novelxo Dark Mafia Bride: Chapter 3
I wake up with a jolt and see the sun is up.
The sun is already up!
Damn it. I never sleep in. I’m always awake before dawn, racing the sun to get to my first shift out of my three daily jobs. The early light slips through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room.
My heart pounds as my mind scrambles to catch up. It feels as if I’m still stuck in a dream, but the memories swirling in my head aren’t from a dream.
The unfamiliar softness of the mattress beneath me, the solid weight of an arm draped over my waist, the dull pulse between my legs, the slow, steady breathing near my ear…
It’s real. So fucking real.
Ettore.
His name rushes back to me along with flashes of last night—the rain, the alley, the fear. And then…him. The tension between us, the dinner, the hotel, and…oh, God. My pulse quickens, but no longer from the panic.
Memories of his touch burn my skin all over again. My heart pounds as I lie there, still as a statue, afraid to even breathe. How did I let this happen? Why the hell did I have sex with a stranger? A stranger who kills people…
I turn my head, and my gaze falls on Ettore. He’s still fast asleep beside me. His dark, brooding face looks softer in sleep, almost…angelic. The hard lines of his jaw and the intensity I saw in his eyes last night have completely faded. He doesn’t look like the dangerous man who saved me from Abruzzi’s men. He doesn’t look like a killer. He looks…peaceful.
God. I don’t even know this man. He only gave me his first name, and all I know is that he’s dangerous enough to kill. Yet last night, I acted as if none of that mattered. I convinced him—no, I practically begged him—to sleep with me. To take my virginity because I thought I might not live to see another day.
My Nonna is going to chop off my head. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I groan inwardly. The worst part? I wasn’t even that drunk. There’s no alcohol-induced haze to blame it on. I did it fully aware, fully sober, and now the guilt and shame are twisting in my stomach. I can already picture Nonna’s face, that stern, disappointed glare she gives when I step out of line. She’d probably lecture me about my choices, about self-respect, about letting a man like him anywhere near me.
But somewhere deep inside, beneath all the shame, I know I don’t regret it. Not entirely.
Because if I’m being honest with myself, last night was unforgettable. I can at least brag about that, right? About how my first time was nothing short of…amazing. Mind-blowing, even. Alessia, my best friend/professional sex-enthusiast and the thorn in my flesh, always goes on and on about how incredible it can be, but I never understood—until now.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and gently pull the sheets back, slipping out of bed as quietly as I can. I need to leave now before he wakes up.
But what if he does wake up? What do I say? What do I do? What if he treats me like one of those random hookup girls I’m sure he’s used to? I’ve seen enough movies to know how painfully awkward that could be.
Or…what if he actually wants more? What if he asks for my number and wants to see me again?
Do you really think men like Ettore want to be seen with women like you in broad daylight?
Yup. That snaps me right out of it.
I quickly grab my clothes from the floor, my heart racing as I tug on my black dress and jacket, trying to be as quiet as possible. I steal one last glance at him—still sound asleep—before I slip out of the room, carefully closing the door behind me. The hotel hallway feels colder than the room, and guilt clings to me like a second skin.
As I step outside, the city is just beginning to wake up. The streets in this part of town are spotless and quiet. I walk past pristine buildings, shiny cars, and people who look as if they’ve never had to struggle a day in their lives. My world is nothing like this. The fancy part of town is somewhere I only pass through by accident, usually on my way home from jobs that pay far too little for the hell I go through.
And the farther I go, the uglier the city gets. The smooth sidewalks give way to cracked pavement, the shiny storefronts replaced by dirty glass windows and graffiti-covered walls. By the time I reach my neighborhood, it feels as if I’ve stepped into a completely different world. The familiar smell of damp walls and stale cooking oil hits me as I reach the door.
The small, cramped apartment I share with my grandmother, younger sister, and sick mother couldn’t be more different from the luxurious room I just left behind.
The sounds of bickering greet me as I open the door. My sister Giulia sits at the table with her arms crossed and a playful scowl on her face. Nonna is at the stove, stirring something that smells suspiciously like burnt toast. My mom sits nearby, wrapped in a blanket, her face pale but her eyes bright with amusement.
“Mirabella is here!” Giulia announces as soon as she spots me. “Now, settle this—who makes the best pancakes?” she asks, hands on her hips like she’s ready for battle.
“Uh…” I hesitate, sensing a trap.
“Nonna says she’s the best, but let’s be honest—she’s great at cooking, but she can’t bake to save her life.”
“Pancakes aren’t even baked,” Nonna grumbles without looking up from the stove.
“Nonna’s bad at anything involving flour,” Giulia huffs.
“And who do you think makes the gnocchi and pasta you devour like there’s no tomorrow?” Nonna shoots back.
I shake my head as they keep going at it, leaning down to kiss my mother’s forehead.
“Did you sleep well?” I ask softly, and she nods, offering me a weak but warm smile.
“Hey, you!” Nonna calls out, waving the spoon at me now. “Don’t think you can sneak in and pretend like everything is fine. Where were you all night, eh?”
My pulse quickens. I can never lie to Nonna. She’s got that radar, that sixth sense that can sniff out any fib. She sees right through me no matter how hard I try to hide things. “I…had dinner with a friend,” I say carefully. It’s not exactly a lie, but the words feel heavy in my mouth. “We went back to a hotel room to talk afterward. Alessia joined us, too.”
I know throwing in Alessia’s name will make Nonna relax a bit.
Giulia looks up with a smirk. “Alessia, huh? You guys must’ve been up all night…talking.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.
I scowl at her. Ever since she turned thirteen and entered the dreaded teenage years, as she likes to remind me every day, she thinks every word has an innuendo or a naughty meaning behind it.
Well, in this case, she’s right, which only makes it even more annoying.
“Something like that,” I mutter.
“Some talk that must’ve been.”
Nonna gives me a long look, and I hold my breath, waiting for her to dig deeper. But she just hums and turns back to the stove. Thank God.
My eyes flick back to my mother, who’s quietly sipping her tea. My heart sinks as I notice her fingers trembling slightly around the cup. She looks more tired than usual. Every day, the pain takes a little more out of her, leaving her a shell of the woman she used to be.
It’s a normal morning, or at least, as normal as it can be in our household. The laughter, the teasing, the well-made breakfast Nonna insists on making every morning. But the moment is shattered when my mom suddenly lets out a violent cough that shakes her whole body.
“Mom?” I rush over to help her, gently taking the cup from her hands. Some of the tea has already spilled onto the old, worn carpet. “Are you okay?”
She nods, but the tightness in her face tells a different story. “Just having a bad morning,” she says, trying to brush it off.
“Bad morning, my foot,” Nonna mutters, dropping her spoon as she walks over. “You need to lie down, my dear. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
I watch as Nonna helps my mom to the bedroom, my chest tightening with worry. Every time I see her like this, I’m reminded of how little time we have left. The medication I’ve managed to scrape together with the money from Abruzzi and other loan sharks barely helps at this point.
The rheumatoid arthritis is eating away at her more each day. The doctor said she needs surgery, but that’s a dream I can’t afford. All I have is debt, and now I owe Abruzzi twenty thousand fucking dollars. I’ll have to work like a slave for years before I’m able to pay him back.
As I sit back at the table, Giulia lowers her voice. “Is she getting worse?”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah. She’s trying to hide it, but the pain’s getting really bad.”
Giulia frowns, her shoulders slumping. “I wish there was something we could do.”
Me too. I wish I could do more than work odd jobs, more than borrow money from dangerous men who can destroy everything we have with a single phone call. But I can’t.
I reach out and squeeze her hand. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Giulia looks up at me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. I ruffle her hair, trying to lighten the mood. “Finish your breakfast. You’ve got school.”
The rest of the day moves in a blur. Luckily, I have the day off from two of my three jobs, so my late-night escapade didn’t mess me up too much this morning. The last thing I need is to lose pay because I spent the night having sex with a stranger. I push those thoughts away as I go through the motions—chores, checking on Mom, making sure Giulia has what she needs.
By evening, I’m getting ready for my shift at the bar. I slip into the simple black dress that serves as my uniform and pull my hair into a tight ponytail. As I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I feel the weight of everything press down on me.
And then, just like that, my mind drifts to Ettore. His face, his deep green eyes, the intensity in the way he looked at me, like he could see every inch of my soul. I don’t know why I keep thinking about him. I have enough real-life problems to deal with—debts, my mom’s illness, keeping the roof over our heads. But something about Ettore lingers. The way he appeared out of nowhere and saved my life is a memory I won’t be forgetting anytime soon.
I pull on my jacket, much warmer than the flimsy one I wore last night, and Nonna’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“So, where exactly did you go last night?” she asks, standing at the door of my room, her sharp eyes narrowing at me.
I pause, slipping an old umbrella into my bag. “I told you, Nonna. I had dinner with a friend.”
“And does this ‘friend’ have a name?” she presses, not missing a beat.
I roll my eyes, trying to brush it off. “It’s not a big deal, Nonna. We just talked. I told you Alessia came by afterward.”
I hate that I’m lying to her, but what am I supposed to say? That I spent the night with a dangerous man who saved me from being assaulted, then killed three people without blinking? That I saw blood and death, and I’m still thinking about a man whose last name I don’t even know? I can already hear her gasp, see her clutching her rosary like it’ll protect me from the world.
Nonna just hums, clearly not convinced, but she doesn’t push. “Hmm. Be careful with those ‘friends,’ my dear. It’s a wicked world out there.”
“I will, Nonna,” I say, forcing a smile.
I follow her out of the room, say my goodbyes to Giulia, who’s curled up watching TV, and step out into the cold night. As the chill hits me, my thoughts flicker back to him again. Even the freaking biting cold seems to remind me of him, of his presence that wrapped around me like a shield in the darkest moment.
I groan under my breath, annoyed with myself. Ettore was a fleeting moment, an escape from my reality. Nothing more.
I should be focusing on my jobs, my family, and the debt hanging over my head. But no matter how hard I try to shake it, a part of me, a bigger part than I care to admit, hopes I’ll see him again.