Dark Mafia Bride: Chapter 24

It’s the morning after the fire that nearly claimed Mirabella and her family. The fire that has brought us back to square one—her resenting me because of Abruzzi’s meddling.

I slip out of bed before dawn, take a long, hot shower, and settle into my office before anyone else stirs. Anger churns inside me—at Abruzzi for stalking my wife, at Mirabella for defending him, and at myself for failing to keep my promise to protect her.

Now, it’s midday, and the phone in my hand remains stubbornly silent as I await answers. Last night, after Bella finally drifted off to sleep, I had told Luca I needed to know everything about the fire—both the official reports and the information he had to unearth from the shadows.

Minutes stretch into an eternity as I pace the length of my office, frustration building with each step. Finally, Luca’s message buzzes through my phone:

Preliminary findings show the fire was caused by faulty wiring. But I’ll dig deeper.

I grit my teeth, my fingers flying over the screen as I reply, instructing him to talk to the construction workers on the house across from hers, the neighbors, even down to anyone who might’ve wandered near recently. I don’t care how long it takes. I need to know if this was truly just an accident.

A frustrated sigh escapes me as I sink back into my chair, my mind racing while I tap my fingers restlessly on the desk. Faulty wiring? A bitter scoff escapes my lips.

It may be an explanation, but I don’t trust it, especially since there are countless reasons why that fire could have ignited. Maybe someone is after me, but it seems unlikely. My enemies haven’t dared to come after me since the events of three years ago when I dealt with the Falcone family, another powerful mafia faction who attempted to overthrow me.

I took them down with ruthless precision. I exploited every weakness I could find, legally and illegally, leading the Falcone enterprise to bankruptcy before buying the company out of just for the fun of it. I even tipped off the authorities who raided their drug factory in Texas. Their downfall was a spectacle, broadcast for all to see. While the average person believed it was simply the end of a billionaire finally caught in a web of illicit dealings, those in the shadows knew I was the one pulling the strings.

No one messes with The Reaper.

So if someone is trying to toy with me now, it’s because they think they’ve uncovered my weakness.

My thoughts drift to other possible culprits behind the fire: Abruzzi. I know he saved Mirabella’s mother, and for that, I should be grateful. But it doesn’t escape me how conveniently he appeared just in time to play the hero. Even if he didn’t set the fire—though he certainly risks his life for someone as selfish as he—his obsession with my wife, his constant surveillance, it gnaws at me.

Fuck that. The thought makes my blood boil.

I drown myself in work, hoping to distract myself from the tumult of thoughts swirling in my mind. It’s late evening when Luca finally calls.

“Tell me you’ve got something,” I growl as soon as I pick up.

His voice is tense. “I’ve gone through everything—talked to the electricians who did the last repairs, checked the wiring history, even looked into recent disturbances in the grid. So far…it looks clean. It’s just an old wire that went faulty.”

I grind my teeth, irritation spiking through me. If Abruzzi didn’t engineer this, then why had he been there “saving” Mirabella at the exact moment she needed help? If my enemies hadn’t orchestrated this, then why had the old wire chosen that precise moment to ignite when my marriage to Mirabella had become public?

“Keep looking,” I hiss.

There’s a pause, then Luca’s curt reply, “Understood.”

During the course of the week, Luca returns every day with nothing more than the same answer.

Faulty wiring.

It still doesn’t sit well with me. There’s no hard proof, no clear link to anyone, but an innocent accident seems too convenient, especially given everything else that’s been going on.

And even if this fire was nothing more than a mishap, that doesn’t explain why Abruzzi feels so entitled to meddle in my life, my marriage. His presence, his interference, it’s all too much.

I’ve been patient. Too patient, actually.

I summon Luca to my office, and he’s there in minutes, a stoic figure in the doorway.

“Handle something for me with Abruzzi,” I begin, keeping my tone neutral. “I want it to cause a stir, but nothing too obvious. Make sure it gets attention—enough that it won’t be easy to ignore, but clean enough to be overlooked.”

Luca doesn’t miss a beat. “Something…discreet?”

I give him a sharp look. He knows what I mean.

“Exactly. You know what to do.”

He stands there for a moment, that familiar glint in his eyes like he’s already savoring the task. I don’t have to say much else. We think alike.

“Leave it to me,” he says, the words quiet but full of meaning.

He pauses at the door. I call after him, my voice colder now. “And Luca…make sure it doesn’t come back to us. No loose ends.”

He nods without turning, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me with a quiet sense of satisfaction.

The sun streams into my bedroom, bright and warm, casting a golden glow across the marble floor. The space beside me on the bed is empty. Ever since Mirabella’s parents moved in, she spends most of her nights with them in the east wing of the house. It took me a few days to admit it, but I miss having her close.

Even when we don’t touch, just knowing she’s near is enough to calm me. But she almost lost her family. Now, they’re under the same roof, and I understand why she wants to be with them all the time. Still, it doesn’t stop me from craving her presence.

I reach for my burner phone in the bedside drawer and dial the city’s police department.

“There’s a problem you might want to investigate,” I say as soon as the line clicks. “Matteo Abruzzi. He runs illegal loan houses in the slums, exploiting innocent people with shady contracts. And that’s not all. He’s also hiding…well, drugs.”

The voice on the other end hesitates before responding.

“How certain are you of this information?” A woman’s voice asks.

“Certain enough…”

“How can we confirm this isn’t just a prank?” she presses.

I exhale sharply, irritation bubbling up inside me. I could easily call one of my contacts in the department and file a formal report, but I don’t want any of this mess tied back to me. I’m trying to go clean, after all.

“Because I was one of his victims. I’ve been to the place. You know what?” I scoff, the frustration creeping into my tone. “I’ve done my part by telling you. Do with it what you will.”

I end the call and turn off the burner phone before tossing it back into the drawer, where it’ll stay until I need it again.

The police won’t ignore drug dealing, especially on that scale. I’m certain an investigation will be underway before the day’s end.

With that thought, I head to the bathroom for a shower, knowing that my day’s already off to a good start.

That evening, I sit in my study with a glass of whiskey in my hand, savoring the slow burn as I watch the news. The top headline confirms exactly what I already know…what I’ve orchestrated.

Abruzzi’s empire is taking a hit.

The anchors detail the raid on several of his properties and loan houses scattered across the city.

“…connections to suspected drug activity…loan empire under investigation…”

They don’t mention Abruzzi’s name directly—he’s probably already greased some palms to keep it quiet—but this is more than enough for me. It’ll take him a while to recover from this, and that thought alone sends a surge of satisfaction through me.

And because I can’t resist being petty, not when Mirabella is involved, I grab my phone and type out a quick text to Abruzzi.

This is only a mere taste of the fate that will befall you if you near my wife again. Don’t dare me.

I hit send, leaning back in my chair as a satisfied calm washes over me. It’s not just the fact that he knows I orchestrated this and owes me for sparing him. It’s because I can now boldly refer to Mirabella as my wife when warning him. No matter what little games he tries to play, he can’t change that.

He can’t change the fact that she’s mine.