Dinner with the Mafia ✔

Chapter 22

Weeks passed since Niccolò's incident, and I got accustomed to the Italian life surrounding Dario and his mafia. Phoebe and dad video-called me every day to check if I was doing alright, especially with Atlas on the loose. They wanted to visit me, but I insisted they stay in New York and work in our company since it was safer.

Enola took me on tours with Andrea and a few bodyguards when Dario was too busy doing deadly sins. I was grateful for her company; otherwise, I would have gone crazy with only males around me. 

With time, Dario and I argued less and were almost on common grounds. He ran with me every morning because he knew I valued morning runs, and I thanked him for that. 

The preparations for the branch were going smoothly, and Dario and I took our time with it because we did not want any mistakes. Everything seemed peaceful, but in fact, it was not.

Atlas knew how to piss me off with his constant messages and emails. He kept finding ways to hack into my devices and send me texts expressing how much he loved me. I did not tell anyone about his pathetic attempts to make me like him back because I did not want to bother them. I kept blocking Atlas and fortifying my firewalls each time he breached them. 

It is only a matter of time before he appears.

"Bambi, what are you doing sitting outside in the cold? Get in, now!" Dario demanded when he saw me typing on my laptop in his garden. I did feel cold, but his tone was unpleasant, so I would never admit he was right.

"Don't order me around!" I replied as I closed my device and stared at him. It was ten in the evening, and he wore sweatpants and a hoodie that looked cozier than my attire. He looked like a decent and ordinary man, but he was far from normal.

"I am not ordering you around, mio Bambi. I am just telling you."

"Telling me in a demanding way. Besides, I am not your baby girl," I stated with a glare.

He smirked and bent down in front of me. His face was too close to mine, but I did not break eye contact. I was not weak. "I see you searched for the nickname's meaning in Italian," he replied.

"Yes, so stop using it!"

"I will think about it, Bambi." As he replied mockingly, he tossed me on his shoulder, grabbed my laptop, and walked inside his house.

I hit his back multiple times, but he did not release me. "Let go of me right this instant, you motherfucker. Dario, I swear to God I will burn your hair and rip your throat in your sleep if you do not put me down!" I yelled as I kept punching his back.

"Calm down, woman. I will, just a second." He walked to the living room, which was now filled with pillows and blankets, all thanks to me, and placed me on the sofa. 

He sat next to me with his left hand on my knee.

I immediately removed it because of the weird tingles I felt but not before noticing something. "How come you are wearing a ring on your ring finger when you are not married?" I asked as I stared at his hand. 

He wore two more rings, one on his pinky and the other on his index. I guessed the index ring signified his mafia, but I did not know about the pinky one since it usually meant a personal statement.

Dario looked at his fingers and chuckled. "It keeps women away from me in public. I do not have time for flings, never had and probably never will." His answer did not surprise me, given his personality.

"What about your pinky ring?"

He rubbed it and gazed at the fireplace. "I may contradict what I just said about the ring finger, but this ring reminds me that it would be nice to get married someday and settle down." This answer amazed me.