Page 28 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
And my country.
Italy.
My stomach twisted harder.
Of course I came from a mafia family in Italy.
Not just any family—one soaked in darkness so deep it had no bottom. A family that had made more enemies than anyone could count, leaving behind a history written in blood and betrayal.
A family like mine didn’t just accumulate rivals; it manufactured them.
And yet, here I was, in Spain, staring at the possibility that I might have just crossed paths with one of them. Or worse—someone connected to them.
I hoped Rafael wasn’t one of those names buried in old grudges and unfinished wars. I hoped his family had nothing to do with the world I came from, because Spain had its own shadows too. Its own invisible empires. Its own mafia that didn’t always announce itself until it was too late.
But I wasn’t naive enough to believe wealth came without darkness. Men like Rafael didn’t build empires in clean air.
They just made sure the dirt stayed out of public view.
The public version of him was easy to understand. A tech billionaire. Ruthless, yes—but in boardrooms, in negotiations, in numbers and silent power plays that didn’t leave bodies behind.
That version of Rafael, I could handle.
That version of him, I had even—
I exhaled quietly, almost bitterly.
Admired.
From a distance, of course.
Safe admiration.
The kind women allowed themselves when they knew a man was far out of reach.
His voice during company briefings—smooth, commanding. The way people listened when he spoke. The way power seemed to wrap around him like something alive.
It had been harmless.
A quiet, private thing.
A distraction.
But tonight had stripped that illusion bare.
Now—
Now curiosity burned hotter than fear, and that alone unsettled me more than anything else.
Silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t empty.
It was listening.
That was when I heard it.
A faint sound.
So soft most people would have missed it entirely.
