Dark Mafia Bride: Chapter 15

I only had a total of thirty-seven minutes before the devil came for me.

And I was rendered speechless to find out that the devil is Ettore.

I can barely breathe as I watch him. He’s wearing a sharp suit that hugs his frame perfectly. His hair looks disheveled, las if he’s been running his hands through it in frustration, and my heart stumbles as I take in the hard lines of his clean-shaven jaw.

‘In less than one hour, you will be my wife.’

His words echo relentlessly in my head as I stare, dazed.

This can’t be real. The man I’ve been dreaming about—the one I couldn’t shake no matter how hard I tried—is standing here, and I’m supposed to marry him?

“Mira, don’t you know him?” Nonna’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, grounding me back to reality.

I blink, turning toward her, quickly scanning her and the rest of my family to make sure they’re unharmed.

“I didn’t hurt them,” Ettore says, his voice low but tense.

My frustration breaks through, and I find myself glaring at him. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why hide who you were? Why didn’t you just reveal yourself?”

Ettore’s expression remains calm, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. He calls for Luca, who enters promptly, casting a quick glance at me before focusing on his boss.

“Take Mirabella’s family to the dressing room,” Ettore instructs. “She’ll join them once we’re done talking.”

“Mira…” My mother’s voice is soft but filled with worry.

I nod stiffly. “It’s fine. Just go with him.”

There’s no point resisting anyway. With Ettore, things always seem to go his way.

As Luca leads Nonna, Mamma, and Giulia out of the backroom in the chapel, anger builds in me, hot and sharp. The door barely closes behind them before Ettore speaks.

“I wanted to keep things professional, especially since things had already gotten complicated between us,” he begins, his voice tight. “It was business. You read the contract, had no objections, and signed it. I didn’t think it would be an issue.”

I scoff, the sound humorless. “You didn’t think it would be an issue? I was losing my mind trying to figure out who I was even marrying. I felt…unsafe, like I was selling my soul. Which, in a way, I am. Did any of that cross your mind?”

He doesn’t answer, and suddenly, it all clicks. “Luca came to me at the club that night. I saw you later that evening. You were watching me, weren’t you? You sent your lapdog after me. When I asked if you were following me, you lied. You’ve been playing me from the start!” My voice bounces off the empty walls, filling the room.

Ettore clenches his jaw and steps closer. “I didn’t know how you’d react if I showed myself earlier. I couldn’t risk it.”

“Because you knew there was no way I’d agree to marry a murderer, right?” The word slips out, and I shiver, feeling the weight of it in this place.

This whole situation feels wrong…surreal even. Us talking about murder in a church, me being minutes away from marrying the said murderer.

“Like I said,” he replies, his eyes darkening. “It’s just business.”

Frustration knots in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I take a shaky breath, and the words come out before I can stop them.

“Do you even feel anything about this, Ettore? About us, whatever that even is?”

For a moment, he hesitates, then his expression softens ever so slightly. “Feelings aren’t something I can afford, Mira. Not in my world.”

“Your world,” I repeat bitterly, shaking my head. “And now you’re dragging me into it.

I can’t do this. The lies, the secrets, the manipulation…it’s too much. I take in the sight of Ettore, looking every inch the pristine businessman. But I know there’s so much more beneath that polished exterior, so much he’s not letting me see.

Abruzzi’s warnings echo in my mind, and I hate that I’m even thinking about him now. I hate that I still remember every twisted thing he did. But as I look at Ettore, I notice the similarities. They’re both liars, manipulators, murderers.

And me? I’m just a pawn in their games. I was one for Abruzzi when I owed him, and he had me under his control. Now I’m in the same situation but with a different man. Ettore will use everything he has against me. His power, his money, and now, even my own family. I used to think my husband saved me from Abruzzi’s claws, but now I realize he just did exactly what Abruzzi has been doing for the past year. I was right about the contract being a power move to force me into a situation where I would have to feel powerless and indebted to him.

I don’t know how I got here, how I found myself trapped between two men who thrive on my misery, two men who use my desperation to play and use me.

I take a shaky breath, my anger bubbling over. “You are a monster,” I spit, barely able to keep my voice steady.

Ettore’s jaw tightens, and I can see him thinking, weighing his response. Finally, he says, “I never claimed I wasn’t. But I offered you a deal you couldn’t resist. You had the choice to accept or refuse it. You accepted. Your signature is on that contract…”

“You fucking manipulated me!” I exhale my voice cracking as I remember how easily he had trapped me with the fine print. The clause, buried deep in that contract, was a cruel weapon—one I never saw coming.

“And you tried to escape me,” he fires back, his voice sharp. “On the morning of our wedding, no less. I must admit, you did a good job slipping away.” His tone lowers, taking on a dangerous edge as he steps closer. “Though if it hadn’t been for the distraction of the wedding preparations, you wouldn’t have made it past my gate alive.”

“For someone who always boasts about keeping me safe, you sure have a funny way of showing it. Your entire staff didn’t even notice the bride escaping. Is this how you protect me? By letting me slip through your fingers like that?” I sneer. “You’re a joke, Ettore. A pathetic, controlling joke.”

“It’s unfortunate you feel that way,” he snaps. “But too bad—you already signed the contract. There’s no escaping this.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I hate that he’s right. But it wasn’t just the contract I signed—it was the life I never agreed to.

“You don’t get it,” I snap back, barely able to hold back the tears. “I didn’t even read the damned contract! I was forced into it without a lawyer present! It’s all legal jargon and clauses to which I never agreed.”

A sudden realization hits me—my family wasn’t even told what he was doing. He dragged them to that chapel without their consent, without their knowledge. They were worried about this whole thing at first, but they had no idea what was really happening behind the scenes.

“You—” My voice shakes as I point a finger at him, “You tricked my family. They didn’t have to know about the contract, about your plans, and you didn’t even care check with me first.”

Ettore’s expression remains cold, but there’s a flicker of something—a twisted satisfaction, perhaps? He’s basking in the moment, enjoying how he’s managed to corner me, how everything has unfolded exactly as he planned. His eyes gleam with the quiet pride of someone who’s orchestrated every detail.

“You signed, Mirabella,” he repeats. “You signed, and now you live with the consequences of your decisions.”

I swallow, my throat tight with rage. “I didn’t know,” I whisper, barely able to breathe. “I didn’t know what I was getting into. I thought I was choosing the lesser evil. But you—you’re a monster. A liar. You trap people with your twisted games.”

His lips twitch into a mocking smile. “And yet, here you are. Still here, trying to fight your way out of it. Tell me, Mirabella, did you really think you could ever escape me? This was always going to be your fate.”

“God, I hate you.”

Ettore’s expression remains stoic, but the glint of something darker in his eyes speaks volumes. He takes a step closer, his towering presence oppressive, suffocating. “I’m not really fond of you either, darling,” he says, his tone almost mocking. “But it’s far too late to cancel everything now, isn’t it? So, what’s it going to be? You either pay me back the hundred grand you owe, or you marry me. And I’ll give you very little time to decide.”

I think about the consequences, about how all of this will play out if I refuse. I already tried to run away once—where did that get me? Nowhere. Back in this cage, back under his control. Staying behind and trying to pay off the money? That’s as pointless as trying to escape again. If I had only read that damned contract instead of getting caught up in the high of rubbing my victory in Abruzzi’s face, I wouldn’t be here. But here I am, stuck, trapped in a mess of my own making.

Still, there must be something to salvage from all this. What are the good sides? The money. The wealth. A rich, ridiculously handsome husband who could give me a life of comfort—at least until I can make my own way. Once I’ve weathered this storm, I’ll be able to walk away with enough to set something up for myself, something real. Something that’s mine.

I should be looking at the bright side. I should be planning how to turn this into my own advantage. And then, the thought hits me like a spark: When life hands you lemons, you make fucking lemonade.

Maybe I can’t escape this now. But maybe I can twist it, shape it, use it to my advantage. I’m not a victim. Not anymore.

“I won’t be your trophy wife, your mistress, or some obedient partner,” I say firmly, flashes of that night we shared flooding my mind. I can’t deny the chemistry, the pull we’ve had—no matter how much I despise him for trapping me.

How are we supposed to coexist under these circumstances?

He tilts his head slightly, his lips curling into a slow, almost amused smile. “Fine. State your terms here and now,” he replies, crossing his arms, a challenge glimmering in his eyes. “What do you want, Mirabella?”

“I’m not negotiating with you, you asshole.” I so am but I can’t let him think for one second that I’m desperate, that I’m actually considering his terms. No. I need him to believe that I’m still the one in control, that he hasn’t worn me down yet.

I straighten my back, putting on a mask of defiance, even though I’m already calculating every move in my mind. He can’t know I’m thinking about this. Not yet. I have to make him think he still holds the power.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” I add, my voice biting, “and I sure as hell won’t just roll over for you.” I make the words sound as if they’re coming from a place of pure indignation, though the truth is, I’m already weighing the options. He may have the power right now, but I won’t stay trapped like this forever. Not if I can help it.

He smirks, the bastard. “I don’t see how you have a choice, Kitten. As soon as we walk down that aisle, I won’t be so gracious,” he warns, his smirk infuriating me further.

“I am not⁠—”

He tsk-tsks me, cutting me off. “Time is ticking.”

I take a deep breath, my heart racing. “I want my own room. That’s non-negotiable.”

Ettore doesn’t flinch. Instead, he watches me with unnerving focus, studying my every word, my every move. “Is that really what you want? Your own room?” he asks, his voice a low rumble of curiosity, as if he’s toying with me.

I nod, meeting his gaze head-on. He knows I’m thinking about that night. I can see it in the way his gaze flickers for just a moment, the darkness in his eyes deepening. But like the mischievous bastard I’ve come to know him for, he’s not about to let me see just how affected he is by this conversation. He’s turning the heat away from himself, deflecting the tension and regaining control of the moment.

“Yes.”

Ettore’s eyes darken with something dangerous, and for a moment, I wonder if he is actually going to acknowledge the elephant in the room. But then he simply smirks, that same cold amusement playing across his features. “Done, Mirabella,” he says softly, his gaze never leaving mine.

“And I want to go back to college,” I say, my voice unwavering. “I’m not going to be sidelined in this marriage, Ettore. I won’t let you keep me from finishing my education, from having a life outside of this. I’ll make sure of it.”

He leans in closer, his expression shifting from annoyance to curiosity. “You still think this whole thing is about me somehow sidelining you? Keeping you in my shadow?”

“Yes,” I insist, holding his gaze. “With the less-than-honorable way you went about this whole thing, it’s pretty glaring what your intent was. You don’t do something like this unless you want control.”

“I see,” he says, his voice oddly neutral, and for the briefest moment, I think I detect a hint of sadness in his gaze. But it’s gone before it can register fully, replaced by the steely resolve I’ve come to expect from him.

“Yes,” I repeat, my steady and firm tone, “I need my independence, even in this arrangement.”

Ettore studies me for a moment, his demeanor softening just a fraction. “You’re a tough one, aren’t you?”

“I have to be,” I reply, my voice steady. “If I’m going to survive this, I need to stand my ground. You’re not the only one who gets to make demands.”

“Very well. Done, too.”

I take a slow breath, the weight of this arrangement sinking in deeper. If I’m going to be stuck in this life, then I’ll make damned sure I have something to show for it. “And my family will be kept safe. No questions asked.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Of course. Is that all?”

“For now, yes.”

“Good,” he says smoothly. “Now listen to my terms. You are not obligated to perform any…wifely duties outside of the public eye. Nothing will be forced upon you. But in public, you will act the part of the perfect wife. You’ll be convincing.”

I nod, feeling the weight of each demand settle around me.

“As outlined in the contract,” Ettore continues, his voice smooth, calculated, “you’ll receive one million dollars that will clear your debts, cover your mother’s surgery, and give you financial freedom. But, most importantly,” he adds, leaning in slightly, his eyes hardening, “you’ll have my protection from Abruzzi. Make no mistake—he won’t let you go easily. Even if you manage to pay off your debt, there’s no escaping him. You’ll always be on his radar. But with me, you’re safe. For as long as you’re my wife, he wouldn’t dare start a war with The Reaper by touching you.”

His eyes bore into mine, and I can tell he means every word.

I know Ettore is right, but a scoff escapes my lips at his calculated bluntness. There’s not a drop of sincerity in him.

“Lastly, the contract lasts for a year. After that, you’re free to go.”

I inhale, holding the breath for a moment before releasing it. One year. One year, and this will be over.

“Fine,” I murmur, resigned.

Then, laughter filters in through the chapel windows. My attention snaps to a few cars parked outside, and a handful of well-dressed guests stepping into the main cathedral. Reality crashes back into focus.

It’s my wedding day.

“You need to get ready,” Ettore says, his gaze sweeping over my T-shirt and jeans. “Everything’s prepared for you in the dressing room.”

Of course, he’s arranged it all. It’s almost as if he anticipated that today would unfold exactly like this, that we would be married no matter what.

As I’m ushered to a small room nearby, the weight of it all bears down. Inside, my family waits, their faces etched with worry and uncertainty.

“I’m getting married to him,” I announce, attempting to plaster a smile on my face.

“Mirabella, are you sure about this?” Nonna’s voice trembles.

I swallow hard, nodding with resolve. “This is my decision. I’ll make it work. And it’s just for a year.”

Guilt tightens in my chest as I catch the worried expressions on my mother and Nonna’s faces. I know they’ll feel guilty, as if somehow it’s their fault I’ve been pushed into this situation. The thought makes me ache inside. But there’s no other way.

“Mom’s surgery is happening,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “He’s going to pay for it, and she’ll feel so much better in no time. It’s strictly business. I need to pretend to be his wife for his reputation. Besides, it’s only for a year. This will end soon enough. The money I’ll get will pay off all our debts, and we won’t have to worry about money anymore. I won’t have to wait tables anymore.”

Nonna’s lips quiver, and Mom looks like she’s about to say something, but I raise a hand to stop her. “It’s okay,” I insist, my voice softer now. “There’s no other way to find the money for the operation. Trust me, this is for all of us.”

For a long moment, the room falls silent.

“Everything will be fine,” I add, my voice firmer now, as I meet each of their gazes. “Trust me.”

Nonna frowns. “I’m sorry, but I’m still not okay with this.”

“Nonna…” I plead, hoping for some understanding.

She glances at my mother, searching for backup. “Isabella, talk some sense into this girl. This is ridiculous.”

My mother sighs, looking at me with a mixture of worry and reluctant acceptance. “She’s right, Mira,” she says softly.

“I’m just happy he’s not old and ugly,” my sister Giulia interjects with a wry smile.

“Giulia Isabella Ricci,” Nonna scolds, her voice sharp. “Watch your mouth, ragazza!”

“What? I know we’re all thinking it,” Giulia defends herself. “Besides, he doesn’t seem so bad. Not like Mirabella has men gunning down her door anyway. Might as well take this one while we have him.”

“Oh, shut up, Giulia,” I snap, my frustration bubbling over.

My mother laughs lightly, trying to ease the tension. “She does have a point. I think this is the first man, apart from Giovanni—who is taken, by the way—that I’ve seen you interact with like this.”

“Mama,” I groan, heat creeping into my cheeks.

For the first time all day, a genuine laugh escapes my family, momentarily lifting the heavy atmosphere. Nonna chuckles too, though I can still see the disappointment etched on her face. I wish there were something more I could do to ease her worries, but I’m equally as uncertain about how this will all play out.

Our moment is interrupted when the stylist rushes in ready to help me with my dress. As I steal one last glance at my family, who are huddled together in the back, I prepare for the beginning of my new life.

The next few minutes blur together in a whirlwind of activity. My family is ushered into the cathedral as I finish getting ready. The stylist adjusts my dress, and the makeup artist adds a final touch. When I slip into the dress, its fabric molds perfectly to my shape, but the bouquet feels almost too heavy in my hands, anchoring me to this moment.

As I’m led toward the front doors of the church, everything fades away.

I ignore everyone else in the room, my attention focused straight ahead on the man standing at the altar. Soft music fills the air as I slowly walk down the aisle decorated with colorful flowers. The hall feels suffocating despite its size and grandeur. My heart races faster in my chest the closer I get to the altar. I ignore the way the delicate lace of my dress itches against my skin and fight the urge to wipe my clammy hands on the fabric.

I keep my gaze locked straight ahead, looking at him—Ettore.

He stands tall and imposing in his black suit. His light brown eyes are a darker shade of hazel as he watches me approach. His gaze is intense, but his expression gives nothing away. How can he be so composed? I feel like I’m about to unravel right here in front of everyone.

As I come to stand before him, the officiant begins to speak. Everything blurs around me as my pulse thrums in my ears, drowning it all out. I want to run, but my legs stay rooted in place. This is happening. I signed the contract, and just a few minutes ago, he agreed to all the terms I laid out for him.

One year.

One year, and I’m done.

I can do this.

When the officiant nods toward Ettore, I know it’s time for him to speak. His voice is deep, calm, and steady, and I sense a tinge of emotion in them.

He’s a fucking good actor.

“I, Ettore Greco, take you, Mirabella, to be my wife,” he says, his intense eyes never leaving mine. His words are slow and deliberate, like he means every syllable. “I promise to protect you, to stand by you, and to claim you as mine, for as long as we live.”

A shiver runs down my spine at the possessiveness in his tone.

For as long as we live.

My gaze flickers to his tie as I’m unable to look into his eyes. Unease twists in my gut. I’ve never been religious, but lying before an altar? That’s something else. I’m not sure what I expected, but his vows hit me harder than I thought they would.

The officiant turns to me now, and I realize it’s my turn. My mouth feels dry, like the words the wedding planner made me repeat over and over again yesterday are stuck in my throat—the words I never thought I would be saying since I was so sure I would escape. I take a shaky breath, forcing myself to meet Ettore’s gaze.

One year.

“I, Mirabella, take you, Ettore, to be my husband. I promise…to honor you, to stand by you, and…to fulfill the promises we make today.” The words stumble out, far more confident than I thought I would sound.

Ettore’s face remains unreadable, but his eyes stay locked on me, thick with an emotion I find hard to decipher. If I didn’t already know this was fake, I would think I could read the look in his eyes as one of adoration and love.

The officiant asks for the rings. My fingers tremble as Ettore slides the cold metal band onto my finger. I look down at it. It’s a beautiful ring with a golden band and an emerald stone in the middle. When I slip his ring onto his finger, my hand brushes his, and a jolt of something shoots down my spine.

The officiant’s voice cuts through the haze. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

Kiss. My heart races even faster as Ettore steps closer. The last time we kissed was that night—the night he saved me, the night I thought I gave a part of myself to him thinking that I would never see him again.

His hand cups my cheek, and for a moment, time slows. I catch my breath, staring up at him as he leans in. He brushes his lips against mine once, twice, until my arms move without my will, circling around his neck to pull him in. I hear him chuckle lightly before his lips consume mine.

His fingers trace the curve of my waist as we kiss hungrily, ignoring the presence of everyone in the room. My hands grip his tuxedo jacket, and I bite back a moan as one hand comes down to circle my neck while the other slides dangerously close to my hips. I hear him groan softly, the sound sending a shiver through me, a rush of heat flooding between my thighs.

Just then, applause, alongside hoots and hollers, explodes around us. I break off the kiss with an abruptness that leaves me dizzy for a few seconds. I kissed him like that…let him kiss me like that, in front of everyone!

He draws back slowly, and I feel the faintest brush of his breath against my lips before he finally releases me. My cheeks burn, and I can’t bear to meet his gaze, afraid of what he might see reflected in my eyes.

“That was…” the officiator coughs. “Some kiss.” He directs us through the next steps of the ceremony, but I barely register any of it. My mind swirls with questions, with doubts about whether I can really survive this marriage unscathed. But in a flash, Ettore’s hand is guiding me, leading me down the aisle together as husband and wife.

I catch a glimpse of Ettore’s smirk, which only deepens when he sees me glaring at him.

As we walk, he leans down to whisper, “See? You’ve made it through the first hurdle.” His voice holds a note of satisfaction, a reminder of our deal—and his win.

I swallow, fighting the instinct to respond with something biting.

Once we’re outside the cathedral, the press surges forward, their cameras flashing, voices calling our names. Ettore’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me close, his hold more possessive than supportive. We’re caught in this strange public performance, and I feel the weight of his grip as if it’s a brand.

“Smile for the camera, wifey,” he murmurs, pulling me to his side as we face the congregation. “The show must go on, especially after the wonderful kiss we just shared.”

It’s official. I hate him. I hate that he’s enjoying this. I hate that a part of me enjoys it, too.

The applause gets louder as we walk hand-in-hand, and my heart races.

“I think you enjoyed that more than you’d like to admit,” he remarks, his tone low and challenging.

I scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was playing my part, just like you.”

A flicker of something dark passes through his gaze, gone before I can decipher it. “You’re a natural, then. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure our all public scenes are just as convincing.”

My jaw tightens, and I give him a withering look. “Don’t get comfortable, Ettore. This arrangement may force me to act the part, but it doesn’t mean I have to feel it.”

He glances down at me with that same unreadable expression. “Ready for the rest of our show, Mrs. Greco?”

I force a tight smile, my voice low so only he can hear. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Mr. Greco.”

I force a smile, plastering it over the flush on my cheeks, but every nerve in my body is acutely aware of how close he is, of the lingering heat from that kiss that should’ve been nothing more than a show. A kiss that felt too real, too consuming.

How can I keep my promise to myself? How can I make sure that a kiss like the one we just shared, and any further entanglement, never happens again?

One year. Just one year.

I’ll play my part to perfection—but never again will I let him make me forget that this is nothing but a deal.