Dark Mafia Bride: Chapter 43

The tension in the air seems to intensify, but for an entirely different reason, the moment Milo’s name falls from my lips. I swallow hard and try to keep my nerves from showing as I study the unreadable expression on Ettore’s face.

“There’s nothing going on between us, Ettore,” I blurt out, perhaps more urgently than I intend. I know I don’t owe him an explanation—I’ve been honest this whole time, there’s nothing between me and Milo. But a part of me feels like I’m not the only one who needs reassurance.

Ettore needs it too, especially after the heated moment we shared was interrupted by a man he saw kissing me.

“I just want you to know that. You believe me, right?” I ask, my voice tinged with nervousness as I brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Mirabella…” Ettore’s gaze softens, the hard edges of his expression easing. “I believe you. I made a terrible mistake for not doing so before…when I should have.”

I bite my lower lip and nod, a wave of relief washing over me. “I just…I called him earlier because I hadn’t seen him in lectures for over a month, and I was worried. Maybe something had happened to him. But he didn’t answer, so I texted hi⁠—”

My rambling is abruptly cut off as Ettore leans in and presses his lips against mine. The kiss is warm, tender, and disarming, and in an instant, my defenses and anxieties dissolve. My breath catches as his hands cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheek with such delicate care that I almost want to believe everything will be okay.

In the distance, my phone stops ringing, but my mind is too clouded, too overwhelmed by the heat of the kiss to stop. I slide my hand over his rough stubble, savoring the way it scrapes against my palm. Ettore makes a low, rumbling sound in his throat as my fingers find the nape of his neck. One hand slides to the back of my head, holding me in place as he deepens the kiss.

I moan into him, my body responding in ways I can’t control as my pulse quickens. His other hand moves dangerously close to my lap, and just as his thumb nears my center, my shrill ringtone slices through the moment again. A sharp exhale escapes me as I push Ettore away, the break more for my own sake than his.

“I need…” I gasp breathlessly, my voice shaky. “…I need to take this call.”

Before he can say anything, I push the driver’s side door open and stumble out of the car, my legs unsteady beneath me. The fresh air hits my skin, but it does little to calm the storm of desire and confusion raging inside me. My chest heaves, not just from the kiss but from the jumble of confusion swirling in my gut.

Ettore follows, unfolding his tall frame from the car. The way he watches me makes my heart ache. There’s something tender in his eyes, but beneath that tenderness, I can sense a mixture of lust and frustration. He says nothing, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the muscles in his jaw clenched tight.

I swallow hard, glancing down at the phone still vibrating in my hand. With a deep breath, I press answer. “Milo?”

There’s a brief pause on the other end before a long sigh.

“Mirabella,” Milo’s familiar voice fills my ear, but it’s not the same. His tone is rough, drained—so different from the boyish playfulness he used to have. “I’m…sorry. For everything.”

It feels as if I’ve been holding my breath for days, but his words don’t bring the relief I expected. “Where have you been?” I manage to ask, the guilt thick in my voice. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, Milo. I was worried.”

He exhales shakily. “I took some time off from college. After everything…I just needed to get away. Needed space to think about what I’d done.”

“I saw you a few days after…after what you…” I glance at Ettore, who’s watching me closely, eyebrows raised. “…after what happened. That’s not why you stopped coming, is it?”

A selfish part of me hopes that it wasn’t. I would hate to think Milo skipped a month, missing important quizzes and assessments, all because I couldn’t bring myself to accept his apology.

“No,” Milo says quietly. “It wasn’t that. Something else happened.”

Even though these were the words I’d hoped for, they still send a shock through my chest, leaving my heart suspended in midair. I grip the car door for support, the metal cold beneath my fingers.

“What do you mean?” My voice comes out as a whisper, and I can feel Ettore’s gaze burning holes into me, but I can’t bring myself to look at him now.

“There’s something you need to know,” Milo continues, his voice cracking with emotion. “A woman—she, uh…approached me. She offered me money—fifty thousand dollars—to get close to you, to make you look bad. She wanted to ruin you.”

The world seems to blur around me, and I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall. “What?”

“I thought…” he chuckles bitterly, the sound heavy with regret. “I thought it was some kind of miracle. Here I am, stressing about student loans, and a wealthy stranger offers me more money than I’ve ever had just to befriend someone.”

“So you…you took the money?” My voice comes out small, almost childlike, and I hate how vulnerable I sound.

“I did,” Milo admits, the weight of guilt clear in his voice. “But then I met you, and everything changed. You were so real, so kind to me. I didn’t expect to…to like you, let alone fall for you. But I did. And that kiss—it was real, Mirabella. I swear.”

The betrayal slices through me, deeper than I ever imagined it could. Tears prick at my eyes, but I force myself to blink them away. “But you still went along with it,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “You still lied to me. You still kissed me knowing I was married and that it would hurt me, that it would definitely implicate me, just like you were paid to do…”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice cracks. “That was selfish, and I hate that you suffered because of it. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“Is this why you called me? To tell me you’ve skipped classes for so long because you feel bad?” I spit, anger surging through my veins like fire.

“I stopped attending after I heard about your accident,” he admits, exhaling a shaky breath. “I felt like somehow I had a part in it.”

I don’t know how to process his words. He hurt me. His actions hurt me. But at the same time, it wasn’t his fault that I got hit by a damned bike.

“I was going to come see you. I was going to confess what I did and ask for your forgiveness, even though I knew you’d probably send me away. But…” His voice wavers, and I hear him swallow thickly. “Your husband came to see me first.”

The word husband crashes into me like a wave, and I feel a fresh surge of disbelief flood through me. I turn slowly to look at Ettore, his arms still crossed over his chest, his face a perfect mask of indifference.

“What did he do?” I ask, my voice low but urgent, the question hanging in the air like a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode.

Milo hesitates, then lets out a dry laugh. “He didn’t kill me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says, trying to lighten the mood with a joke, but it falls flat. “But I’m in the hospital…”

A sob rises in my throat, and I hang up the phone, letting it slip from my numbed fingers. My vision blurs with angry tears as I turn to face Ettore. “You put him in the hospital?” My voice shakes, a raw mix of horror and disbelief.

Ettore doesn’t flinch. His expression remains unmoving, and his eyes meet mine with an unyielding indifference that makes my blood boil. “He hurt you,” he says in a dangerously calm voice. “I made sure he understood the consequences.”

My hands ball into fists at my sides. “You can’t just put people in a damned hospital because they hurt me. That’s not how the world works!”

Ettore’s face darkens, and he takes a step toward me. “In my world, that’s exactly how it works,” he replies, his voice low and fierce. “And you should be grateful. I had Luca take him to the hospital. He could’ve bled to death in his own damned house.”

The cruelty in his words, spoken with such ease, makes my stomach churn. “You think I should be grateful?” My voice rises, and I hate that it wavers. “You think I want this? Violence and control? This is exactly why I left you!”

He takes another step closer, and I instinctively take a step back. I see the hurt flash in his eyes before he stops, his expression hardening once more.

“Get in the car,” he says, his voice harsh, carrying an unmistakable command. “We need to fix the real problem here.”

I glare at him, the heat between us thick and suffocating. “Why? So you can control my life some more? Beat up—heck, hurt—people who hurt me? What exactly did you even do to him?”

“I shot at him…” he replies, his voice colder than I expect.

A sharp gasp escapes me, but he doesn’t stop. “Fuck it, Mirabella, I wanted to do more than that,” he growls, his tone hardening with every word. “Believe me, I was tempted—so damn tempted—to aim higher. His chest. His head. One tilt of my hand, and he’d be done.” His jaw tightens, the veins in his neck visible as he fights to control his rage. “But I didn’t. You know why? Because of you. I knew you’d never forgive me. I knew he was your friend, and that you still cared about him. So I held back. For you.”

“Then how did he end up in the hospital?” I ask.

“The bastard panicked when he saw me,” Ettore says with a sharp laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Tried to bolt like a coward. Ended up tripping over himself and tumbling down the stairs. Lucky all he broke was his damn hip and nose. He could’ve died.” His lips curl into a cold sneer. “Would’ve served him right.”

“Ettore,” I chide softly, relieved he didn’t actually shoot Milo outright, though his anger still sends a shiver through me.

Ettore’s expression softens, but his intensity doesn’t fade as he steps closer. He cups my face with his calloused hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Why do you keep fighting me, Mirabella?” he murmurs. “Everything I do—every goddamn thing—is to protect you. Don’t you see that?”

His words shake something deep inside me. This is who Ettore is—violence, blood, and crime are etched into his soul. This is the world he knows, the only way he understands how to love and protect.

And I don’t want to accept it. I don’t want to understand him or this pull between us that never seems to fade. But I do. God, I do.

With a heavy sigh, I step back, breaking the spell between us, and slide into the passenger seat. Ettore follows, closing the door quietly before turning to me.

“Are you coming home?” he asks, his voice laced with something I can’t quite place.

I let out a sharp breath, my arms crossing tightly. “No, Ettore. I’m still mad at you. You can’t just go around shooting at people, no matter how justified you think it is.”

His jaw tightens, and he nods, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I told you I’d spend my whole life making up for what I’ve done, didn’t I?”

I narrow my eyes, leaning in slightly. “Then start now. For the next two weeks, you’re not coming to any of my appointments. None. You don’t get to be involved in this part of my life if you can’t control yourself.”

His eyes widen in shock. “Mirabella, come on. That’s not⁠—”

“Fair? No, it’s not. But neither is you playing judge, jury, and executioner. Actions have consequences, Ettore. You’re going to sit this one out and think about that.”

He looks like I’ve just punched him. “I can’t—what if something happens? What if you need me?”

“I’ll be fine,” I say firmly, holding his gaze. “Logan will drive me. Alessia can come if I need her. But you? You’re on timeout.”

His lips part like he wants to argue, but then he sighs, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “Two weeks?”

“Two weeks,” I confirm. “And don’t think about showing up uninvited. If I see you at the hospital, I’ll have Logan escort you out.”

He groans, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re killing me, Mirabella.”

“Good. Maybe that’ll stop you from shooting at people next time.”

“Whatever you want, Kitten.” I ignore how his solemn words make my heart flutter, focusing instead on the real issue at hand—the person who’d paid Milo to set me up.

But as the words form in my mind, I realize something. I don’t need to search for the person anymore. I already know exactly who it is.