Marked By The Mafia – Episode 31&32

                  ✮{…I’M SORRY…}✮

AT THE OLD LADY’S HOUSE*

The little house smelled of chamomile and woodsmoke. In the narrow kitchen, the old woman busied herself with the kettle, the faint clink of porcelain cups echoing through the silence.

Agnes sat stiffly on a faded sofa, her hands knotted together in her lap. She glanced toward the adjoining room where Bianca had gone to change.

The soft rustle of fabric carried into the sitting room.

Agnes’s eyes wandered until she froze. Through the half-open door, she saw Bianca slip her veil aside.

For the first time, she noticed the bare skin Bianca usually kept hidden. And on that skin… marks.

A dark tattoo curled along her upper thigh. Another sprawled across the smooth plane of her stomach. Letters, bold and undeniable:

MATTY ♡ BIANCA

Agnes’s lips parted, her heart skipping a beat. Matty?

She had never seen them before. How was that possible? They had lived together in the convent for years, bathed side by side, washed laundry, slept in the same quarters. Bianca’s body was supposed to be pure, untouched.

But this?

Agnes shifted uncomfortably, a thousand questions clawing through her head, yet none finding air.

Bianca stepped back into the room moments later, draped now in a plain shift dress the old woman had laid out. Her smile was the same sweet curve as always, her eyes calm and unbothered, as though nothing at all were amiss.

Agnes stared at her, the image of those tattoos burning behind her eyes.

What are you hiding, Bianca?

The old woman entered then, carrying a tray of steaming tea. She set it down with surprising steadiness for her frail hands, her gaze flicking briefly to Bianca then to Agnes.

And in that fleeting glance, Agnes thought she saw it again… pity.

Pity for her.

Bianca had turned slightly in the lamplight, adjusting the shift dress the old woman had given her. The neckline dipped lower than the stiff nun’s habit ever allowed. And there just above her left br+st, curling dangerously close to the swell was another tattoo.

An infinity symbol, etched in black ink, delicate yet defiant.

Agnes’s throat tightened. Heat rushed to her face. This time, she couldn’t stay silent.

“Bianca, what… what are those? The tattoos… your stomach, your thigh, and—” Her eyes flickered away in shame before snapping back. “On your chest”

The room seemed to still.

Bianca froze for only a heartbeat before turning her head, her lips curving into that soft, unshaken smile. Her fingers brushed casually across the hem of her dress, tugging it up a little higher as though flaunting the secret Agnes had discovered.

“Tattoos, Sister Agnes” she said sweetly, as if it were nothing more than embroidery on cloth.

Agnes shook her head. “But… we live in the convent. We vowed purity. You—how long have you had them? Why didn’t I ever see—”

Bianca’s eyes softened, but the sweetness in them held something darker now. Something Agnes couldn’t name.

“You never looked closely then” Bianca murmured, stepping closer, the hem of her dress brushing her bare thigh.

Agnes flinched, her pulse racing. She couldn’t look away from the word inked across Bianca’s skin… MATTY… burned there like a secret lover’s scar.

Agnes whispered again, almost to herself, “Who… who is this Matty?”

Bianca only smiled wider, lifting her cup of tea without answering as she went on memory lane.

SIX YEARS AGO, AT A CLUB*

Bianca stood backstage, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the straps of her sequined br@. 

She was a stripper in this club.

She wasn’t nervous about the dance itself, she had been dancing half her life. What unsettled her was the fact that tonight wasn’t like the others.

Her boss had summoned her personally. “The Red Room, Bianca. A very important guest. Don’t disappoint”

Important guest.

When Bianca stepped into the room, the air shifted.

He sat alone on the leather couch, cigarette smoldering between his fingers, shadows cutting sharp angles across his face. His black shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show the tattoos licking up his chest, and his dark eyes looked like they hadn’t seen sleep in days.

Matteo Moretti.

The son of the Don. Twenty years old and already the devil whispered in his ear. His jaw was tight, his entire body wound like a coil. That night, he looked angry, angrier than anyone Bianca had ever seen.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she stepped on the stage. When the music began, she moved with ease, hips swaying, arms curling around the pole with a grace that had broken men before.

But Matteo didn’t move, didn’t blink. He just sat there, his eyes burning holes through her, his anger still etched deep.

So she pushed harder. She let the sequins catch the light, let her hair fall over her shoulders, her movements slower, more deliberate.

And then she saw it.

The anger in his face… softened. His jaw unclenched, his cigarette lowered.

When she slinked closer, his gaze didn’t follow her body like other men’s did… it devoured her.

Bianca climbed down, straddling the table before him, her lips curving into a daring smile.

“Do you like what you see?” she teased.

His voice came low, rough, carrying the weight of command. “Can I touch you?”

A whole Matteo Moretti is asking for her permission to touch her.

Her breath caught.

The rule was clear. No touching. Ever.

But the way he said it wasn’t a question… it was hunger.

Bianca broke the rule that night. She took his hand and placed it on her waist.

The moment his skin touched hers, the world outside ceased to exist.

She leaned closer, her lips brushing his jaw, and whispered against him. “Matty…”

No one had ever called him that before.

His eyes darkened, not with anger now, but something far more dangerous.

That night in the Red Room, under scarlet lights and forbidden rules, Matteo pulled her against him.” You are reading  from www.mhiztaemy.com.ng” Their mouths collided, desperate and claiming, and when he pushed her down against the couch, Bianca didn’t resist.

In that same room between smoke, sweat, and sin, she gave herself to him.

And he let her break him, just enough, to feel alive.

From then on, she was the only one who called him Matty.

The name he let no one else say.

END OF FLASHBACK*

Bianca smiled sheepishly at the memory of that night.

After that first night, Matteo kept coming back. Always in the shadows of the club, always asking for her in the red room. At first, he barely spoke, his anger a cloak he never shed. But every time she danced, every time she let him touch her when no one else could, his edges softened. He would whisper her name,Bianca, and she, daringly, would call him what no one else dared to.

“Matty”

It was their secret, their sin.

But one day, it ended. He stopped coming. He blocked her everywhere, erased her from his world like she had never existed. Bianca searched for him but it was all to no avail.

Heartbroken, she fled to Rome, hiding her scars beneath the white veil of purity. A nun’s habit became her refuge, her punishment, her disguise. 

And now… here she was.

Back where it all began. Back in his world.

Bianca’s fingers ghosted over the ink above her heart, the infinity mark that would never fade. She lifted her gaze, her smile curving darker and sharper.

A message suddenly came through her phone.

•••

BACK IN MATTEO’S ROOM*

Aurora paced the length of the room like a caged bird, the silence pressing in on her from every corner. The guards outside hadn’t moved or dare open the door, only Matteo has the right to open it.

Restless, she turned her attention to his things. Drawers slid open, leather-bound folders shifted under her hands, but most of it was nothing. Just documents, cufflinks, the faint trace of his cologne clinging to fabrics.

Then she saw something. 

Tucked beneath a stack of shirts, glinting faintly under the light was a small silver pendant.

Aurora picked it up carefully, her brows knitting as her eyes traced the engraving.

BIANCA.

The name curled elegantly across the metal, but it carried a weight she couldn’t explain.

Her fingers lingered on the pendant, her heartbeat quickening with unease.

Who was this Bianca?

And more importantly… what was she to Matteo?

She has asked Matteo this but he never replied her, he just went stiff.

Aurora closed her hand around the pendant, her mind already spinning with possibilities.

The room suddenly felt smaller, the silence heavier.

She dropped the pendant.

“Bianca…”

•••

NIGHT, AN ABANDONED WAREHOUSE*

Matteo was expecting Bianca any moment now. He had told Ace to send her a message that he wanted to see her. Not to rekindle anything, not to open old wounds. Just to warn her and to remind her to stay the hell away from him.

His mind betrayed him, pulling him back to that night years ago. The night he wanted to go to the club, silver pendant in hand, ready to give it to her.

But his father had stopped him.

The sting of that memory was still sharp.

Smack!

“What am I seeing? You’re getting involved with a stripper?” Don Salvatore’s voice had roared across the room, his palm crashing against Matteo’s cheek.

“I… I like her, Dad—”

Another slap. Harder.

“I never raised you to like anybody. Come back to your f+king senses, bastard”

The words carved themselves into Matteo’s bones. That was the night he realized he had slipped, let his guard down, let someone crawl past the walls around his heart.

A mistake.

From that day forward, he cut Bianca off completely. No more visits, no more stolen touches and no more weakness.

She had been messing with his mind, and Matteo couldn’t afford that.

Not then.

Not now.

The heavy oak door creaked open, and Bianca walked in.

“Matty!” she breathed, rushing toward him with open arms.

Matteo’s jaw tightened. Before her hands could reach him, he shoved her back with such force that she stumbled, crashing on the floor. A sharp cry tore from her lips as her elbow scraped, leaving a bruise already darkening her pale skin.

She looked up at him, wide-eyed, clutching her arm. “Is this how you welcome me?” Her voice wavered, threaded with hurt. “We haven’t seen each other for years now, Matty. I miss you… didn’t you miss me?”

He said nothing. His silence was colder than the push.

“What we had was real” she whispered, her throat tightening. “And you know that”

Matteo’s expression didn’t shift.

Her lips trembled before she dropped the words she had carried like poison all these years.

“I was pregnant with your child”

The air in the room stilled.

Bianca’s eyes watered as her voice broke. “I left Sicily because of the shame… because I couldn’t bear people’s whispers. I had to abort it, Matteo. I had to… because I couldn’t raise the child alone”

Matteo’s eyes widened, a rare crack in his stone-cold facade.

“You… you were pregnant for me?” His voice was low, rough, almost disbelieving.

Bianca’s tears slid freely down her cheeks as she nodded. “Yes. I searched everywhere for you… I wanted to tell you, but you stopped coming to the club. You just disappeared, Matty” Her lips trembled as she reached for him, stepping closer.

Before Matteo could pull back, she tilted her face upward, leaning in to kiss him.

But he snapped his head away, rage flickering back into his gaze. His hand struck out, shoving her with a force that sent her stumbling backward again.

“You need to move on, Bianca”  he growled.

“Forget about me. Erase me from your life. Let’s not meet again”

Without another glance, he turned, his long strides carrying him out of the room. The heavy door slammed behind him, echoing the end of everything they once had.

Outside, Matteo slid into his car, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. The engine roared as he sped off, but his mind wasn’t on Bianca anymore. It drifted instead to Aurora, the girl he had locked away since morning.

When he finally reached the mansion, he went straight to the room. The key turned in the lock, and the door creaked open.

Aurora was there, sitting right by the door, as though she’d been waiting for hours. She shot to her feet, her eyes narrowing. “You finally decided to—”

Her words cut short when Matteo suddenly pulled her into his arms. The hug was firm, unlike anything she’d ever felt from him.

His lips brushed her ear as he whispered hoarsely, “I’m sorry… wifey”

Aurora froze in his embrace, her heart slamming against her chest, torn between confusion and a feeling she dared not name.

•

•

•

TBC😈

Next Episode