Page 48 of Dark Mafia Heir

Maybe I should stop now, before I say anything more, before I incriminate myself.

“No. A girl doesn’t see the carcass of her father’s loyal men and happily marry the man that killed them.”

“That’s your father’s business.”

Her bluntness stirs tears to my eyes for one reason: she’s right. Those men’s deaths were my father’s business. Not mine. “He had a gun to my father’s head.”

“Vivienne, that’s still your father’s business.”

A teardrop spills on my cheek, and I angrily wipe it away. “But he kidnapped me anyway. And you can’t say that’s my father’s business becauseI’mhere. It’smybusiness. And I will get out of here before I join the list of victims hung on Antonio Mancini’s wall.”

In the midst of this emotional turmoil that wracks through me, I can’t help but feel thankful that I didn’t have to marry the old bastard my father initially planned for me, but it doesn’t make being married to Antonio any less scathing.

Ginny is quiet for a while before she shakes her head with a conviction that I don’t share. “Antonio won’t hurt you, Vivienne. I’m sure of it.”

Well, I’m not.

And before we find out which one of us is right, it’ll be too late. I’ll be long gone by then.

Ginny leaves earlierthan I want her to, before dinner, leaving me to wallow in the lingering effects of our conversation. It feels like there’s a hole in my chest, an ache I need to feel; and maybe that’s why I miss Ginny’s company more than I should.

I’m seated in the dining with an array of delicious food spread out before me when one of Antonio’s men steps inside with an unmistakable aura of intimidation, dressed in black. I recognize his fresh, buzz-cut cut, and unsmiling face from the night when Antonio was a pretend gentleman. He drove us home.

“Luca, is it?”

His brows dip, and the frown on his face deepens, like he doesn’t expect me to be talking to him. “It is. I am.”

Strange response, but I can’t exactly peg him to be the talkative type. He wasn’t chatty that night, either.

I should focus on ripping my chicken and broccoli to shreds and eating in silence, but I blink, and this man before me doesn’t look so made of stone anymore.

If anything, I dare myself to think I can hold a five-minute conversation with him.

“Nice to be in the same space with you. I’m Vivienne.”

Luca’s brows rise in greater surprise. “I know who you are.”

He didn’t expect me to introduce myself. Did everyone else really think I’d go around parading as the popular Antonio’s wife?

“Oh, okay. That’s good, then.” I take a bite of the tasty broccoli. “Care to join me? I’m afraid they made too much of all this goodness, and there’s no way I’m clearing all of it.”

“I’m good.”

“If you say so. Prepare to have the waste of the good stuff on your conscience.”

I see a ghostly smile tug on his lips.

“I’m sure I can handle more than that on my conscience. If I have one.”

Did he make a joke?

I doubt it. He was under the category of men who slept with knives under their pillows and dropped their guns on bathroom vanities while they had their showers. It’s possible that Luca does nothave a conscience.

“What brings you to these parts of the house then, if you weren’t reeled in by the aroma?”

He looks around, then back at me. “I’m on duty.”

“Watching the mansion tonight?”

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