Page 11 of Broken Mafia Bride (His to Break #2)

“For a while is how long?”

“Giulia—”

He’s the only one who slips and calls me by my real name—and only when it’s something serious. Or something he knows I need to hear.

“Just tell me,” I insist.

His eyes search mine, silence falling over the table. Eventually, he releases a breath. “Two years.”

Oh. My heart tightens in my chest, and I manage to keep my expression blank through sheer force of will. On the inside, though, a mix of emotions rushes through me.

Shock, guilt, confusion, panic.

How could he make such a decision without even telling me? I know that he’s a grown man and he can technically do whatever he wants, but it still feels like I deserved to know about this.

I never would have supported him staying back here for us.

I’m sure I’d have been fine with just the Amatos.

Or maybe not, I think, as memories of sleepless nights with him flash through my head.

But extending his stay by a few days is one thing; extending it by two whole years is a whole different thing.

“Later,” he whispers low enough for me to hear, squeezing my knee, and I nod.

I spend the rest of dinner playing around with my food and pretending to be a part of the conversation. I’m relieved when Sienna offers to put my daughter to bed, and Marco offers to clean up and do the dishes.

“Just listen to him, okay?” Mr. Amato squeezes my shoulder as he walks past me.

I try to smile, but it doesn’t quite form. “I will.”

As soon as I hear the front door shut, I make my way to the kitchen where Marco is stacking up the last of the dishes. I lean against the kitchen island, gnawing at my lip while thinking about how best to express what I want to say.

“I can hear your thoughts from all the way over here,” he sighs, turning around to face me. “So why don’t you just say your piece?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” An incredulous laugh puffs out of my mouth.

“If I’d told you, you’d have told me to go.”

“You shouldn’t have to stay.”

“I’m not here because I have to be, Ariel,” he clarifies. “I’m here because I want to be here. You can argue as long as you want, but at least admit that you needed me here at the beginning.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “You should have still told me. Do you know how this makes me feel? Like I owe you, and I don’t want to start this new life with Noemi paying back debts.”

“I wonder what kind of messed-up world you come from that’s made you think every goddamn thing is transactional.”

I go as still as a statue. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t owe me anything for something I did of my own free will. And honestly, the fact that you even think you’re supposed to owe me something is offensive.”

“What am I supposed to think when you hid it from me?” I hiss. “The only reason you hid this is because you knew I wouldn’t be okay with it.”

“Only because you’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met,” he shoots back, stepping toward me, voice tight with frustration.

“You’d rather drown than admit you need a hand.

God, Ariel, you drive me insane. You always have to have the last word, always need to be right, like letting someone in is some kind of weakness…

Sometimes I don’t even know why I let myself fall in love with you. ”

I stagger back, waiting for him to tell me it’s a joke or something, but he just stares at me steadily, his every feeling laid bare and unfiltered in his gaze. “Marco?—”

“No, listen.” He reaches for my hands, taking them in his. “Can I just talk?”

A shaky breath escapes my mouth, and I nod.

“I care about you,” he begins. “I care about you, and I care about Noemi, and both of you already feel like mine. It feels like we’re a family. It feels right.”

Tears well up in my eyes, hot and sudden, blurring my vision. My breath catches in my throat, like his words punched the air right out of my lungs.

“Marco…”

His name comes out broken, almost inaudible, like saying it hurts.

“I want this. I want you, I want Noemi, and I want us,” he interrupts. “If I have to extend my stay here, then I will, or we can go back to Sardegna, have a whole new beginning. You’d love it there, Ariel. It’s endless water, a town that feels like family.”

“Marco, stop. Please j-just stop.” I shake my head, pulling my hands away. “This isn’t fair to you.”

How can I? When it still feels like every single beat of my heart belongs to another man? When it still feels like our hearts are beating in tandem, regardless of distance and time?

“Why not?” he asks. “Tell me you don’t feel anything. Not even a little bit. Tell me that I’m wasting my time here.”

“I care about you, Marco. How can I not after everything you’ve done for me? After watching how amazing you are with my daughter? You saved my life and gave me a new one, and for that, I’ll always be grateful. You’ll always, always have a special place in my heart. But?—”

Suddenly, he seals the distance between us, slanting his mouth over mine. I kiss him back, pressing closer to him, pouring the words I can’t express into the kiss, saying goodbye in a way I can’t.

I’m sorry.

He tastes like salt and home and heartbreak. And for a second, I let myself wonder what it would be like to choose him. But my heart’s still somewhere else, caught in a storm it can’t forget.

I step away, breaking the connection between us.

“I’m so sorry, but I can’t,” I whisper as a tear rolls down my cheek. He steps close and gently brushes it away, nods, and kisses my forehead.

I see his face sometimes, in the way Noemi tilts her head when she’s stubborn, or when she laughs like the world owes her nothing. I miss his arms around me—not the comfort, but the chaos of it. Like the world could burn down, and he’d still be holding me.

Silence grows between us, stiff and painful. I start to open my mouth a hundred times to say something, but my throat feels impossibly tight.

“I’ll be returning to Sardegna soon,” he says quietly. “I’ve been gone too long from my family, and I’ve already completed the work that brought me in the first place. There’s nothing left for me here. And maybe you need some space to figure things out for yourself.”

He glances around. “I’ll miss this house and all the memories we’ve created here. I hope you stay, though, and create a whole lot of new ones.”

“Noemi will miss you,” I say just as quietly.

Our eyes meet and hold, and I know he can hear the words I don’t say. A small smile curves his mouth. “I know.”

I turn and bolt, rushing out of the kitchen and up the stairs. The pain comes just as I slip into my bed. Sobs wrack my body, and I curl up into a ball, fist pressed to my chest.

It’s the pain of being caught between two lives. The agony of knowing I’m letting go of something good—something solid—because my heart is still tethered to a ghost. It’s the pain of loving someone so deeply that even time can’t loosen the grip.

And the truth I’ve tried to bury rises all over again: I’ll never move on from Raffaele Gagliardi.

Not in this life.

Not even in the next.