Bound To My Mafia Stepuncles novel Chapter 87

Chapter 87

POV: Dante

The clinking of silver against china echoed faintly through the dining room, but the sound felt distant, hollow. My eyes were fixed on the door Aria had disappeared through, her absence heavier than any silence in the room. She had walked away with her head high, like a warrior retreating from battle with shattered armor. But I saw it–the tremble in her fingers, the way her shoulders curled inward for the briefest second. She was breaking. And she thought no one noticed.

But I did. We all did.

Beside me, Enzo’s knuckles were white around his wine glass. He hadn’t taken a sip. Matteo sat eerily still, the muscle in his jaw twitching every few seconds. Both wore their usual masks–cold, unreadable, untouchable. But I knew better. I knew them. I knew that beneath their calm exteriors, a storm was brewing. We were triplets; our bond was forged in blood, in war, in pack, and in pain. And Aria was ours to protect.

We weren’t fools. This wasn’t a family dinner. This was a display. A performance.

Aria had been nothing but a pawn on her family’s board, and tonight they reminded her of that. She had come with hope flickering in her chest, thinking maybe her mother had remembered she existed as more than a bargaining chip. But all she found was ice. Cold, cutting, cruel.

My fingers curled into a fist on the pristine white tablecloth. Her mother’s words still echoed in my mind, veiled insults wrapped in polite tones. Cassandra’s sweet smile that never reached her eyes. Victor’s fake concern that only surfaced when it served his interests. They disgusted

1. me.

I didn’t follow her right away. Not because I didn’t want to–but because if I stood up too fast, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from ripping the damn table in half. My jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Matteo’s hand was gripping his wine glass like it owed him blood. Enzo didn’t blink. His knuckles were white under the table, pressed flat like he was holding himself back from leaping over it. Aria’s scent still lingered, soft and floral, like crushed wildflowers after rain. She was breaking inside, and they didn’t even notice–or maybe they did, and didn’t care. That made it worse. My little dove was hurting, and I was sitting there letting it happen. That ends now.

I stood slowly, the chair scraping against the floor like a warning. My mother used to say silence was more dangerous than rage–and right now, the silence between any brothers and me was thunderous. We didn’t need to speak to know what came next. Cassandra was still giggling at something Victor whispered, but her laugh died the second my eyes landed on her. I didn’t need to raise my voice. I just stared, cold and sharp, and she shrank back like a wilted flower under frost. They could play pretend all they wanted, but the mask had cracked. They used Aria like a pawn, like she was disposable. And they were about to learn exactly what happened when someone tried to break what was ours.

“Where are you going?” Enzo asked when I stood.

“To her,” I said simply. No other words were needed.

He nodded once, a silent command passing between us.

The hall outside the dining room was dimly lit, the soft yellow glow of the sconces casting long shadows across the marble floor. My shoes echoed softly with each step, the sound sharp in the suffocating silence, I followed the faint scent of lavender and rain

The bathroom door was slightly ajar. I paused, heart hammering against my ribs. Then I heard it. Soft. Broken. A muffled sob, quickly stifled.

i knocked lightly.

“Aria

No answer.

The door creaked open further, revealing ber standing in front of the mirror. Her back to me. Her shoulders trembled as she wiped at her eyes, trying to fix the smudged eyeliner, the ruined mascara. Her reflection met mine, and for a heartbeat, time stilled.

1/3

Chapter 87

Her eyes were glassy, rimmed red, but they still held that fire–that damned stubborn fire I both admired and resented. She turned slowly, lips pressed tightly together.

“I’m fine,” she said.

My chest ached.

“You’re not,” I said, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. “And you don’t have to be.”

She shook her head, arms wrapping around herself. “You wouldn’t understand.”

I took another step. “Try me.”

Her laugh was bitter, hollow. “You think you’re here to save me? Dante, you can’t.”

I wanted to hold her, to touch her, to feel that she was still real, still with us, but I held myself back. She was like a wounded wolf, cornered and bleeding, and if I pushed too hard, she’d retreat further.

“I’m not here to save you,” I said quietly. “I’m here because I can’t watch you bleed and pretend it’s not killing me.”

She flinched, and for a second, her facade crumbled. Her lips parted, her eyes widened–and then she turned away again.

“They never cared about me,” she whispered. “Not really. I thought maybe… just maybe tonight would be different.”

My fingers brushed her arm, and this time, she didn’t pull away. Her skin was cold. Too cold.

“You have us now,” I murmured. “Me. Enzo. Matteo. You’re not alone.”

A breath hitched in her throat, and I knew she was fighting the tears again. She always fought. That was who Aria was–soft, but never weak. Fragile, but never breakable.

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