Page 22 of Broken Mafia Bride (His to Break #2)

GIULIA

M y phone is ringing somewhere in the room.

I can’t remember where I tossed it, and I don’t care. I wish it’d shatter into a million pieces so I can be unreachable, and they’ll finally leave me alone. All I want to do is sleep, and cry without feeling like I’m wasting away. Why can’t they just let me drown in my own misery?

I don’t need anyone to save me from my deep depression or try to distract me with forced over happy conversations. I tune the sound of the ringing phone out and start to close my eyes again.

Lately, I don’t even mind that nightmares of Noemi haunt me. I used to run from them, staying awake for days just to avoid the crushing guilt that hit me every time I woke up drenched in sweat. But now… now I find myself longing for sleep.

I need to torture myself with the guilt because I can’t stand the thought of my daughter suffering alone.

The door creaks open, and I open my eyes to see a figure approaching me. I’m not sure what time it is, or how long ago I heard my phone ringing. The blackout curtains are permanently drawn in my room, and the days have all started to blur together.

“How can you live like this?” Caterina grumbles. “I have pets scattered everywhere in my house, and it doesn’t even look half as bad as this.”

“Go away,” I start to cover my head with the blanket, but she snatches away.

“You’ve had three days of living like a sewer rat,” she says, walking over to the window and yanking the curtains open. Harsh sunlight floods the room, and I wince as it hits my eyes like a slap.

“Get up,” she orders, planting her hands on her hips. “Take a shower while I get the maid to attempt cleaning this mess. Attempt being the key word.”

“Fuck off, Cat.”

“Uh-huh.” She nods. “Nice try. Unfortunately, I refuse to fuck off. You can either get off that bed, take a shower, and join us downstairs for lunch, or I can bring the table in here, and we’ll all eat in the middle of your bedroom. Your choice.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I dare you to try me, Giulia.”

“I just want to be left alone,” I snarl. “Is that too much to ask? Why can’t you all just leave me alone to be miserable in peace? My daughter’s gone, and yet I’m supposed to pretend like everything’s okay. Wear a smile and act like my whole life hasn’t been ripped from its roots and left to rot.”

One of her dark eyebrows arches. “I like a good pity party as much as the next person, but this is just sad, Giulia.”

“Then don’t come in here if it bothers you so much,” I snap, anger surging through me.

She laughs, then grips one edge of the blanket and rips it off me. “You’re joining us for lunch, then you can go back to playing bed rot.”

“Just leave me alone! Why can’t you all just leave me alone?” Just then my phone begins to ring again. It’s all too much, like a million hands are pulling at me in different directions. The first sob rips out of my throat, like a wounded animal.

Caterina is there immediately, her hand clutching mine firmly.

She stays silent as I bow my head and weep, shoulders trembling with the force of my emotions.

It doesn’t just hurt in my chest; the pain of loss vibrates through me, settling over every inch of me. Even my bones feel brittle with misery.

“She’s gone, Cat. She’s gone, and I don’t know what to do.” My voice cracks into a whimper. “Th-that’s the worst part—the helplessness. Shouldn’t I be out there, scouring the earth to bring her home? But instead, here I am… withering, broken, and too scared to face any of it.”

“You’ll find her.”

“When?” I cry. “It’s been weeks—weeks that my baby girl has spent with sick strangers who—” I choke on the words, bile rising in my throat. “I’ll ruin your lunch with my misery.”

“Okay, then,” she snaps back without missing a beat.

“Let it be ruined. Let your grief suffocate every corner of Casa Bianca. Why do you feel like you have to be polite in your pain? Who said you shouldn’t burden people with it?

Noemi is part of all of us—in one way or another.

Everyone in this house is grieving in their own way, Giulia.

You’re not alone in this, even if it feels like it. ”

Her hand brushes my greasy hair away from my face. “Your job right now should be keeping yourself healthy so when they get your kid back, you’ll be able to take care of her. Do you think you’re currently in a state where you can care for her?”

I think about it, and realize she’s right. Torturing myself isn’t helping Noemi in any way. It’s only been a way to absolve myself. I don’t know what state she will come back in, but I need to be able to take care of her, and the wreck I’ve become isn’t capable of caring for anyone.

“Okay,” I say slowly.

“Shower and get dressed.” She rises to her feet. “You don’t have to be the life of the party, all you have to do is show up and eat. Maria cooked, so you don’t have to be afraid of getting food poisoning.”

A small smile touches my lips for the first time in what feels like forever.

I stumble to my feet and head to the bathroom. I push my exhausted body to wash my hair, take a thorough shower, and brush away the sour taste from my mouth. When I step back into the room, Caterina is in the process of fitting fresh sheets on the bed.

“Get dressed.” She waves me away when I try to help. “I’ve got this.”

By the time I’ve slipped on loose-fitting pants and a halter top, I have to admit that I feel a little better, and my room is in some order. Locking our arms together, Caterina pulls me downstairs just as my grandfather is settling into his seat at the head of the table.

“Giulia, you made it to lunch!” The corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile, and I offer him a small one in return.

Pepe stands up to pull a chair out for me and Caterina. I see their eyes meet as she slides past him to sit, and the amount of emotion in that brief second of eye contact makes me suddenly crave for Raffaele.

I push the feeling away and settle into my own seat.

I don’t have much of an appetite, but Caterina looks excited to see me at the table, so I promise myself to force myself to eat as much as I can.

“I’m glad you’re up and about,” Lucio tells me. “Isabella will be glad to see you when she gets here.”

“Isabella is in Sardegna?” My head shoots up, and I stare at him in surprise. I glance over at Cat. “You didn’t mention.”

“I had no idea.”

“She called a few minutes ago,” Lucio informs me. “Apparently, it was a split-second decision.”

I haven’t seen Isabella in years. I’ve kept up with her in secret, scrolling through her Instagram posts like a ghost haunting someone else’s life—watching her laugh, travel, smile.

She looks happy, untouched by the wreckage I’ve been living in.

And even though I know she’ll be furious with me for disappearing, I have to believe that once I explain everything… she’ll understand. She has to.

My chest warms at the thought of seeing her again.

“She doesn’t know you’re here,” he continues. “It’ll be a bit of a surprise for her to see you alive, well, and here.”

I narrow my eyes at him, hurt by the accusation in his voice. “I had my reasons for staying away.”

“I know,” he says, reaching out to briefly cover my hand. “But I think it’s time you finally let it all out.”

He pulls his hand back and returns to his meal. “Oh, and by the way—there’s something else you should know. She’s engaged. And she’s bringing him with her.”

“Engaged!” I gasp. “To who?”

There wasn’t a single hint on her account. No photos, no captions, nothing that suggested she was seeing someone.

I hope to god Papa didn’t force her into marrying one of his allies’ sons for the sake of money or arms. My fingers curl into fists in my lap. I wouldn’t put it past him—so cold-blooded he could’ve done it without a second thought.

“He’s actually Pepe’s cousin,” Lucio says happily. “The family connection is strong in Casa Bianca.”

“My cousin?” Pepe sounds surprised.

Sometimes I forget he isn’t blood. My grandfather treats him like a son, and since I arrived in Sardegna, he’s treated me like a sister.

“That’s exciting,” Caterina says brightly. “I hope they have the wedding here.”

“Which cousin is this?” Pepe asks, leaning forward curiously.

Lucio opens his mouth to answer?—

But the doors of the dining room swing open.

And just like that, the air shifts.

I rise to my feet, breath catching. “Isabella, long?—”

The rest dies on my tongue the second I see him.

A tall figure steps in behind her, and time collapses.

Our eyes meet—and just like that, I’m a child again again. Standing barefoot in the sun, yelling at a scarred boy who thought I was stealing his dog.

Then I’m twenty-three, dangling off a cliff, his face the last thing I see before the world goes black.

The man staring at me now is neither of those people. His eyes are like chips of ice, and he’s lost weight—every inch of him sharp, too sharp. It feels like if I get too close, I’ll be sliced to ribbons.

“Ra—”

He turns away like I’m nothing, and I stagger back in shock, a full-body tremble starting in my toes and rising all the way to my hands. Why is he here? I glance over his shoulder, searching for Pepe’s cousin.

Pepe rises to his feet, a face-splitting smile on his lips. “Raffaele Gagliardi, in the flesh. Long time no see, cuz.”

Oh god, no.

I meet Isabella’s eyes, and she’s looking at me with remorse. I take a shaky step back from the table, then spin away and dash off, ignoring Caterina calling after me.

I don’t stop running until I’m deep in the garden, tall grasses slapping at my face, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Giulia, stop—for god’s sake! I haven’t run in years, and I’m wearing seven-hundred-dollar heels that were definitely not made for track,” I hear Isabella griping behind me.

It’s such a her thing to say that I can’t help but let out a broken laugh.

I turn around slowly and meet her eyes. She’s panting like she just ran a marathon, even though it was only from the house to the back garden. My gaze drops to the minimalist white-gold ring on her finger, and my stomach clenches.

“Neither of us wants this,” Isabella breathes, shaking her head. “But it’s the only way. I’m sorry, Giulia.”

“The only way to do what , exactly?”

“To stop the war,” she says, and for once there’s no theatrics in her tone—just exhaustion. “You don’t know what it’s like in Chicago right now. It’s a goddamn battlefield. No one’s safe. Not the families, not the kids, not even the foot soldiers.

Blood is running through the streets like water and something— someone —had to give. This was the only way to force peace.”

I blink at her, stunned. “Papa and Edoardo agreed to this?”

“Yes,” she says with a short, humorless laugh. “The great patriarchs. You should’ve seen them. Sitting in the same room like ghosts of themselves. It was… strange. I didn’t even believe it at first. Giulia, they thought you were dead.”

I don’t speak. I can’t.

She softens, but only slightly. “More surprising than them agreeing to peace was walking into this house and seeing you here. After four years , Giulia. Four.

Years. Do you have any idea what that time has cost the people who love you?”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“Raffaele’s been searching for you like a man possessed.

Like he couldn’t breathe without knowing if you were alive.

And your father? He’s sick, Giulia. He’s barely holding on.

Do you think this has been easy for him?

Do you think watching his empire burn while mourning the daughter he thought he lost didn’t break him? ”

She takes a breath, shaky now. “I’m not justifying everything, but… marrying Raffaele—it was a move on the chessboard. One that would save hundreds of lives.”

Isabella’s words echo in my chest, sharper than any accusation could be.

Why didn’t you come back?

I want to tell her everything—that I was scared, broken, surviving. That I thought staying away was the only way to keep them all safe. But my mouth is dry. My guilt is louder than my reasons.

And then it hits me, fully—Isabella and Raffaele.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that my cousin is engaged to the man I once thought I’d spend forever with. My cousin and my…

I don’t even know what Raffaele is to me anymore. Ex-fiancé? Ex-something? That word feels too clean for what we were—for what we still are under all the scars.

It sounds laughable now. After years of being pulled apart by blood and war, by people who refused to let us be together, those same people are now pushing for a marriage.

A union they once forbade, suddenly holy when it suits their strategy.

It feels like fate wanted me gone from the very beginning. Would they have pushed for a marriage between Raffaele and me if I had come back years ago?

“Giulia—”

“Giulia, are you okay?” Caterina’s voice cuts in, and she appears from the other side, gaze swinging between me and Isabella.

“I’m fine,” I assure her.

“You ran out like you’d seen a ghost,” Caterina says, her tone laced with concern. “Are you okay?” Her gaze flicks to Isabella, sharp. “What happened?”

Isabella straightens, her expression calm but unreadable. “Nothing. We just needed a moment to talk—family things.”

Caterina arches a brow but doesn’t push. Instead, she turns back to me. “Lucio’s asking for you.”

I nod, grateful for the shift in focus. I don’t have the energy to bridge the gaps in everyone’s understanding right now—to unpack years of silence, pain, and half-truths into something coherent.

The weight of it all feels impossible to carry, let alone explain.

And honestly, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Nearly everyone I know is in Sardegna, yet suddenly, only one voice matters.

The one I’ve run from for years.

The one I never stopped hearing in my head.

I turn to Caterina, my voice quieter now, but firm. “Tell Lucio… I need some time. Please.”

She watches me for a second, searching my face, then nods once and steps away.

I walk back to my room on autopilot, the conversation with Isabella still echoing in my ears. He’s sick. Barely holding on.

Each word had landed like a stone in my chest.

I find my phone sitting neatly on my bedside table, like it’s been waiting for this moment all along. My fingers tremble, but I don’t hesitate.

Climbing into the center of my bed, I sit cross-legged, cradling the phone in both hands like it might burn me. I dial the number without needing to think—muscle memory born of a childhood long buried.

The line rings once. Twice.

Then—

“Hello,” comes the voice. Raspy. Tired. Older.

I let out a deep breath, in an attempt to ease every tense nerve and muscle. My throat tightens. I haven’t called him in years. I don’t know what he’ll say—or if he’ll even want to hear from me. But I say it anyway.

“Hello, Papa.”