Page 17 of Broken Mafia Bride (His to Break #2)

RAFFAELE

“ I ’ve heard everything you’ve said and?—”

“Oh, piss off, Edoardo!” Aunt Tilda roars, startling everyone in the room. “I don’t want to hear your bullshit reassurances. I’m sick and tired of you going on about how everything will be all right—and I’m sure everyone else here is sick of it too.”

“Tilda—” one of the women says gently, trying to intervene, but Tilda shrugs off her grip and marches forward until she’s standing right in front of my father.

“Do you have any idea what it feels like to bury a son?” she demands, pounding her chest. “I had to watch my baby be put into the ground. You can’t even imagine that kind of pain.”

“I’ve never claimed to,” my father replies, his face stony.

“You wouldn’t know pain if it hit you square in the face,” Tilda scoffs. “No parent wants to bury their child, but lately, it’s become normal. The constant deaths, the violence, the insecurity—all of it.”

“What happened was—” he starts again, but she cuts him off quickly.

“I know exactly what happened, and I’m wrecked over it. But there’s no one left to take my pain out on, because the kid who killed my son is already dead. And his mother… she must be buried in grief too.” Her voice cracks as she shakes her head, choking on a sob.

Guilt coils in my gut like barbed wire. When her bloodshot eyes lock onto mine, it’s like being skinned alive—slow, brutal, and deserved.

Gino died because of me. People will say otherwise.

That I didn’t drag him to that club. That I didn’t shove him in front of the blade.

But they don’t get it. I didn’t have to.

He was there because of me. And that’s enough.

Sleep, what little I ever managed, has abandoned me completely. And I haven’t touched a drop since I stood over his coffin, staring at that unnaturally calm face—like death had given him peace I never could.

“What would you have me do?” Edoardo says, voice tight as he drags a hand down his face. “This war didn’t start with me, but I’ve had to carry it, fuel it, bleed for it. And now it’s devouring everything we built.”

“Maybe not,” another aunt cuts in sharply, stepping forward, “but you can end it. This family feud has gone on long enough, Edoardo. And it’s spiraled past your control.

We’re being attacked from every direction—by petty gangs, by old rivals—everyone sees this chaos as their chance to take back what they lost.

“Petty criminals are littering the streets. Drugs, sex, violence—there’s no rhythm to this madness anymore!

” Tilda hisses. “Will you finally decide it’s time to act when you’re the last man standing on the rubble of everything you’ve built?

Or will it take staring at your own son’s cold, lifeless body? ”

My jaw tightens as I glance over and catch Emilio’s eyes. He raises a brow at me, and my own brows knit together, trying to make sense of the silent question on his face. My father’s right-hand man just shakes his head and looks away.

My father’s silence should’ve tipped me off. The tension in the room—the way Emilio won’t meet my eyes. Something’s coming. Something no one warned me about.

Before I can begin to decipher what that look meant, the door suddenly flies open, and four people walk in.

My hand instinctively moves toward the gun tucked in my holster at the sight of two unfamiliar men leading the group—until I spot Isabella among them.

What the?—

That’s when I see Enrico Montanari. I blink, half-convinced I’ve slipped into an alternate reality. The head of the Montanari family is standing in our living room—and no one has a gun drawn.

“What’s going on here?” I ask my father.

His eyes—so identical to mine—meet and hold. “You think I want to be in the same room as Montanari? You think I’m not choking on my pride just standing here? But I’ve done the math, and there’s only one way this ends, son—and it’s not with your tantrums.”

I can’t even remember the last time he called me son. Ever since the whole thing with Giulia, I’ve been nothing but a disappointment. His worst mistake. A stain on the family name. And now, all of a sudden, I’m his son again?

I glance over at Isabella. Isabella avoids my gaze, like she’s trying not to be here either. But she is. And that’s enough to make my blood boil.

“When did you two plan this?” I let out a dry chuckle. “Did you really think ambushing me like this would work? That showing up out of nowhere and claiming this is the only way would magically change my mind about marrying Isabella?”

“Raffaele, please,” Aunt Tilda cries. “Haven’t you had enough?”

I feel for her—her loss, her grief. I’m horrified by what she must be going through, and guilt sits heavy in my chest. But even that won’t make me cave to whatever plan my father and Enrico have cooked up.

How dare they create this mess, lose control, and then try to use everyone else to clean it up?

I know they’ve both suffered from the fallout—not just in the past four years, but even before that.

Gino’s death was simply the final blow, giving my father’s in-laws and extended family the excuse they needed to openly disrespect him.

And for a man like him, that’s worse than death.

The casualties, the burned alliances, the destroyed factories and buildings—he can’t get those back.

And now, his legs—his inability to ever walk again—serve as a daily, brutal reminder of everything he’s lost.

Enrico hasn’t fared any better. Isabella tells me how much his medications have increased, how he’s become a ghost of the man he used to be, wracked with guilt over his daughter’s death.

Even a blind man could see he’s fading. He’s battling some illness no doctor has been able to name, and he’s convinced he’s running out of time.

His business is crumbling. And after the failed attack—just before Giulia and I tried to elope—he lost nearly everything.

The truth is, Enrico no longer has the strength or resources to take on the Gagliardis—especially now that we’re gaining power under my leadership. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t struggling. If this war doesn’t end soon, we’ll be worse off than ever.

He’s being backed into a corner by the very organizations he aligned with after Alessandro pulled away—because I forced him to.

Enrico took a massive gamble forming those alliances for that one strike against the Gagliardis.

And now? Now he’s desperate. He doesn’t have a choice anymore.

He has to stay in bed with them, not just because of the Gagliardis, but because the other major families are demanding an end to this war.

The bloodshed has drawn too much attention: police scrutiny, FBI investigations, disruption to their businesses.

But even all of that—even a personal text from the devil himself—wouldn’t be enough to make me marry Isabella.

“We’re tired of losing the people we love,” one of the women says, her voice trembling. “Don’t we deserve an end to this?”

“Well,” I say coldly. “I guess everyone’s getting what they deserve today.

I lost someone I love too. And what did anyone do about it?

Nothing. So why should I be the one to fix this for you, when no one even tried to fix it for me?

How can you all just forget about her—like she never existed? Especially you, Enrico.”

Enrico’s eyes dull at the mention of his daughter, the words hitting him like a sedative. “No one has forgotten her,” he says quietly. “To this day, the truth about her disappearance is still unknown—and you have no idea how much it breaks me, as a father, to be unable to bring her justice.”

Her death—if she’s truly dead—could have been nothing more than a trick.

Maybe from the Echelon Syndicate, maybe another rival family trying to use the Montanari–Gagliardi war as a smokescreen for their own gain.

That’s how this world works. People die for profit.

For leverage. Sometimes for nothing at all.

“We’ve both spilled more than enough blood,” Enrico says, his voice tight with barely restrained fury.

“But this war is no longer under anyone’s control.

The streets are bleeding out. The business is cracking.

And if more lives are lost, it won’t be because I stood by, pretending pride was still worth something. ”

He pauses, jaw clenched. “I’m not doing this because I want to play peacemaker.

I’m doing it because if we don’t end this now, we won’t have anything left to fight for.

And believe me—I’d rather bury my ego than watch this entire city turn to ash.

I didn’t come here to beg. I came to end a war.

And if it costs you your pride, Raffaele—so be it. We’ve all paid worse prices.”

The room goes still. His words hang heavy in the air—ugly, inevitable.

“Isabella is the only girl of the right age, and she knows her duty.”

“So now you crawl back, broken and afraid, and expect me to clean up the mess you made?” I sneer. “It took your daughter vanishing and my father losing the use of his legs for you to finally grow a conscience?” I shake my head. “You both disgust me.”

“Raffaele—” Emilio steps forward, but I lift a hand to stop him.

“Not another step.” He hears the warning in my voice and freezes, staring at me like I’m a beast about to snap. And maybe I am.

Something is building inside me—raw, primal rage. A violence I thought I’d buried long ago. But it’s back now, rising up like a tide, thick and unrelenting. Solidifying into something heavy, real. Digging into me like it’s here to stay.

“I will not marry Isabella,” I say, voice low and final. “Not now. Not ever. And the next time any of you think about trying to convince me otherwise, save yourself the effort. I’m not changing my mind.”

“There is no other choice,” Enrico says, his voice faint.