Dark Mafia Bride: An Arranged Marriage, Secret Baby Romance (Mafia Vows)
Dark Mafia Bride: Chapter 29

Does pregnancy make women horny?

Because honestly, that’s the only explanation I can come up with for why I can’t seem to keep my hands off Ettore. It doesn’t help that my husband’s libido is just as insatiable as mine, so I spend most nights tangled up in him, moaning and groaning his name until exhaustion finally drags me under.

The shocking thing is that we haven’t done the actual sex by penetration yet, not after our first night together. Before, I used to think that sex by penetration was the only way to reach maximum pleasure, but Ettore has introduced me to a world of unimaginable orgasms, and he’s so creative with it.

And it’s not that I don’t want him to fuck me or that we’ve never been tempted to go past our usual threshold. But whenever we get to that moment, whenever Ettore asks for permission to take it a step further, I always say no. He always respects my decision, and that worsens my guilt.

I have to tell him I’m pregnant. That’s why I haven’t been able to have sex with him. This secret that I’ve been keeping for over a month now is gnawing at my chest, and each day, I get increasingly anxious about how he’ll react when he replaces out.

I know it will change everything between us, and it will definitely be for the worse. So I want to pretend for a while and enjoy this little moment of bliss because I know that eventually I won’t be able to keep it from him. I’ll start showing in a few months, and the last thing I want is for him to replace out before I tell him.

I’m scrubbing my body under the warm stream of water in the shower when the door opens and Ettore slips in behind me. A sharp gasp escapes my lips as I feel his hard length press against my lower back, hot against my bare skin.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” I giggle as he leans down to nibble on my neck.

“Why not? I am your husband,” he says as his hands slide over to cup my breasts.

He just grins, unbothered. “Even better. Showering together saves time and water.”

I roll my eyes, half amused, half exasperated. “As if you’re ever going to be the one to worry about utility bills,” I retort, pushing against his chest as if I stand a chance of getting him to stop.

He smirks, his hands not slowing down. “Hey, I’m eco-friendly. And you should be, too, considering how much energy we’re using right now.”

I huff, throwing him a playful glare. “You’re impossible.”

Another moan slips past my lips when his hand slides down my stomach to cup my pussy in his hands.

Before he inserts his fingers inside me, I turn to face him. “Not when you’re touching me like this,” I murmur, reaching for his hair and pulling his face down to kiss him.

He groans into my mouth as I kiss him, pull his lower lip between my teeth, and lick him until he’s panting and completely aroused. When I break the kiss and lean back, the thick lust I see in his eyes makes my pussy throb. It’s more than enough to knock the common sense out of me, which is why I’m sliding down to my knees and taking him into my mouth even though I know we’ll be late for the function.

Ettore grunts as I stroke the base of his cock with one hand while taking him slowly into my mouth. His thick, hard length brushes against my walls as I take him in deeper, just the way he likes, until he hits the back of my throat. I hold him there for a few seconds before he pulls away for me to breathe.

“Fuck, Bella,” he grunts, grabbing the back of my head and wrapping my wet hair around his fist. His other hand caresses my mouth as he waits for me to catch my breath. And then he’s pushing his way back in and pulling out to thrust in again. He holds my head in place as he fucks my mouth, and I take all of him in while my hand slides down to massage the throbbing wetness between my legs.

“That’s right, baby,” he rasps as he picks up pace. “Pleasure yourself while I fuck your mouth.”

I moan as he continues to slide in and out of me, his thrusts becoming faster and harder until finally, he shudders and releases his hot cum inside my mouth with a loud grunt. The salty, sweet fluid coats my tongue and slides down my throat, and I feel a shiver roll down my spine as I swallow every single drop.

When he pulls out of my mouth and brings me to my feet, I see the wanton need in his eyes as he bends down to kiss me again. I close my eyes and let him explore my mouth as his fingers spread my ass cheeks open to slide into my pussy from behind. I moan and whimper into his mouth, but then, my mind drifts.

If I don’t stop him now…if I don’t stop this, I know I’m going to loathe myself afterward. So even though my whole body protests against the idea, I place both hands on his chest to push him away.

“Down, boy,” I say with a giggle. “We need to be downstairs in less than twenty minutes now. We can continue this later.”

He groans in protest, but he pulls away from me. For the next few minutes, we both take turns washing our bodies. When we are done showering, Ettore scoops me up and carries me to the bedroom. Our dressing up is filled with laughter and giggles, but somewhere in the pit of my stomach, an uneasy feeling grows.

I’ll miss this. I’ll miss the ease and intimacy that we’ve somehow settled into these past couple of weeks. When the truth comes out, everything will change, and I dread the thought of that.

After we are done getting dressed, Ettore takes my hand in his as he leads us downstairs and to the dining room, where his family members, both nuclear and extended, are seated and waiting. Ettore informed me that this is some sort of family ritual that happens yearly, and obviously as his wife I have to be present.

My stomach twists with discomfort as we enter the room. The faces around the long table—some familiar while others are strangers—fix their eyes on me with a mix of interest and scrutiny. Ettore leads me to the head of the table, where an empty seat waits for him. The chair beside him, where I assume I’m supposed to sit, is occupied by Zia Camilla.

“Zia,” Ettore calls out in a gruff tone as we approach the stern-faced woman.

I know exactly what he’s about to do, and I won’t let him. Not in front of all these people. Not when she already despises me, and making this gesture would only fuel her resentment.

Before Ettore can say another word, I lean up and kiss his cheek. “I’ll sit beside Nonna,” I whisper, keeping my voice low.

He’d invited them to this gathering, and I’m honestly grateful. Having my own family here makes it easier to bear the tension in this room.

He glances down at me, irritation flashing in his eyes. But when I flash him a smile—one that’s soft but firm—he exhales and releases my hand, though I can tell he’s not pleased.

I let out a quiet sigh as I make my way to the far end of the table, where Nonna and my mother sit. When I settle into the chair beside Nonna, she immediately takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You did the right thing, Mira.”

I nod, casting a quick glance around the room at the eyes that are all too aware of our every move. My gaze lands on Zia Camilla, and I don’t miss the way her lips tighten. I saved her from embarrassment, but the anger in her eyes only seems to deepen. She looks like she’s seething at the mere thought of Ettore asking her to vacate her seat for me.

This family gathering is nothing like the cozy ones I’m used to. It’s tense—stiff, even—everyone on edge, measuring each other in silence. Ettore’s family is here, of course, along with a few people I assume are from other Mafia families. When Ettore first told me his family is involved with the Italian Mafia in New York, I wasn’t exactly shocked. Now it makes sense. The man is fiercely protective, intensely private. A man like he is probably has more enemies than friends.

The conversation begins with small talk, the usual chatter about the weather, the food, the upcoming family events. Oil factories here, hotel chains there. A charity gala in need of donations. A foundation looking for support.

But even as the polite conversation flows, Ettore’s relatives continue to fire questions my way. They seem interested in every little detail about me, and I can tell it’s not out of genuine curiosity. They’re sizing me up, gauging whether or not I’m worthy of Ettore.

I’m halfway through picking at my salad when Zia Camilla turns her gaze on me, her eyes a little too intense. “So, Mirabella,” she begins, her voice dripping with sweetness, “I hear you’re back at Cornell University.”

I give her a steady nod, working hard to keep my face unreadable. “Yes.”

“Hmmm. That must be nice,” Zia Camilla purrs, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Using your marriage to Ettore as an excuse to go back to college.”

“Back?” A woman I don’t recognize asks, her curiosity piqued.

I bite my tongue, but Aunt Francesca leans in as if she’s about to deliver a juicy tidbit. “Mirabella here is a dropout,” she announces.

The table falls into a tense silence—well, our side of the table. I glance across the room at Ettore and the other men, who are engrossed in their conversation. His eyes flicker toward me, and I know he’s aware of the shift in the atmosphere. He looks at his aunts, then back at me. I give him a reassuring smile, signaling that I’m fine. The last thing I want is to interrupt whatever important conversation he’s having just to save me from his aunt’s petty jabs.

Before I can respond, Nonna’s voice rings out, sharp. “She was a dropout,” she corrects, her tone stern.

“And what’s the difference?” The woman from earlier asks again, her smile now replaced by something more condescending. I catch Zia Camilla’s grin spreading wider.

“I’m just worried about her priorities.” Zia Camilla sighs theatrically, her voice laced with a false air of concern. “She has…other things to focus on now—her real responsibilities. Her wifely duties. Don’t you think those should come first?” She turns to the other women, her eyes narrowing slightly, and they exchange a subtle, knowing glance, their little alliance unmistakable.

“You’re right, sister,” Francesca chimes in smoothly, her voice laced with that same practiced sweetness. “The marriage was a while ago now. I think we should be expecting some good news soon, don’t you? It’s been…long enough, if I may say so myself. Back in my day, we moved into our husbands’ homes on a Saturday and by Monday, we were already…well, I’m sure you can guess.”

Another woman, whom I don’t recognize but can already tell is part of their silent coalition, adds, “Well, you know how these young kids are these days. They can’t seem to hurry into such things. They’re so fixated on keeping their figures, they forget what it really means to be a woman.”

Zia Camilla laughs lightly. “Which they do, of course, until they’re too old to conceive properly.”

I force a smile, trying to ignore the burning anger crawling up my throat, and my hands tense under the table, digging into my palms. I glance at Mamma, who shifts uncomfortably in her seat, clearly sensing the change in atmosphere.

The tension is thick enough to cut through.

“My granddaughter has her whole life ahead of her,” Nonna interjects, her voice sharp and unwavering, slicing through their insinuations like a blade. “Education is important. People like you should know that.”

There’s a brief pause before Aunt Marta leans forward, her smile twisting into something that barely passes for polite. It’s a smile with teeth, all edge and no warmth. “That’s…admirable,” she says, her voice laced with the faintest hint of mockery. “But don’t you think it’s more practical to focus on bearing Ettore his heirs now? Education is lovely, of course,” she adds, her eyes flicking dismissively toward me, “but there’s a family to think of now, isn’t there?”

I force a polite smile, willing myself to remain calm. Maybe it’s the hormones, or maybe I’m just plain tired of their nonsense, but their words are hitting harder today.

“My daughter can do both.” Mamma suddenly speaks up. The surprising strength in her tone catches me off guard. “She doesn’t have to sacrifice her future to be a good wife. You have daughters, don’t you? So, this insinuation is especially disappointing coming from you.”

Zia Camilla’s face tightens, her pleasant demeanor replaced by a cold, hard mask. I can see a few other relatives nearby noticing the shift in the room, but none of them dare speak up.

“Well,” Zia Camilla drawls, her eyes narrowing like a predator sizing up its prey. “Her bright future didn’t get her here, now did it?” She sneers at my mother. “You’re living here for free, getting treatment for your filthy disease, and it’s only because your daughter got lucky enough to catch my bored nephew’s fancy.” Her words drip with venom. “Not because of any bright future she has.”

“How dare you?” I leap to my feet, my voice loud, trembling with the force of my anger.

I feel Nonna’s hand on mine, tugging gently, but the conversation on the other side of the table halts—everyone’s attention is now on us.

“Oh, don’t be dramatic now,” Zia Camilla smirks, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “We were just having a friendly chat. You don’t need to clamor for your husband to defend you⁠—”

“You’re too young to be this bitter,” Nonna hisses from beside me. Her voice sharp and unyielding. “How old are you? Forty? Fifty? You could pass for my age because your nasty spirit is aging you out.”

Gasps ripple through the room. Zia Camilla leans in, her face twisting with rage. “You want to educate me about bitterness?” she spits, her voice now low and deadly. “Look at you! Are you happy with your life? Your only daughter married a poor deadbeat who abandoned her and her two children with nothing. You should be enjoying the fruits of your children’s success, but instead, you’ve been stuck taking care of them for years.”

“I feel sorry for you,” Nonna bites back, her voice cutting like steel. “Despite everything you claim to have, you don’t understand unconditional love and the meaning of family.”

“My family is the reason you’re even sitting among powerful people like us,” Zia Camilla retorts, cocking her head to the side. “I understand family just fine.”

Her gaze shifts to me, and I feel a malicious glint in her eyes as she continues. “You should direct that question to your granddaughter. After all, she doesn’t know what it’s like to have a father figure in the home, does she?”

“Enough!” Ettore’s voice booms across the table, but Nonna doesn’t care.

“You’re a disgrace to everyone around you,” she spits at Zia Camilla. “We may be poor, according to you, but we have something you’ll never have: a family that loves unconditionally, a family that would weep the day any one of us dies. A family that would go to war for each other. What do you have, Camilla?”

Her face contorts into a deep, ugly scowl.

“You old hag—” she starts, but Nonna cuts her off.

“Where are your children? I’ve heard one of them has a child. Have you ever held your grandchild?”

The air grows heavy. Zia Camilla’s face tightens in anger, and I catch Ettore’s jaw clenching as he runs a hand through his hair.

An uncomfortable chuckle breaks the tension—one of Ettore’s distant cousins, a man who looks far too eager to lighten the mood. “Oh, come on.” He laughs, glancing around at the growing storm. “This argument didn’t need to go this far,” he says, his voice condescending. “In families like ours, it’s all about connections and money. You have to bring value, and if you don’t, well, you’re as good as useless.” His eyes slide toward Zia Camilla. “Aunt Camilla has served her purpose—she raised children for her husband’s family. Now, it’s up to her kids to continue that cycle in their own homes.”

Zia Camilla’s face softens for a moment, but my stomach churns as the man continues.

“Human relationships are transactional. And you married into the Greco family.” He gestures toward me. “You’re not some charity case. It’s a partnership. You bring value, or you don’t. No offense,” he adds, looking toward Ettore now, “but a girl with no father, no real connections…what does she bring to the table?”

I feel the words hit me like a slap, and that’s it. I’ve had enough.

“Leave my house,” Ettore says, his voice low and cold, but I barely hear him. The world around me spins, consumed by the suffocating weight of their words.

“W-what?” I hear the man stutter as the others around the table shoot me accusing glares.

I swallow hard, trying to keep myself composed. I’m trying to play my role as Ettore’s wife, but my heart is racing, and my hands are shaking. But then the man speaks again, and it all unravels.

“You know,” he chuckles darkly, “I’ve been wondering what happened to the brave Ettore I knew. You’ve let this cheap thrill slip into your house, into your bed…”

My breath catches in my throat, and before I can stop myself, I spring up from my seat.

“What, did she trap you with a baby?”

I don’t hear Ettore’s response, or anything that follows, as my feet move before I even think. I run. Away from the venomous words. Away from their hatred. Away from the truth I know is eating me alive.