A Bride For The Mafia Lord

VICTORIA WASHINGTON

He wasn't coming.

I could feel it in my bones. The hour was late, the candles on the table had burned down to nothing but stubs. My phone was still dead silent. The waitress's eyes lingered on me too long, giving me that sympathetic look, the one reserved for the pathetic girl who had been sitting alone for hours waiting. My fingers hovered over my phone, the screen still blank. No calls, no texts. Nothing.

Today of all days-my birthday.

I stood up slowly, my legs stiff from sitting too long, my heart heavier with each second that passed. I had dressed up for him. For us. Now I looked like a fool.

I stepped out of the restaurant, the air biting against my skin like ice. I couldn't cry, not here. Not in public. But the tears were close. Too close.

Maybe something happened to him. Maybe there's an explanation.

Maybe...

I swallowed the lies I was feeding myself, my mind too exhausted to believe them. I just wanted to go home. Sleep. Forget this night ever happened.

But then, how can I?

Exhaling, I dialed his number once again. One ring. Two. By the third, he picked up.

"Hey babe," Clinton said, his voice strained but oddly calm, like nothing was wrong.

I let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through me. "Where are you? I've been waiting at the restaurant for hours. You just... vanished."

He paused, and I could hear rustling in the background. "I'm... I'm sorry, babe," he muttered, and for a moment, it sounded like he was moving, shuffling something around. "It's been a crazy day. I was on my way to see you, I swear, but-"

"But what?" I cut in, my heart pounding in my chest. "It's my birthday and you just disappeared."

"I know," he sighed, the words dragging out like he was barely holding onto the conversation. "Just that my car broke down and then my phone died. I tried to get it fixed, but everything just went to hell. Look, I'm sorry, okay? I promise to make it up to you."

I blinked. "Your car broke down?"

"Yeah, on that back road near Pinewood," he said, the lie rolling off his tongue so easily, so naturally, it almost sounded true. "You know, the one with no signal? I was stuck there for hours until some guys with a tow truck finally passed by."

I frowned, a chill running down my spine. "Pinewood?" I repeated. "But... you're only ten minutes from my house. You could have just..."

"I know," he cut me off quickly. "I should have called sooner. I'm an idiot, okay? But don't worry, I'm fine now. I'll come by tomorrow. We'll celebrate your birthday properly. Just... relax tonight, okay?"

Something felt off. His voice was too rehearsed, too smooth, like he'd practiced this story in his head before picking up the phone.

"What's that noise I'm hearing?" I asked suddenly, straining my ears to catch the sound. It was faint, but I could hear something-like soft laughter or music in the background.

He went silent for a beat. Too long.

"That's just... TV," he quickly said. "I'm at home, remember? Trying to wind down after this whole mess."

My stomach twisted, that familiar feeling of doubt creeping back in. "Are you sure about what you're saying? Because it sounds like-"

"Babe," Clinton interrupted again, sharper this time, but still trying to sound calm, "I'm telling you, it's nothing. You're overthinking this. I'm just trying to catch my breath after a shitty day, okay?"

I swallowed hard, nodding even though he couldn't see me. "Okay," I whispered, trying to force the doubts away.

"I will see you tomorrow, okay? I love you, Vicky."

"I love you too," I murmured back, but the words felt hollow.

When I hung up, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong. I didn't want to be blinded by emotions. I needed to know. I couldn't go to sleep with this knot in my chest, this dread eating me alive.

So I drove.

I don't know what possessed me to do it-to check on him. Maybe it was that gnawing intuition, or maybe it was I just needed to see him to feel better. To reassure myself that I was being paranoid.

I drove to his house, gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white. My mind spun with all the possibilities. Maybe I would get there and find him sick on the couch, just like he said. Maybe he'd just had a bad day.

But then I pulled up to his house and all my hopes crumbled.

His car was in the driveway.

The lights were on.

And the faint sound of laughter carried through the night air.

I parked down the street, my heart pounding against my chest like a war drum. I crept up to the house, careful not to make a sound. With every step, I could feel the truth creeping closer, like a storm on the horizon.

I reached the window and peered inside.

And there they were-Clinton and Marianna, my sister.