Dark Mafia Bride: An Arranged Marriage, Secret Baby Romance (Mafia Vows)
Dark Mafia Bride: Chapter 42

As soon as my lips touch Mirabella’s, a trembling exhale escapes me. My hands instinctively rise to cup her face as I kiss her slowly and tenderly. The warmth and softness of her lips against mine is something I savor in this moment. She tilts her head up gently, our chests brushing against each other as she fills the space between us.

Her arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer, her touch grounding me even as I feel like I’m free-falling. My thumb brushes over her cheekbone, a small, tender motion, as if my hands are memorizing the feel of her.

“I’ve missed your lips,” I whisper, slightly pulling away. I nuzzle my nose into her neck and inhale deeply. Her fragrance, a mix of vanilla and strawberries, fills my lungs. “I’ve missed your smell. I’ve missed your voice.” I dip in to kiss her again. “Fuck…I’ve missed your taste.”

She gasps against my lips when one hand grabs her neck possessively as I kiss her again. This time, it’s harder, rougher, unrestrained. She moans when my hand lands on her exposed thigh, my fingers curling beneath the hem of her dress.

I pull the material up until it comes to rest on the tops of her thighs. Her bare skin is warm under my fingertips, and my throat bobs when I see the goosebumps that have spread along the length of her legs.

“How much did you miss me, Bella?” I murmur, dragging my kisses down to her neck. But I don’t wait for her to answer. I’m too impatient to wait. I slide my hand under her dress before tugging the lacy material of her thong to the side.

“Ettore,” she lets out a choked gasp as I brush a finger over her wet center. Her hand reaches over the center console to clutch my shirt collar, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m adjusting my seat to accommodate her and pulling her body over until she’s straddling my lap.

A low hiss escapes my lips when she fully lowers herself onto me before she starts rocking herself back and forth over my crotch. I’m painfully hard, and I know she can feel every inch and outline of my dick just as I feel her slick wetness through the material of my pants.

“Fuck, baby, you feel good,” I breathe tensely. My hands are on her hips, squeezing tightly, and I feel her nails dig into my shoulders. I bite back a groan when she throws her head back, leaning slightly against the steering wheel as she rolls her hips over mine.

I see the arousal in her face—the way her mouth drops open in a quiet moan, the way her eyes roll up the back of her head, the whimpers and soft sounds coming out of her—and it drives me fucking mad. She’s totally enjoying this, and that alone heightens the pleasure I already feel.

I bury my face into her neck, inhaling her addicting scent as I drag my nose down to her soft, full cleavage.

“Ah… oh, God,” she moans when I roughly palm one breast with my free hand before dragging her neckline down to expose her matching lace bra.

Without thinking, I pull the material down before pulling her puckered nipple into my mouth. She moans again, burying her hands into my hair while her fingers scrape at my scalp.

Her breath hitches as I take my time sucking on her hard, plump nipple until it’s tinged pink. A shiver runs through her body, and she grinds herself harder against my cock, pleasuring herself.

“Fuck…I missed you, Bella,” I choke.

I know I’ve said it a million times before, but I’d gladly say it a million more if it means she knows how deeply I mean it.

She leans in and presses her lips to mine, her movements slowing, becoming deliberate—each roll of her hips more languid, more sensual. This kiss feels different. It’s not just passion; it’s layered. I can taste everything—her anger, her fear, her frustration, and her desire—all tangled together.

“I want—no, I need—you back, Bella,” I say, cupping her face in my hands. My voice shakes, but I press on. “I can’t keep going through life without you. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. If it takes the rest of my life to make things right, I’ll do it.”

Her breath hitches, and her voice trembles as she whispers, “You broke me.”

Her confession shatters me, and I press my forehead to hers. I can’t bring myself to meet her eyes, not when hot tears are streaming down both our faces.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m so, so sorry,” I murmur. “I was selfish, cruel, and utterly unforgivable. You deserved so much better than what I gave you. But I swear, from this day forward, I’ll strive to be better—for you, for us. I’ll spend every moment proving I’m worthy of your forgiveness, and I won’t stop, not even in my last breath.”

“Ettore…” she sighs, her hesitation evident even as her hand slides to rest on my shoulder.

Before she can say something—anything—that might destroy end this moment, I speak.

“Please, Bella. Give me another chance.” I kiss her tear-streaked cheek gently. “Let me fix what I broke. Let me be there for you, for our children.” My hands move to her stomach, and I let them rest there, feeling the taut muscle beneath my palms. “Let me love you.”

The last words are barely a whisper, breathed into her ear as I press a soft kiss just below her earlobe. The small, involuntary whimper that escapes her lips tells me everything I need to know—how much she wants this, how much she still wants me. How much she wants us to work.

When her eyes meet mine, heavy and glazed with emotion, I can see it—the spark of hope, of longing. I know she’s on the verge of giving us another chance.

But before the words can leave her lips, the shrill ring of her familiar ringtone slices through the tension in the car, dragging us both out of the heated haze.

She scrambles for her purse in the passenger seat, relief flickering across her face. It’s clear she’s grateful for the distraction, for the reprieve from having to answer me just yet.

That realization sends a pang of hurt slicing through my chest, but at the same time, I’m just glad to be here with her. Glad she let me kiss her again. Touch her again. Even though we’re in an uncertain place, I know we’ve come a long way from where we were. We’re bruised, but not broken. It would take more than this for either of us to simply throw in the towel and give up on us.

As she reaches for her phone, I gently help her back into her seat. When she retrieves the device from her bag and glances at the screen, her expression shifts—blank yet somehow loaded. She stares at the ringing phone for a moment that feels like an eternity.

Then she looks at me, and the steady rhythm of my heart twists into a frantic, erratic beat for an entirely different reason.

“It’s Milo,” she says softly.