Dark Mafia Heir: Chapter 21

The ceiling above me blurs into shadowed shapes as I stare at it, and my voice grows louder in my head. Technically, it’s Ginny’s voice; and it’s the prophecy-thing that haunts me.

My eyes opening to see; understanding, seeing.

Could this be it?

It might as well have been because I can get a fucking wink of sleep after having dinner with Antonio. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about him.

I toss and turn, tangling the sheets between my legs even more as sweet memories resurface. His voice lingers in my head, from when he’d boasted about his kitchen powers, and as much as he tried to hide it, it saw it—that vulnerability he masterfully keeps locked away.

His humanity. I felt it in the weight of his words during our last conversation.

I turn onto my side, clutching the pillow like it might somehow ground me. It doesn’t. If anything, it makes the ache in my chest worse. Maybe this side of him had always been there , but I never wanted to see him as anything more than what I believed.

But now…

Now I’m not so sure.

The way he spoke, the way he looked at me, there was something raw, something real that chipped away at the walls I’d built.

I try to convince myself that I hate it. I hate how I’m starting to question everything I thought I knew about him. How I can’t shake the image of his eyes, dark but not cruel.

I close my eyes, willing the memories away, but they only grow stronger. Flashes of his voice and the beautiful curve of a smile on his lips, like it belonged there. The faintest trace of amusement when I surprised him with my special pasta.

I caused this turmoil in the first place, and now I have to suffer the consequences.

My heart twists.

This isn’t who I am.

Before Mancini, I was Cole. Somewhere, despite the nagging voices in my head saying otherwise, I still believe I am more Cole than Mancini.

I’ve always known where my loyalty lies, with my family, my blood. But Antonio is like a storm, tearing through everything I thought was solid.

How did it come to this?

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to sit up in the dark room. My fingers tremble as I run them through my hair, frustration rising under the surface.

I know I can’t let this continue. Antonio is the enemy. He has to be.

But then why does the thought of him feel like anything but?

I desperately have to talk to someone.

Flinging off the covers, I practically hop off the bed, and tiptoe towards the door. I press down on the handle and hold my breath when the door eerily creaks open.

Antonio and I went up to our rooms at the same time, so without a doubt, I believe that he’s already out cold.

Shutting the door behind me, I step into the hallway and shove down my anxiety.

They’d already turned off the lights.

The house is cloaked in darkness, the kind that stretches long shadows across the walls and muffles every sound. My heart thuds in my chest as I tiptoe down the staircase, and it sounds like everything is creaking under my weight despite my best efforts.

But I am not deterred. I know what my mission is: to retrieve Agatha’s phone.

I know exactly where she keeps it—on the small table by the kitchen, tucked neatly under a pile of papers.

She never explains why she hides it there, and I never ask because she doesn’t know I’ve caught her sneaking the small Android device there. Whatever her reasons are, I could fall on the ground and worship her for making this task too easy.

I hold my breath, pausing at the bottom of the stairs, ears straining for any sign of movement. The air feels heavier, like the walls themselves are watching me.

But there’s no sound, no hint of anyone stirring.

I dart toward the kitchen, my steps quick and silent.

Just a few hours ago, the place was lit up with genuine laughter, sweet wine, the delicious aroma of pasta, and conversation between the lord and the lady of the house. Now, all that was, but another priceless memory, and the faint glow of the moon filters through the curtains, just enough to guide me.

My fingers skim the edge of the table, and there it is—the phone.

Grabbing it, I duck into the pantry, closing the door behind me. The small space smells of spices and bread, but I am in haste to connect with home to care.

I press the home button, and the screen lights up, nearly blinding me in the dark.

My fingers shake as I dial my father’s number, memorized from years of repetition.

It rings once. Twice. My breath catches, but then the voicemail clicks on.

“Damn it.” I bite down on my lip.

Hanging up, I immediately type in my sister’s number. The phone rings, and this time, relief floods through me when she answers.

Her voice comes through, sleepy and confused. “Hello?”

“Harper!” I lower my hiss, almost blinded now by a rush of tears in my eyes. I press the phone closer to my ear. “It’s me. Vivienne. I’m so sorry it’s late, but I just had to talk to you. I had to hear your voice.”

“Oh, my God. Vi!” if I know my sister as well as I do, I know she’s already drenched in tears. “Vi! Oh, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you. Are you okay? What happened? Where are you?”

My heart aches at the sound of her voice. It’s been too long. “I can’t tell you all the details right now, but I’m fine. I just… I needed to hear from you, to know you’re okay.”

“Vi. . .” the worry in her tone almost breaks me. “If you’re so fine, why aren’t you calling with your number? You’re hiding to call me, aren’t you?”

I blink back tears. “Yes, but you have to trust me. I’m okay where I am. I’m being well taken care of.” With handcuffs, pasta, and conversations that leave me more confused by the second. “I can’t explain everything, but I need you to know that I’m safe. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m the older one, let me do the worrying.”

“I miss you,” she sniffles.

“I miss you more.” The words catch in my throat, threatening to bring tears with them. “I’ll come back when I can. I promise. But for now, I just need you to hang on tight, okay? Don’t do stupid things.”

She manages a small laugh. “That’s all you, Vi. You’re the one who does stupid things.”

I want to laugh, but fear that something might hear me. Or worse, I might burst out in tears instead. “Harper, I’m serious.”

There’s a long pause on the other end, the kind that makes my chest tighten. Finally, she whispers, “Okay.”

I smile, though she can’t see it. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she says softly before the line goes dead.

I stare at the screen for a moment, my heart heavy. I slip out of the pantry, returning the phone to its exact spot on the table.

As I creep back up the stairs, I move slowly, cautiously, every step calculated to avoid the creaking beneath my bare feet, and pray no one heard me.

But the joke’s on me because prayers aren’t being answered tonight.

When I reach the top of the stairs, I freeze.

Antonio stands there, cloaked in shadow, his dark eyes lock onto mine, sharp and more furious than the night I tried to suffocate him.

I feel my stomach drop, and the first thing that comes out of my mouth is the cliché, “Antonio, I can explain. It’s not what you think.

“Sure, you can explain falling for it, can’t you? She just randomly leaves her phone lying around and you don’t think it’s a test.”

Shit.

I blame desperation. I blame a million and one related and unrelated reasons right now. But I don’t want Antonio stomping off with the wrong impression.

“I promise, it wasn’t like that. I⁠—”

“Proved yet again that I’ve given you much more freedom than you deserve.” He eliminates the distance between us, and I see the other thing burning in his eyes—disappointment. My chest squeezes. “Your promises don’t mean shit to me, Vivienne. You saw an opportunity, and you took it.”

“No!” I try again, stepping forward, my hands clasped together in a desperate plea. “I wasn’t betraying you, Antonio. You have to believe me. I just had to⁠—”

A strong pull on my wrist kills the rest of the words on my tongue.

“Antonio…”

But he doesn’t stop.

Yanking me harder, he drags me towards my bedroom, and my vision is excessively blurred with tears to notice when we reach the door.

He opens it and throws me inside like a weightless doll. I land on my knees, falling flat on the rug, and scraping my palms as I try to protect my head from the force of impact.

I’m crying now. I’m a total mess, but knowing that he feels stabbed in the back by me, surprisingly, makes me feel like a truckload of shit.

I glance back at him, hoping for some sign of leniency, some crack in the armor, but all I see is stone-cold determination.

“You’re not fucking leaving this room until I say so.”

“Please, Anto⁠—”

His back disappears into the darkness, and the door slams shut with a heavy finality.

The locks click into place, and I hear the jangle of keys, the sound of him pocketing them before his footsteps fade down the hall.

The silence in the room is deafening, and I crawl back to the bed to bawl my eyes out.