Page 54 of Dark Mafia Heir

“No,” I shake my head, disagreeing. “He’s just pissed that I tried to bruise his ego. You know, a pillow? Of all the things I could have used? Imagine the headlines:THE NOTORIOUS AND RUTHLESS ANTONIO MANCINI DIES A SAD PAINFULDEATHAFTER WIFE SUFFOCATES HIM WITH A PILLOW.”

Ginny literally guffaws and her happiness forces a genuine smile to my lips for the first time this morning. If it wasn’t for the guards around, there is a high chance she’d be rolling on the floor in joyful tears.

Collecting herself, she flicks a teardrop from her underneath her eyelids, and surprises me with a warm hug.

“Soon, Vivienne. Very soon, your eyes will be opened. You will see and understand.”

I doubt it, but I don’t bother saying anything because, in my heart, I know I hate Antonio Mancini.

But I enjoy every moment spent with him more than I should.

At some pointbetween lunch and immediately after dinner, the handcuffs come off. I don’t even giveAndrethe common courtesy of a thank you before stomping off to the living room to watch the sunset through the tall glass windows.

Drawing the curtains apart, I fold my legs on the couch and nuzzle my head on the soft rim. Antonio is away on business, Agatha is busy as always, the guards leave me to wallow in loneliness, and Ginny is gone, too.

It’s just me, alone, left to ponder on Ginny’s words from breakfast.

Soon, Vivienne. Very soon, your eyes will be opened. You will see and understand.

It doesn’t make sense to me and I doubt that it ever will.

I’m watching the beautiful canvas of red and orange as the sun kisses the sky, when a haze of sleep clings to me like a heavy fog.

I know I fall asleep, but I don’t know for how long.

When I stir, my body sinks into something firm yet warm, a soft sway rocking me.

My eyelids flutter open, and I realize I’m moving—not by my own will, but because I’m cradled in Antonio’s arms.

His face is shadowed in the dim light of the hallway, but his jaw is set, his expression hard. I glance at his chest, where my hands are now resting, fingers curling instinctively into the soft fabric of his shirt.

My heart skips a beat.

I’m possibly dreaming. Thishasto be a dream.

“Antonio?”

He doesn’t look at me, but he answers my unspoken question. “You looked uncomfortable on the couch.”

My cheeks flush, warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with sleep.

He was mad at me, livid even. He shouldn’t care, but he does because I doubt there’s any other explanation for why he bothered to lift me out of that uncomfortable couch.

The steady beat of his heart vibrates against my palm, and for a moment, I just let myself feel it—the strength of him, the way he carries me without hesitation, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It's in me to argue, and, though halfhearted, I try to play cool. “I could’ve walked.”

He glances down at me, and I think I see a small, amused smirk tugging at his lips. Although, with this lighting, I can’t be sure.

“You could barely open your eyes. Until I lifted you.”

I don’t argue.

Instead, I nestle closer, my cheek pressing against his chest, letting myself enjoy the rare moment of vulnerability. His scent surrounds me—musk, man, and entirely him.

We reach the bedroom, and he nudges the door open with his foot.

The room is dark, but Antonio lowers me gently onto the mattress, his hands lingering at my back before he lets go.

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