Stuck in a Mafia Romance

Dante’s POV

I returned to the dining hall like nothing happened.

Because nothing did.

I spoke to a foolish girl on a balcony. I warned her.

That’s it.

End of story.

I took my seat. Alina beside me, quiet and careful. Like always.

"Eat," I told her.

She gave a small nod, barely lifting her spoon.

The rest of the Vielle family were already halfway through dinner. Laughing, eating, pretending they weren’t rotting from the inside.

No one asked about Vielle.

Not one glance to the door.

But then-

The doors creaked.

And she entered again.

She walked in and glanced around. Thinking something inside her head. Then-

Something shifted.

No longer dramatic.

She walked in like she had nothing left to lose.

Her eyes locked with mine for a split second- and what I saw there didn’t make sense.

Not pride.

Not shame.

Not even fear.

Like she’d already accepted her own funeral invitation.

What the hell are you up to now, Vielle?

---

Her father tried again.

Smiling that fake politician smile that I could see through miles away.

"We’re waiting"

I glanced at her.

Her hand was clenched around the fabric of her dress.

She didn’t move.

Her jaw tensed.

And then—

She picked up the wine bottle.

So, Father," she said sweetly, eyes burning. "You’re making me apologize... for something I didn’t do. And no one in this room will ever believe me anyway?"

I leaned slightly forward, watching her every move.

She swirled the wine.

"Then... I suppose I should just make it fair."

She didn’t pour it in a glass.

She poured it on herself.

Down her chest. Over her dress.

Red wine soaking into black fabric like blood through silk.

The room gasped.

Alina stiffened uncomfortably beside me.

"She got wine on her that day," Vielle said, voice steady, emotionless. "Now it’s equal."

And before anyone could stop her-

She grabbed the wine glass.

Slammed it on the table’s edge.

Crack.

Shards everywhere.

She raised it to her arm.

No hesitation.

No drama.

Like she had done this before.

My body moved faster than my thoughts.

Chair crashing behind me.

I reached her in two strides.

Snatched her wrist.

Glass inches from her skin.

"What the hell are you doing?" I hissed. "Are you completely out of your mind?!"

She stared at me.

No smug grin. No crocodile tears.

Just tired, distant eyes.

"Well now it’s equal," she whispered.

Equal?

Equal to what?

The broken plates? The ruined dress?

Does she really think this is balance?

I stared at the girl whose hand trembled in mine. Her wrist was thin. Her skin was flushed. Her pulse frantic under my fingers.

And I hated—hated—that I felt something twist inside my chest.

I’ve seen her cry before. Bleed before.

She used to fake sobs like a theatre actress.

Now?

No act.

Just a girl breaking in silence.

And I hated her for it.

I shoved her hand away roughly.

"So this is what you invited us for? A pathetic, bloody performance?" My voice was sharp enough . "Have you finally lost your mind completely?"

She yanked her hand back

I noticed the bruise forming on her hand

No one moved.

Her mother sipped her wine.

Her father said nothing.

Her sister watched with a pleased little smirk and lifted her fork like this was all good entertainment.

Even Alina was frozen- tears in corner of her eyes. My body started trembling with anger

"Enough," I snapped. "We’re leaving."

I turned to Alina.

"Get in the car."

Then, to Darius Vielle

"We’ll discuss this later."

He nodded stiffly, still processing what happened.

---

As I walked out of the house with Alina quietly following me, I didn’t look back.

But my chest still burned.

She was playing a game.

But it wasn’t the game I knew.

This wasn’t manipulation.

This wasn’t attention-seeking.

It was something else.

Something I hadn’t seen before.

---

We got in the car.

Alina didn’t say anything at first. She sat silently, clutching the hem of her dress.

I glanced at her and felt my anger coming down. For some reason her face gives me peace

I drove in silence for a while.

Then thoughts rushing back

My hands were tight on the wheel.

Why the hell had I moved?

Why had I stopped her?

She’s pulled stunts before. I never cared.

So why now?

Why did I see that wine spill and feel like I was watching something crack from the inside out?

This girl...she’s playing too much

She doesn’t know what kind of game she’s walking into

And if she keep testing me --

I exhaled sharply

No she’s not worth it

She never was

But she--

*Plop*

I noticed Alina fell asleep and leaning on my shoulder.

I tensed, glancing sideways.

She was asleep.

Her breathing calm. Her face peaceful. Like none of tonight’s chaos had reached her.

I didn’t move her head away.

Not because I couldn’t-but because, somehow, I didn’t want to.

---

When the car stopped in front of the mansion, I stepped out and circled to her side.

Carefully, I opened the door.

She didn’t stir.

Her eyelashes fluttered faintly, but she remained asleep.

Without thinking, I leaned down and lifted her, cradled her in my arms

Light.

Soft.

Untouched by everything rotten.

The guards bowed silently as I walked past them, straight through the mansion, and into her room.

The maids opened the door quickly.

I placed her down gently on the bed.

"Change her into something comfortable," I told them quietly. "She’s not to be disturbed. Let her rest."

They nodded immediately.

I looked at her once more before I stepped out.

She looked safe here.

I didn’t want that to change.

---

I closed her door and stepped into my own room.

The second the door clicked shut, I ripped off my jacket, tie, shirt.

I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower so hot the steam hit me like a wall.

I stood there.

Water running down my spine.

But her face wouldn’t leave my head.

Not Alina’s.

Hers.

Vielle.

---

The red wine soaking into her chest.

The shattered glass in her hand.

That look in her eyes- like she was ready to die in front of me.

i could feel the madness inside them.

And the worst part?

She wasn’t faking it.

I knew what fake looked like.

I’ve dealt with liars, traitors, broken girls who used tears like weapons.

But she...

Tonight, she wasn’t trying to win.

She wasn’t even trying to survive.

She looked like she’d already lost.

---

I stepped out, towel around my waist, droplets falling from my hair.

My fingers trembled slightly.

I walked to the bar. Poured whiskey into a crystal glass.

I stared at it.

Then I gripped it too tightly.

Crack.

The glass snapped.

Blood poured from my palm, trailing over my wrist and down my arm.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

The pain felt deserved.

I heard the knock and allowed my man to come inside.

"Boss we investigated the party, Somehow the CCTV footage is missing. But we talked to some witnesses and according to them Lady Viella didn’t really pushed Miss Alina but it was just an accident"

I dismissed them.

After hearing that i felt something weird inside me, is it guilt?

in the end,

Why the hell did I care?

She was a problem anyway. Just cuz she didnt mean it this time doesnt mean she changed totally.

Yet I moved to stop her.

And not for Alina.

For her.

Why?

Why did I care if she bled?

I sat down in the chair by the fireplace, holding a fresh glass in my uninjured hand, letting the other bleed into a silk napkin.

I stared into the flames.

And there she was again.

Not begging for attention.

Not clinging to my arm.

But standing alone.

Wet with wine.

Drenched in madness.

And still somehow-

Human.

More human than I’d ever seen her.

I should’ve been angry. I was.

But underneath it, something cold was breaking.

Something I couldn’t name.

I was the Mafia Lord.

I ran this city. I controlled blood, money, life, and death.

So why the hell did a spoiled, broken girl with a glass shard make my chest twist like that?

Why did I still see her eyes when I closed mine?

.

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TO BE CONTINUED