Dark Mafia Bride: Chapter 44

I’ve always prided myself on my self-control, but right now, every muscle in my body is wound tight, threatening to snap at any moment.

The living room of the Greco estate feels suffocating with thick, tangible tension today. Despite the sunlight streaming in through the grand windows and glinting off the polished marble floors, the air is cold, heavy, and oppressive.

I stand rigidly in the center of the room, my hands entwined with Mirabella’s. She’s trembling, her fingers gripping mine so tightly, as if afraid I might disappear. I can feel her pulse racing beneath her skin, a frantic rhythm that mirrors the fury burning in my veins.

Across from us, Zia Camila sits in one of the plush armchairs, her legs crossed with practiced grace, her fingers drumming absentmindedly against her knee. As always, her face is masked with a calm, rehearsed smile, but her eyes betray her—flickering with fear. She knows she’s been backed into a corner, yet she’s still pretending to be oblivious, and that pretense is that is slowly driving me mad.

“I asked you a question,” Mirabella says, her voice shaking. “Why did you do it? Why did you pay someone to get close to me so you could set me up?”

Camila’s icy gaze sweeps over her, a chilling calmness that contrasts sharply with the seething storm in Mirabella’s eyes. “And I’ve already answered,” she responds coolly. “Why do you keep asking? If you believe your husband’s little confession so much, perhaps you’ve mistaken me for the person to whom he’s referring. Go find them. Leave me out of this.”

A wave of seething anger surges through me.

“Don’t insult my wife, Camila,” I spit, watching as her eyes widen slightly at the sheer disrespect of calling her by her guest name. “And don’t insult my intelligence. We already know exactly what you did.”

Her lip curls in a mocking smirk. “Do you?” Camila arches an eyebrow, her voice silky yet harsh. “Or is your wife’s…condition clouding your judgment? Her pregnancy, perhaps?”

Before I can respond, she turns to Mirabella. “I think you need to rest, darling. You’ve been through quite a lot lately. The trauma these few weeks is certainly not good for the babies,” she says with sickly sweet condescension, her voice dripping with feigned concern.

“Stop lying,” Mirabella demands, her voice cracking slightly. “Just…stop. You’re the only one who had the motive to do this. You’ve hated me since the moment you laid eyes on me. You’re the only one who would go to such lengths to make sure I leave your precious mansion.”

“Fine,” Zia Camila snaps, her sugary smile evaporating as a cold, tight expression replaces it. “Believe what you want. I only did what I had to do to protect this family…”

“Protect?” I growl, my voice echoing throughout the room. “Protect this family from what? From her? From my wife? The mother of my children?”

Camila’s cool demeanor falters, if only slightly. “I didn’t know she was pregnant when I started this,” she stammers, the first crack in her mask. She shifts uncomfortably, uncrossing and recrossing her legs in a display of nervousness that contrasts with her earlier poise. “But let’s be clear, we weren’t sure the baby was even yours, Ettore,” she adds, her tone darkening. “I couldn’t risk history repeating itself. I had to protect my family. I did what I had to do.”

I take a deep, controlling breath, the words cutting deeper than she intended. “I’ve forgiven your past transgressions, all because of Mirabella. But this?” I hiss, taking a step closer, my fists clenched. “This is crossing the line.”

Panic creeps into her voice as she sits up straighter. “This is exactly what I was trying to prevent. Don’t you see it? She’s already turning you against me! She’s trying to tear our family apart.”

“The only person responsible for that,” I growl, my words hardening into ice, “is you.”

Her eyes flash with a toxic blend of malice and fear, and her lips twist into a bitter, defiant line. “She’s a threat,” she spits. “You’re too blinded by your emotions to see it. But I see it. I always have. That’s why I did what I did. It’s my responsibility to make you see the truth. I’m not sorry for pushing a few buttons to make you open your eyes.”

“Push a few buttons?!” I roar, taking a step toward her, but Mirabella’s delicate grip tightens around my hand, holding me back.

Zia Camila’s eyes dart to the movement. “She clearly controls you. This is what I was trying to prevent.”

“As opposed to you controlling him?” Mirabella’s voice rises. “You see me as a threat because I am a threat—to your selfishness, your wickedness, and your cruelty!”

I hear footsteps approaching just then, and Aunt Francesca and Aunt Marta slip in, drawn by the commotion, their faces pale with shock. At the unfolding scene before them, they linger by the entrance with wide and shocked gazes, not daring to interrupt.

“You don’t belong here,” Zia Camila hisses. “You were never meant to be a part of this family. A threat? Don’t flatter yourself. I’m trying to protect what’s rightfully mine. What’s ours.” Her voice tightens, and her eyes glint with cold satisfaction. “Ettore was too blind to see it, but I found someone who wasn’t.”

My mind whirs, pieces finally clicking together. “You found someone?” I echo, my voice low but threatening. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

For the first time, Camila’s eyes widen with panic. Her control slips, a crack in the mask she’s so carefully constructed. “I-I didn’t—” she stammers, but I cut her off before she can regain her footing.

“No more lies, Camila,” I say with razor-sharp finality. “I’ll ask you one more time before I do something that will make you question whether we really are family. What the fuck do you mean by you found someone who does?”

Her hesitation dissolves into a sneer. “I couldn’t risk handling the transaction myself,” she spits. “Not when there was a chance that foolish American boy might rat me out. Someone helped me set up an offshore account for the transfer. Using my own account would’ve left a trail.”

Her voice softens as she meets my glare. “I did this to protect the family, Ettore. Our family.”

I take a slow, deliberate step closer, my gaze fixed on hers. “Who was it?” I demand.

Camila hesitates, her lips parting as if to speak, but then she closes them again, her eyes darting away for the briefest moment. The silence stretches, heavy with anticipation, and for a moment, I think I know the name she’s about to say.

Then she speaks, her voice calm and almost mocking. “The person the tramp belonged to in the first place.”

Her words blur in my mind, the puzzle pieces snapping together in rapid succession.

‘Ettore couldn’t see that, so I found someone who did…’

‘Someone helped me secure an offshore account to carry out the transfer…’

Abruzzi.

This scheme reeks of him. His signature chaos, his appetite for destruction—all to maintain his leverage over others. And Camila? That she would stoop so low as to ally herself with him—just to torment Mirabella—is enough to make my blood boil. Fuck! I’m barely hanging onto my restraint.

My fists clench at my sides as I fight to maintain control. The air around me feels charged, heavy with blinding fury, but even through the haze of anger, one question still burns in my mind—a question that has haunted me, unanswered, for months.

The fire.

The fire that had destroyed Mirabella’s house, upended her family’s life, and set this entire nightmare into motion. No matter how hard I tried to uncover the truth, it always led back to dead ends, half-truths, and shadows. But now, standing here staring into the eyes of the woman who has confessed to orchestrating Mirabella’s suffering, I know.

It’s all connected.

“The fire at Mirabella’s house,” I say, my voice dropping to a cold, deadly calm. “Was that part of your master plan to protect this family with your helper?”

The room seems to hold its breath.

Camila freezes, her carefully constructed composure splintering. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, and she stiffens in her chair. I catch Mirabella’s confused gaze flicker toward me.

Mirabella shifts beside me, her brow furrowing in confusion. “The fire…it was an electrical issue, wasn’t it?” she whispers, her voice barely audible, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Camila.

She pales, her lips trembling. “I-I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” she stammers. “He said it was just to scare her… I didn’t⁠—”

“You do realize,” I say slowly, “if the house burns down, I’ll just move them into your place. Or didn’t you think that far ahead?”

Camila’s face drains of color. Her lips part, and she stammers, “I… I… I didn’t⁠—”

“Didn’t what?” I press, leaning forward. “Didn’t think about the consequences? That they could have ended up dead?”

Her voice shaking, clearly showing that she didn’t think this well enough.

Mirabella lets out a strangled sob, her hands flying to her mouth as the weight of Camila’s words hits her. Her anguish slicing through me, and whatever restraint I had left shatters. The betrayal, the fury, the sheer audacity—it consumes me.

In a blur, I close the distance between us, grabbing Camila by the throat and slamming her against the wall. The impact sends a framed family portrait crashing to the floor, shards of glass scattering across the marble. My grip tightens as I watch her struggle, her hands clawing at mine, her face etched with terror.

Her hands claw at mine, her nails scraping against my skin as she gasps for air. Her face contorts with terror, her composure shattered like the glass scattered at our feet.

“You nearly killed her,” I snarl through clenched teeth, my voice a guttural roar. “You almost killed her entire family—for what? Your pride? Your fucking greed?”

Camila’s lips part in a desperate attempt to speak, but no sound escapes. Her eyes widen, the whites showing as they roll back, and her struggles weaken.

Behind me, chaos erupts. Aunt Francesca’s muffled gasp pierces the tension, and Aunt Marta’s frantic cries reach me as if from a great distance. I feel their hands on me, pulling at my arms, trying to break my grip, but they are nothing.

“Ettore!” Mirabella’s voice rises above the din, desperate, pleading. But I can’t hear her, not really. My vision tunnels, the world shrinking until there is only Camila, gasping, trembling, breaking.

“You brought him into her life,” I seethe. “You allied yourself with Abruzzi! Do you even realize what you’ve done? You handed a monster the tools to destroy her. To destroy me.”

Her mouth moves again, a pathetic croak escaping her lips. A single word, barely audible. “Please.”

“Please?” I echo, my laugh sharp and humorless. “You think you deserve mercy? After everything you’ve done? After you nearly burned Mirabella alive in her own home, with her family inside? Her sick mom—her sister and grandmother—could have died because of you!”

I tighten my grip, my body trembling with the force of my anger. “You’re no better than the demons that plagued my father,” I spit. “You think you’re protecting this family? You’re nothing but a leech, clinging to power, destroying everything good in your path. I spent my whole life trying to escape his shadow, to be better than him, but here you are—proof that I let his rot linger. Proof that I let the Greco curse into my home. Not anymore.”

Camila’s face turns a ghastly shade of purple, her gasps growing fainter, weaker. For a fleeting moment, I want to finish it. To snap her neck and be done with her poison. To silence her forever.

But then Mirabella’s voice cuts through the haze, trembling, raw. “Please, Ettore. You’re scaring me.”

And then I feel her throw herself against me, her arms wrapping around me tightly, her tears soaking through my shirt. “Please,” she whispers again, her voice breaking, her desperation anchoring me.

The fog begins to lift. The rage, hot and all-consuming just moments ago, starts to ebb as her touch pulls me back to reality. Her warmth reminds me of what’s real—what’s important.

I glance down at Camila, her face pale, her chest heaving as she struggles to breathe, and the truth crashes over me like a tidal wave. I don’t have to be this. I don’t have to be the monster they’ve always whispered about—The Reaper they’ve called me.

I can be better.

For Mirabella. For the unborn children she carries. For the future I’ve sworn to protect, the life I’ve promised to build with her.

My grip slackens completely, and I step back, letting Camila collapse to the floor. She clutches her throat, coughing violently, but I don’t look at her. I can’t.

Instead, I turn to Mirabella, who clings to me with trembling hands. Her tear-streaked face tilts up, her eyes filled with fear—not of Camila, not of the situation, but of me. It guts me more than anything else ever could.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

She shakes her head, her fingers tightening against my chest, as if holding me together. “Ettore…”

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply, forcing myself to push the rage down, to lock it away. For her. For our children. Because in the end, they’re all that truly matters.

My eyes scan the room when I open my eyes. It is filled by a suffocating, deathly silence. The tension is so thick it feels like it could shatter. Aunt Francesca and Aunt Marta remain frozen in place, their wide eyes brimming with shock. Mirabella stumbles back, her face ghostly pale, her cheeks glistening with tear tracks.

I glance around and catch the horrified expressions etched onto the faces of everyone present. At some point, maids and other staff had crept into the room, drawn by the chaos. Their presence only magnifies the gravity of what had just happened. Yet, even as guilt starts to gnaw at the edges of my resolve, I find not a single shred of regret within me. If Mirabella hadn’t stopped me, Camila might be dead—and a part of me thinks she would’ve deserved it.

Now, there’s no room for negotiation, no space for forgiveness. This was the final straw.

I take a step forward, my heart pounding, my voice trembling but resolute. This is long overdue.

I look at my aunt. I can tell she’s trying to say something. But I don’t care. I don’t care about her excuses or her manipulations. She’s nothing to me now.

“Get out,” I rasp. “Out of this house. Out of our lives. If I ever see your face again, I won’t stop.”

Camila doesn’t respond, still choking and gasping on the floor. At length, she finds her feet and runs out of the room.

I shift my gaze to Francesca and Marta, the anger simmering in me spilling over. “All of you,” I say, my voice rising. “This place is no longer your home.”

The stunned silence deepens as they exchange nervous and exit as well.

Turning my back on her, I focus solely on Mirabella, my arms wrapping around her as if shielding her from the poison that has tainted this family for far too long. Whatever monster I was called, whatever darkness they tried to pull me into, I won’t let it win.

It’s over.