Page 14 of Broken Mafia Bride (His to Break #2)

RAFFAELE

“ A nother round,” I tell the server, motioning at my empty bottle of whiskey. She eyes me carefully before walking off to get me my drink. It’s a little pathetic to be drinking alone when it’s not even seven o’clock yet, but what else am I supposed to be doing?

There’s no fight set for tonight, and even if there was, I’m not sure I’d have bothered to make it. The underground fighting ring has started to bore me. There’s no real competition there. It’s been way too easy for me to knock out my opponents.

“Want some company?” a woman’s husky voice asks.

I raise my head and see a woman in a red dress that barely goes down past her ass.

She has bleached white-blonde hair that falls in straight lines down to her ass.

She’s beautiful in that Instagram model way, but I don’t need to waste my time trying to know that my body isn’t going to give a single reaction to her.

I’ve only had the pleasure of my hand for years now, and maybe it’s better I keep it that way.

The last time Giulia disappeared on me, I distracted myself by fucking through the entire female population of the city.

When she came back, I felt so much guilt about ever touching another woman.

If—no, when—I find her, I want her to know that I never lost faith in getting her back, that I waited for her.

Another thing is that I don’t wish my crazy ass on anybody right now.

“No,” I tell the woman, tearing my eyes away.

She lets out a startled chuckle. “Are you sure about that?” Her hands slide over my chest, and she squeezes my pecs suggestively. “I’m not interested in anything complicated. You look like you’d know how to make a girl?—”

“Not interested, get out.” I grab her wrist and fling it off me. “Fuck off.”

A frown mars her expression, but she quickly smoothens it out. “I’ll be at the bar if you change your mind.”

I don’t watch her leave, irritated that the server isn’t back with my drink yet. The reason why becomes clear a few minutes later when Gino slides into my booth, Matteo following after him with my drink in his hand.

“How did you find me here?” I sigh tiredly.

The last thing I need is Matteo nagging at me for being a miserable drunk. It’s all he’s done since he waltzed back into my life a few months ago. I suspect that Tommaso had a hand in getting him to come back, and while I act like his return is bothersome, I’m secretly glad that he returned.

His presence has kept me from completely coming undone—barely.

I’m almost certain he was the one who fed Tommaso that last lead about Giulia.

A name, a place, a thread just solid enough to chase.

It led us to a forgotten fishing village that barely showed up on a map, a place so quiet it felt untouched by time.

We didn’t find her. No trace. No witness. Nothing.

And yet… I swear I felt her.

I know how it sounds. Like I finally cracked.

But the moment I stepped into that booth in the village church, something shifted.

The air went still. The silence wrapped around me like a hand on my throat.

And when I closed my eyes, it was like she was right there, just beyond reach.

Her voice, a breath. Her presence, a pulse.

I spoke to God like a man starved, begging for a whisper, a sign, anything to prove I wasn’t losing my mind.

It felt holy. Haunted. Like I’d brushed up against the edge of something sacred and terrible.

The following Sunday, I walked into Father Alberto’s chapel in Chicago for the first time in years. Sat in the front pew like some penitent bastard, waiting for that same divine heat to touch my chest again.

It never came.

But I keep going back anyway. Because for a moment, I wasn’t empty. I was close.

Too close.

It still hadn’t come.

“We just followed the stench of whiskey and misery,” Matteo says, sliding the bottle over to me.

My cousin Gino snorts. He’s still as much of a prick as he’s been since he was a kid, but the difference is that he knows I won’t hesitate to beat the daylights out of him. I’m stronger, bigger, and a whole lot meaner now.

“Fuck you,” I say without heat, popping the cap of the bottle.

“I hear wedding bells are in the near future for you,” Gino leans forward. “What happened? Do you now finally accept that the Montanari girl is dead and isn’t coming back?”

“She’s alive,” I reply.

“Don’t you think that might be even worse?” he says quietly. “It’s been four years. If she’s not dead… maybe she just doesn’t want to come back.”

I grit my teeth and say nothing, forcing myself to ignore him. I’ve already thought about everything he’s saying—over and over again. I’ve had four years to consider every possibility, to turn this pain around in my head until it carved itself into my bones.

No body means she’s not dead. But then why hasn’t she come back? Why has she stayed away all this time?

She left me once before, but this… this was different. We were this close to finally getting everything we dreamed of—marriage, freedom, a real future. It doesn’t make sense that she’d walk away from all of it without a word.

Could she really be so cruel as to vanish without a trace? Not a single call to me. Not to Isabella. Not even to her father. Four years of silence.

She was happy with me.

Wasn’t she?

“Forget her, Raffaele,” he urges me. “Don’t you think that what’s going on here is more important? This is a full-blown war, and it’s escalating as the days go by. You’re wasting time and resources searching for someone who’s dead when?—”

“Say she’s dead one more time.” My voice is cool, deceptively calm. “I dare you.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to be a douchebag.”

“You’re not trying all that hard.” Matteo snorts from his side, motioning at the server to bring more drinks over.

The music changes in the club, and I hear the faint roar of the crowd whooping in excitement at the choice of music. It must be one of the new famous pop songs.

The server arrives shortly after with the drinks. My cousin waves her away.

“No way.” He shakes his head. “I can’t take any of this crap anymore since I got my surgery.”

“I thought alcohol affects your liver, not your kidneys,” Matteo raises a brow at him.

He glares at him. “Ask me if I care. My wife put me on a strict diet, and she’s been fussing over me twenty-four-seven. I won’t be careless about my health by drinking or eating junk.”

Matteo shoots me a look, and I shrug.

“Anyway, Raffaele is drinking enough for all of us,” he points out.

I raise my bottle in a mocking toast to his words and take a long pull.

Even the burn of the whiskey—the one thing that used to make me feel half-alive—is gone now.

I barely taste it. And these days, it’s getting harder and harder to get drunk.

After years of being best friends with the bottle, I’ve built a hell of a tolerance.

“Look, man, some of us have families we actually care about,” my cousin says, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t want to lose mine. But ever since this shit started, I’ve been living in constant fear that a stray bullet or a bomb is going to take them from me.”

His expression hardens. “And I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels this way—who just wants this fucking war to end.”

“And what exactly do you suggest I do about it?” I drawl.

He scoffs. “Stop being difficult. You know damn well how to end this. Look, I’m sure if Giulia is watching from wherever she is, she’d be happy to see you moving on, taking care of her cousin.”

I sigh, suddenly regretting ever telling him about Giulia and me.

I was drunk, bitter, and raw. Gino had been stuck in a hospital bed, waiting for surgery, desperate for any kind of distraction.

Once he was discharged, he wanted to know everything.

He remembered Giulia from that retreat all those years ago.

Imagine his face when he realized the girl who’d once put him in his place and sent him running off like a scolded kid was the same girl who had me completely undone.

“I’m not marrying Isa,” I tell him firmly. “I’m going to find Giulia. And I’m going to marry her. End of story. It’s her or no one.”

“You’re being a selfish ass,” he snaps.

“Because I’m not willing to be your fucking Messiah and sacrifice myself?”

“The problem is that you think marrying anyone else but her will be sacrificing yourself,” he says.

“Get your head out of your ass, Raffaele. If I had to do it, I’d have done it.

Unfortunately, it’s up to you. It’s just marriage, man.

You can keep on searching for her or whatever, and I’m sure she’ll understand when she—uh—comes back. ”

“Hey, you’re a Gagliardi too,” I smile coldly. “Go marry the damn girl and save the city. I’m sure your wife will understand. It’s just marriage, after all.”

“You two should quit it,” Matteo finally cuts in. “You’re both beginning to sound ridiculous.”

“You know I’m right, Matteo,” my cousin insists. “You know I am. Talk to him, maybe he’ll listen to you.”

I look over at Matteo and see a grimace on his face. The look tells me everything I need to know. He thinks I should go ahead with what everyone wants and seal the deal with Isabella.

I can only drag this out for so long.

It’s stupid to feel betrayed that no one’s on my side about this. Not that I fucking need them to be. I’ve been searching for her on my own, and I’ll keep doing it—alone. I open my mouth to say as much, but a noise behind me cuts me off.

“What’s going on there?” Gino asks.

“Some punks are trying to get through the bouncers and get into the club,” Matteo says, taking a sip of his drink.

I rise to my feet and walk over to them. A group of six stands outside the red demarcation of the VIP area. None of them looks like they’re even of legal drinking age.

“What’s going on here?” I ask Milo, the bouncer.

“They’re insisting that they have VIP tickets, and I’ve tried to tell them that the VIP lounge is inaccessible tonight, but they won’t get lost.”

“Shut up, baldie,” one of the boys snaps. He has tattoos scattered around his body and even a small cross under one eye. He appears to be the gang leader—a little boy playing at being a big, bad wolf.

“Go home, kid,” I tell him. “Your trouble isn’t welcome here.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but hesitates when he glances over my shoulder and spots the other two men. “Look, we’re here with our girls. We’ve already promised them a good night. Just let us in, bro.”

I grit my teeth at being called “bro” by this kid.

“The VIP lounge isn’t open today.” So maybe shutting it down for only my use for the day is an asshole move, but it’s my goddamn club. I can do whatever I want.

“But you three were just in there,” he snarls.

Gino snorts. “Jesus Christ, get lost, kids. None of you can afford a bottle up here anyway.”

The boy grins, showing off a gold tooth. “Says who? We got money.”

“You can take your money somewhere else.” My voice is harder. I was already pissed at my solo time being interrupted by first the blonde, then Matteo and Gino. The last thing I need are loud, wannabe gangsters bothering me.

“Why not?” He sneers. “You think the Gagliardis are too good to touch the Contis’ dirty money? Yeah, I know who you are. You’re Raffaele Gagliardi.”

“You know that, and you’re still standing here mouthing off,” Matteo sighs. “Did you sell your brain for that gold tooth, kid?”

“I’m not a kid!” he snaps, red rising up his cheeks.

I drag a hand over my face. I feel way too old to be dealing with shit like this. “Come back tomorrow, the VIP lounge will be open for you then.”

I turn to leave, more than eager to go back to my bottle of whiskey.

“Raffaele, watch out!” Matteo roars.

I spin around, but it’s too late. It happens all in the blink of an eye. I see the kid’s arm arcing down, something glinting in his hand. Gino is already stepping in front of me when I turn around. The blade stabs into his side, and he drops to the floor.

Matteo and the bouncer are disarming the boys, pinning them to the ground while pulling out their phones to call emergency services.

I know it’s useless the second I see the blade buried deep in Gino’s side.

Too deep. Too precise.

It hit the kidney.

In the underground fighting ring, I’ve sent grown men to their knees with one clean strike to that spot. I’ve watched blood leak like water from a cracked pipe, seen the light drain from their eyes as their body gave out. I know what a fatal blow looks like—and this one is textbook.

Gino stumbles back, clutching his side as crimson blooms across his shirt like spreading ink. His mouth opens in a silent gasp, like his body hasn’t caught up to the pain yet. Then he collapses.

“Gino!” I drop to my knees beside him, hands already slick with blood as I press down, uselessly trying to stem the tide. It gushes out between my fingers, hot and terrifyingly fast. “Stay with me. Fuck, stay with me.”

His eyes lock onto mine—wide, wild, terrified. But there’s something else there too. He knows.

I can see it in the way his body shudders, already beginning to go slack. In the shallow rattle of his breath. In the way his lips try to move, but no words come.

Panic claws at my chest.

“Matteo! Call someone!” I yell, though I already hear the frantic voices, the scuffle of feet, the barked orders. Someone’s dialing. Someone’s shouting for help. But it’s all white noise. None of it matters.

Because help won’t get here in time.

I know that too.

I press harder. Useless. Blood keeps coming. Too much. His shirt is soaked, my hands shaking, and still—it won’t stop. His pupils dilate as I cradle his head, breath stuttering, rage boiling beneath my skin like lava.

And in that moment, something breaks.

I lean close, my voice a raw whisper. “You’re not dying for nothing, Gino. I swear to you, I’ll fix this. I’ll end this war. I’ll make sure your wife and kids are protected, even if it costs me everything. I can’t save you… But I can save them.”

His lips twitch.

Then nothing.

No breath. No movement. Just the silence after a storm.

I sit there, soaked in his blood, surrounded by screams and sirens, and all I can think is—this didn’t have to happen. This could’ve been stopped.

And maybe the only way to stop the next one…

…is to become the man I’ve been avoiding all along.