Dark Mafia Bride: An Arranged Marriage, Secret Baby Romance (Mafia Vows)
Dark Mafia Bride: Chapter 13

It’s the morning of my wedding—the morning that ties me to a man I don’t know, the morning of a wedding I will not attend.

I stand in the center of my bedroom, wearing nothing but a bra and panties. I gaze at the woman in the tall mirror, barely recognizing the reflection.

The stranger staring back at me has sleek waves in her hair, bold red lipstick on her lips, and long fake lashes framing her eyes. Delicate diamond earrings dangle from her ears, and beside her on the bed lies a wedding gown designed by the best fashion designer in the city, waiting for her to wear it. The woman looks more beautiful than she’s ever been in her life, but beneath all that glamor, I sense sadness, fear, and panic. She is set to marry in less than an hour, and the only thought in her mind is escape.

“Do you need help getting into your dress, ma’am?” Clara asks gently, breaking my thoughts.

She came in early this morning with a makeup artist, a hair stylist, and a fashion designer. I smiled politely as they painted my face, adorned me with jewelry, and styled my hair. But during those three long hours, my mind raced.

Two days—two days of frantic planning have led to this moment. The time to act is now or never.

“No, I’m fine,” I mutter, forcing a smile.

I see Clara smile back, her eyes sparkling. “You look beautiful, ma’am. I totally get it if you feel jittery. It’s your wedding, after all! It’s normal to feel cold feet when things get real.”

I turn to her, and she glances down, a blush creeping up her cheeks under my gaze.

“S-sorry if I overstepped,” she stammers, nervously laughing. “It’s not like I’ve been married before or anything.”

I manage a smile, even though my heart aches. “It’s okay. Could you clean up this mess?” I gesture to the powder palettes, makeup brushes, and combs scattered across the dressing table.

“Of course,” she replies, her smile polite as she moves to tidy up on the other side of the room.

I let out a shaky breath, my heart racing in my chest. I’m not sure my plan will work. Too many things could go wrong. I might get caught. I could be fined for breaking a signed contract. Or worse, I could get hurt.

I still don’t know who my husband is, but I know one thing: he’s ruthless.

Reality hits hard. If I don’t escape now, I’ll be walking down that aisle in just a few minutes, sealing my fate with the devil himself.

I glance over my shoulder at Clara, who is now busy organizing the makeup brushes on the vanity. Her back is turned, and my pulse quickens. This is my moment.

Before I can think twice, my feet move, quietly padding across the cold floor. Clara doesn’t hear me coming. I remember what Nonna taught me once—a self-defense trick from her younger days, a way to disarm someone without hurting them, but not without risk. She’d used it herself, back when danger was real and survival meant outsmarting those who threatened her. Nonna made me practice until my fingers knew the movements by memory, just in case.

My fingers tremble slightly, but I block out the fear, forcing myself to focus on Nonna’s words, her steady voice in my mind: “The carotid artery, just below the ear…apply just enough pressure, and they’ll drop like a stone.”

In one swift motion, I clamp my hand onto Clara’s shoulder, my fingers replaceing that throbbing spot by her neck. I feel her heartbeat racing beneath my fingers as I locate that pulsing spot by her neck. Her eyes fly open, widening in shock. She gasps, a flash of panic in her gaze as she starts to twist away.

For a brief moment, doubt strikes me, and my grip falters.

What if I mess this up? What if I hurt her?

But I push down those thoughts, refocusing, and apply a firm, precise pressure. Slowly, the resistance drains from her body, her knees giving way as she goes limp against me. A shiver runs through me as I catch her, lowering her as gently as I can to the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my voice shaky, almost breaking. I arrange her carefully, making sure she’s comfortable, trying to ignore the rising panic that claws at my throat as I stare down at her still form.

She’s just unconscious—Nonna said that’s all it would do. Right?

My heart hammers, thoughts colliding.

What the hell am I doing?

But I snap out of it when I glance at the clock and realize I only have thirty minutes to leave this house. Thirty minutes until Luca arrives to drive me to the cathedral, where I will be wed.

My hands move frantically, pulling Clara out of her maid’s uniform and slip it over my body. It’s a bit tight—she’s smaller than I am—but it will have to do. I grab a blanket from the bed and cover her, as she’s only wearing a sports bra and shorts.

As I look back at the mirror, my breath catches when I see the diamonds dangling from my ears. Quickly, I remove all the jewelry and drop it onto the vanity. Then, I bundle my silky, styled hair into the maid’s bonnet, rip off the false lashes from my eyes, and put on a face mask I grabbed from Clara’s cleaning supplies. I take my phone from my bag in the closet and slip it into the uniform pocket.

With one last look at Clara, I’m out the door. My hands shake, but I push the panic down. I can do this. I just have to blend in. Keep my head low. Act like I belong here.

The hallways buzz with activity as I descend the stairs. My eyes dart around to make sure no one is watching me, and I’m relieved to see everyone busy with their tasks to make the wedding a success.

When I near the front door of the lobby, one of the maids—thankfully not Paula, who I think would recognize I’m not Clara—spots me.

“Where are you going? There’s a lot of work to be done,” she exclaims, hands on her hips.

“Errand for the bride,” I mutter, mimicking Clara’s soft yet hurried tone.

With a huff, she walks away, and my heart pounds in my ears as I step out of the house and into the compound. The fresh air hits my face, making me giddy. I’ve almost made it out. I’m not successful yet, though—I still have to navigate the large grounds, but I’m halfway there.

The estate looks even more intimidating under the morning light. Perfectly trimmed hedges, towering fountains, and endless rows of trees stretch out before me. Not to mention the high fences that surround the space, reminding me that I might never escape.

But I will.

I speed through the stone pathways, hearing the soft crunch of gravel beneath Clara’s flat shoes—thank God we wear the same size. Every step echoes my racing heart. The gate is still far ahead, and I struggle to breathe under the face mask, but I push forward.

As I approach the front gates, the two security guards on duty eye me with confusion. I swallow hard as I near them.

“Where are you headed?” one of them asks, his sharp eyes scanning my uniform.

“There was a last-minute change in the flower arrangement,” I say, trying to keep my breath steady. “I’ve been sent to pick up the peonies that will be added to the flowers.” The words tumble out, and I hope I don’t stumble.

“Why did they send you?” the bald-headed guard asks, skepticism in his tone.

I bite my lip, tempted to ask, ‘Should they have sent you instead?’ until I remember I’m not Mirabella. I’m Clara.

“I’m on bridal duty,” I explain quickly, “and everyone else in the house is busy, including Mrs. Camilla, Francesca, and Marta.”

I give myself a mental high-five for remembering the names Clara casually mentioned yesterday during her chat with Paula. Just a tiny victory, but I cling to it—one piece of control in this whole twisted arrangement. Clara had been talking about Ettore’s aunts, gossiping over wedding details and family quirks, giving me the clues I needed to connect faces to names.

The memory of those two women from my first day here flashes through my mind. One with a hard stare, the other with a warm smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Ettore’s family isn’t just a name on paper anymore—they’re real people, allies or enemies, and I’m marrying into the whole tangled web.

“They want it picked up from Fior di Luna,” I add, naming an exclusive flower store in the city that only caters to the wealthy. It’s a good enough excuse, believable for a family like this.

The guards exchange glances, but I keep my head down, trying my best to mimic Clara’s gentle, polite manner. “I really need to hurry back,” I add softly, letting a hint of nervousness show in my voice. “They told me to be back before the ceremony starts.”

“I’ll have a driver take you,” the first guard says, reaching for his walkie-talkie.

Crap. I didn’t think of that.

“Oh, no need!” I blurt out quickly. “They already sent a driver.” I say it with just enough urgency that he pauses. Seriously, though? Is it really necessary to call for a driver that fast?

As the guards look at me, my mind races. What if they ask why a driver would come without the flowers if I’m supposed to be picking them up? What if they ask me any other insider questions I can’t answer?

He studies me a second longer, then mutters something under his breath and pushes open the small side gate. “Fine,” he says.

Holy crap. It actually worked.

“Be back soon,” he warns, sounding a little skeptical. “I don’t know what’s going on in that house, but I know the boss is gonna flip if this wedding has any hiccups.”

Behind him, the bald guard chuckles. “Yeah, still can’t believe the boss is getting married. Pedro said he saw her when she arrived—said she’s real pretty, too…”

“Wait!” the first guard calls out again just as I turn to leave.

What now?

“Yes…” I drag it out, trying to add a bit of playfulness to my voice.

“What’s with the face mask, by the way?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. Shit. Shit. Shit. This is it. This is the end.

“Oh, you know, allergies,” I reply quickly, trying to sound casual. “Terrible this time of year.” He studies me a little longer, then steps closer, giving a subtle nod for me to take the mask off.

Crap. What am I supposed to do now? My genius plan to break out of here like some knock-off Michael Scofield is turning into a disaster.

He takes another step forward, motioning for me to remove the mask again. I’m about to start panicking when, suddenly, his phone rings. He steps back to answer it.

Thank you, Jesus! I’ve never been religious—not that it stopped my grandmother from trying to “save my soul” every Sunday. Right now, though? I could march up to the pearly gates and give the big guy a kiss myself for this save.

The bald-headed guard, who seems friendlier than, gives me a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. Just be on your way. He’s been a big grump ever since his wife got pregnant. Probably terrified of those new daddy duties.”

“Really?” I reply, trying to sound genuinely interested. “Didn’t know he was about to be a dad.”

“Oh yeah! He’s been reading all the parenting books,” the guard chuckles. “Swears he’s going to be the best dad on the planet. You should see him, it’s hilarious watching him try to hide the panic behind that tough-guy act.”

I nod along, pretending to relate, even though parenting feels like a world away from my reality. “Sounds like a huge change for him,” I say, edging closer to the gate.

“Big changes can be scary, but he’ll figure it out,” the guard says, his smile lingering as I slip through the gate.

As their voices fade behind me, my heart pounds like a drum. The instant my feet hit the pavement outside, I let out a shaky exhale.

I did it. I’d fucking escaped.

But there’s no time to celebrate. My legs are trembling as I hurry down the street, clutching my phone in one sweaty hand. Sweat drips down my temple, and it takes three tries before my shaky fingers manage to dial Nonna’s number.

She answers on the second ring.

“Nonna, listen to me carefully,” I whisper, my voice hoarse as I glance over my shoulder. The street is alive with morning commuters, but every shadow feels like a threat. “You have to take Mamma and Giulia to Auntie’s place in Hunter. Don’t ask questions. Just go. I’ll meet you there.”

“Mira, what’s⁠—”

“Nonna, please.” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “Just trust me. Go now. I’ll explain everything later.”

There’s a pause on the other end, the kind that speaks volumes. I know my Nonna—she’s holding back, biting her tongue like she always does when she wants to scold me but knows the timing isn’t right. I can almost hear the words forming on the tip of her tongue, the “I told you so” she’s surely dying to say.

No doubt, she’s already preparing to remind me how I’ve gotten myself into this mess by chasing the vanities of the world. How she warned me, time and again, that a life spent grasping at shiny, hollow things would only lead to trouble. But there’s no time for her lessons now, and I pray she saves her lectures for later—when we’re all safe, when this impending nightmare is over.

“Pack light,” I add quickly. “Only take what you absolutely need. No statues, no rosaries, no holy books—nothing extra. Just your IDs, some clothes, and enough food for the road. Leave anything that’ll make anyone notice you’re leaving.”

“Not even my rosary?” she whispers, her voice breaking with disbelief.

I press my lips together, forcing myself to stay firm. “Just one, Nonna. Take the one you pray with. Leave the others behind. I need you to be quick, and I don’t want anyone noticing anything unusual.”

“But Mira⁠—”

“Promise me, Nonna,” I cut her off. “Promise me you’ll keep your head down. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t answer any calls. Just go straight to Auntie’s. Take the bus. If you don’t have enough for tickets, tell Auntie to send someone to meet you halfway. I’ll explain everything when I get there. But you have to move now.”

She takes a shaky breath, her voice fragile but resolute. “Okay, Mira. I promise. We’ll go.”

I exhale a long, trembling breath, relief and fear twisting together in my chest. “Good. I’ll see you soon. I love you, Nonna.”

“I love you too, cara mia. Be safe.”

I hang up, my breath ragged, as I shove the phone into my pocket and start heading down the end of the street.

I did it. I’m free—at least for now. But I know they’ll come after me. I can feel it. And my plan is to have disappeared from the face of the earth before they do.

I keep moving, my eyes flicking behind me every few seconds. The pristine lawns and gated mansions blur as the landscape shifts to city storefronts and chaotic sidewalks. The air smells like coffee, exhaust fumes, and freshly baked bread. Main Street hums with life—office workers hustle with briefcases and coffee cups, street vendors shout about their wares, and laughter spills from open cafes.

I weave through the crowd, keeping my head low. Each step feels heavier, each glance over my shoulder more desperate. For a moment, I almost believe I’ve outrun them—until I see it.

A black sedan turns the corner across the road, its polished surface gleaming like an oil slick. My breath catches, and my heart plunges into my stomach.

I know that car. Ettore’s fleet.

The back door swings open, and three scary-looking men step out, their movements precise and purposeful. They wear dark suits, their expressions cold and predatory. My stomach churns as I realize they’re scanning the crowd.

They’re looking for me.

And that’s when it happens. One of them spots me. My eyes meet the eyes of one of the men. Time seems to freeze. I don’t hear the traffic anymore, don’t see the bustling crowd. It’s just him and the subtle hand signal he gives the others, and the way they all begin marching toward me.

Run.

The command explodes in my mind, and I obey. My legs move before I fully register what’s happening. The ground feels like quicksand beneath me, but I push forward, darting through the crowd.

Heavy footsteps thunder behind me, cutting through the chaotic symphony of the street.

God, please.

It’s the second time today I’ve prayed to a God I don’t believe in, clinging to the hope of a miracle.

I veer into a narrow alley, heart pounding as I gulp in air, yanking the suffocating mask off my face. The alley smells like damp concrete and stale beer, but it’s empty. For a brief moment, I think I’ve gained the upper hand.

Then another sedan screeches to a halt at the alley’s end, blocking my escape.

“Fuck, there she is. Get her!” The man steps out, his sharp gaze locking onto me.

I spin around and sprint back the way I came, only to see two of the original men closing in fast.

No time to think. No time to breathe. I lunge left into a crowded flea market by the left, my feet pounding against the pavement as I dodge around people, ignoring the strange looks and yelps. The maze of stalls is chaotic, bursting with people and bright, mismatched colors. Vendors shout over each other, peddling trinkets and clothes. I shove through, ignoring the angry protests of those I bump into.

Behind me, their shouts grow louder. They’re relentless, like wolves closing in on their prey. My legs feel like lead, and a sob threatens to escape as I realize I can’t keep this up.

Then I spot it—a small boutique tucked between two larger stores.

This is it. My only chance.

With a desperate haste, I run towards the store and push my way through the doors. The bell jingling faintly overhead. The store inside is lined with mannequins dressed in bright colors, racks full of blouses, skirts, and coats create a maze inside. The smell of leather and cheap perfume fills the air as I slip past the racks, trying to steady my breathing.

The shopkeeper, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, looks up, startled. I grab the first items I see—a navy sweater and a pair of jeans—and murmur, “Excuse me,” before darting into the dressing room.

I still have makeup on my face, but it’s melting off my skin now, running down my chin in rivulets mixed with foundation and sweat.

When I glance at myself in the mirror, I notice why the storekeeper had looked at me weirdly earlier. My hands tremble as I strip off the maid uniform and pull on the new clothes. My hair, damp with sweat, clings to my face until I tuck it beneath a baseball cap from a nearby display.

My makeup is still a mess— I wipe at it with trembling hands, but it only smears further. I finally settle with using the maid clothes to wipe of the remnants completely.

When I step out, I hand the shopkeeper a crumpled wad of cash without counting it. I usually tuck a few bills inside my phone case for emergencies—just enough to get by if I need to pay for something in a hurry. This moment, with my heart pounding and my hands trembling, definitely qualifies as one of those emergencies.

Her eyes linger on me, curiosity flickering, but she says nothing.

I hurry toward the door, casting a glance outside. I spot the men lurking around a nearby store, searching for me with their eyes. The street outside feels more hostile than ever. I glance toward the sedan. The men are questioning a shop owner now, their frustration palpable.

I slip out and head in the opposite direction, keeping to the edge of the sidewalk and disappearing into the moving crowd. When I glance back, I see the confused and frustrated looks on their faces as they talk to a shop owner, showing the elderly woman what I would assume is my picture.

I turn and pick up my pace, feeling the weight of each step lighten as I move further and further away from them, melting into the busy city.

When I look back one more time, they’re still searching, their heads swiveling as they scan faces.

I disappear into the city, one step at a time, until their figures fade into the distance.

For now, I’m free.

Now to get to my family.