness.

“So, when’s the next appointment?”

“A few weeks, I think. Wait, let me check my hospital card.” I pull it up on my phone, swiping through the screen. “Okay, that would be next month, on the 23rd.”

“Oh.”

“What do you mean, oh?” I glance up at him, narrowing my eyes.

“It’s nothing. I’ll be there,” he says, a little too quickly.

I don’t buy it. “Ettore…”

He hesitates, and then there’s that familiar glint in his eyes—something he’s not saying. “But it might clash with a trip I’ve got scheduled.”

“A trip?” I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “What kind of trip?”

“Business,” he says quickly, but I can tell there’s something more. His tone is a little too casual, like he’s trying to cover up a truth he doesn’t want to say out loud.

“You know you don’t have to come if you don’t want to?”

“I don’t want to miss it, Bella. But you know how things are.”

I stop walking, turning to face him. “Hence, why I said you don’t have to come. It’s fine. You always seem to find a way to miss things that matter.”

The words hit harder than I intended. I see him flinch, just for a moment, but it’s enough. His jaw clenches, and I can feel the shift in the air. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his voice low.

“I just—” I take a step back, frustrated. “I don’t need you to be here when it’s convenient, Ettore. I don’t need you to show up for just the good parts. I’ve been doing this on my own, and I can keep doing it.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s something in the way he looks at me, a flicker of pain beneath his usual tough exterior. He takes a deep breath, his voice steady but with an edge. “I’m not asking you to do it alone. I never wanted that. I just…I don’t want to lose any more of this. Of us.”

He steps closer, his hand reaching for mine again. “I know I haven’t been perfect. I’ve messed up, Bella. But I’m not going to keep making excuses. I want to be here. For everything. For us.”

I look away, unsure of what to say, my chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice. The truth is, I’ve missed him, more than I want to admit. But the anger and hurt still linger.

And then, in a softer tone, he says, “I want us back, Mirabella…”

My heart stutters, but I don’t answer immediately. I can’t.

“Ettore…” I sigh, my voice a little more exhausted than I intend. “We’ve already talked about this…”

“I know,” he interrupts, his tone uncharacteristically gentle, almost pleading. “But just…listen to me for once, okay?” He pauses, his voice faltering before he continues. “It’s not about the maids or the money or any of that. Yes, I want you to be taken care of and not be alone through this but it’s about you. I miss you, Bella. I miss waking up and seeing you beside me, hearing you laugh about something ridiculous I said. I miss being a part of your world, your life.”

He takes a shaky breath, his usual confidence stripped away. “We’re having twins, Bella. Two little pieces of you and me, and I don’t want to miss a single moment. Not their first cries, their first steps, their first days of school—I want to be there for all of it. For you. For them. I don’t want to be some shadow in their lives. I need you to give me that chance.”

His words hit me harder than I expect, and I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Ettore…it’s not that simple. You know it’s not.”

“I know it’s not,” he agrees softly, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “But life without you? That’s impossible. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you, Bella. Whatever you need from me, I’ll give it to you. I just need you to let me in. To let me fight for us. Please.”

I don’t respond immediately, unsure of what to say, and he leans over, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his touch achingly tender. His voice drops to a whisper, his words laced with a bittersweet honesty that makes my heart ache.

“You’re my home, Bella. You always have been. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it, if I have to.”

He opens the passenger door and waits, his expression hopeful yet braced for rejection. Slowly, I slide into the seat, my emotions in turmoil as he shuts the door and moves around to the driver’s side.

As he gets in, he glances at me again, his eyes scanning my face like he’s memorizing every detail. “You don’t have to decide now,” he says softly, his voice steady but full of longing. “Just… don’t shut me out completely. That’s all I’m asking.”

But he doesn’t start the car. Instead, we sit there in silence, a silence that feels heavy with everything unsaid. I can feel him watching me, probably hoping for a reply, but I’m tongue-tied as usual—helpless whenever he opens that goddamned beautiful mouth.

He fiddles with the push-to-start knob, his fingers restless, while I focus on staring at anything but him. The dashboard, the rearview mirror, my own hands in my lap—anywhere but those freaking eyes.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but he beats me to it. The quiet is clearly gnawing at him just as much as it is at me.

“Do you get backaches? Foot aches? Any kind of body aches at all?” he asks casually, but there’s an underlying tension in his voice. “I give really good body rubs.”

I roll my eyes, unable to stop the corner of my lips from twitching upward.

I hate that he’s getting to me. His words, his presence—they’ve always had this way of undoing me, no matter how hard I try to keep myself together. Nothing has changed. I can feel it. The pull. The gravity of him, of us.

I glance at him, and there it is—the look. That look that makes my thoughts scatter and my heart stumble over itself. Before I say anything, he leans in to brush my cheek with the pad of his fingers. Then suddenly, the air feels thick, and my heart races as I stare into his eyes.

“I really miss you,” he whispers, his voice raw and honest. “Tell me you miss me too.”

My breathing becomes heavier as I stare into the depths of his hazel orbs. I try to fight it, try to push the flood of emotions back, but his thumb moves in slow, agonizing circles on the curve of my neck, and it’s over. Every wall I’ve built, every ounce of resolve I’ve clung to—it all crumbles beneath his touch.

I’m not strong enough to resist him anymore.

“I-I…miss you too, Ettore…”

My words barely leave my lips before he leans in, closing the distance between us. His lips are on mine in an instant, fierce and hungry. It’s as if the world drops away, and all I can feel is him. His warmth, his desperation, and the way my heart is beating so wildly I can barely catch my breath.

For a moment, it’s just us. Nothing else matters. Not the past, not the hurt, not the future. Only this kiss. Only him.