Page 3 of Broken Mafia Bride (His to Break #2)

GIULIA

I come to with a gasp, feeling like I can’t draw enough air into my lungs. My skin is clammy against rough sheets, every muscle aching like I’ve been hit by a truck. I blink at my surroundings, groggy and disoriented.

“Are you about to run again, Ariel?” someone asks.

My head feels heavy, like it’s stuffed with wet cotton.

I turn slowly and meet the wary gaze of a large man. He’s standing by my bed holding a pink, steaming mug that doesn’t suit him at all. He sees me looking at it and shrugs.

“It was a gift.”

In that moment, some parts of my memory come rushing back. I remember the confusing dreams I had and being saved by someone. I remember running too and realizing we’re in the middle of nowhere. My gaze drops to the bandage tied around his shoulder, and a sick dread squirms in my chest.

Oh god.

Did I really shoot him? The memory is slippery, half-formed.

“You should drink this.” He holds the cup out to me, but I flinch away from it.

The man glares at me. “I’m not trying to kill you. If I were, I’d have left you to sink to the bottom of the lake or left you to your fate when you were stupid enough to run.”

“G-go—” My throat is as dry as the Sahara, the words ending with a croak.

“Drink the damn tea, Ariel,” he gripes. “Poisoning is a cowardly move anyway.”

Eyeing the cup carefully, I try to sit up, but my body rebels against the movement. Too weak, I fall back to the bed, panting. Even that small movement exhausts me.

I consider my options. The man is right about the fact that if he wanted to kill me, he could have done so by now. I don’t know any bad guys who would get shot and still try to help. So maybe he’s not the enemy, after all.

“Here.” He drops the mug and steps forward, helping me into a sitting position, and thrusts the mug into my hands.

I lift the cup to my nose and sniff, wincing at the strong smell. “W-what’s this?”

“It’s supposed to make you feel better,” he says. “It’s a bunch of things, but trust me, it works wonders.”

I want to say that I have no reason to trust him, judging by the fact that he’s a stranger, but instead, I obediently press my mouth against the rim and take a sip. I’m relieved to note that it doesn’t taste as bad as it smells. Holding my breath, I toss it all down my throat.

By the time it’s all gone, the man holds out a bottle of cool water to me. My throat spasms with anticipation just seeing that simple bottle of water. I am all too glad to switch the mug for the bottle.

“Not so fast, you’ll?—”

Water goes down the wrong way. I begin to choke and hack, and the man is there a second later, patting my back and taking the bottle away.

“I tried to warn you,” he reprimands.

I glare at him as I raise my head. “A little too late.”

“You’ll be fine, princess. Nobody ever died from choking on water.”

“S-says who?” I try to snort, but only a soft, tired sound comes out. My body is trembling with exhaustion. I can’t even begin to imagine the hell I went through. I remember being fished out of the water, and something heavy holding me down in the first place.

The question was, what the hell was I doing in the water in the first place?

“Was I trying to k-kill myself?” I manage to ask softly.

He snorts, running a hand through his blond hair, biceps rippling. My gaze is drawn to the tattoos I see peeking out from the arm of his short-sleeved shirt.

“You weren’t,” he states matter-of-factly. “No one tries to kill themselves in what I googled to be a five-figure designer dress and jewelry.”

My jaw drops. “I was in a dress, with expensive jewelry?”

“A white wedding-style dress, Ariel,” he clarifies, catching me off guard.

That explains the weight that I remembered dragging me down, but it still didn’t help with the memories.

“Ariel?” I ask.

The name tastes strange on my tongue, like it belongs to someone else. But it’s better than nothing.

I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but his cheeks look ruddy all of a sudden. “I have nieces, okay? They’re into Disney princesses. Ariel fits since I saved you from drowning, like in the cartoon. You know The Little Mermaid , right?”

Some part of me recognizes that I know about it, but I can’t seem to recall the details. Everything seems to be trapped in a haze, and when I try too hard to break through the mental fog, a pulsing headache starts at the base of my skull.

“I think my name starts with a G,” I murmur.

“How do you know that? Are you remembering something?” He leans in, searching my eyes.

I pull back, not yet entirely comfortable with him in my personal space. “No. But I had some sort of dream. I don’t know what exactly it was, but it was weird.”

“Well, G is a beautiful initial for whatever your name supposedly is,” he tells me. “But I think I’ll stick with Ariel for now.”

He sees me eyeing the water and hands it to me again. This time around, I sip it more slowly, relieved when the cool liquid washes down my throat and soothes some of the scratchy dryness.

“I don’t know your name,” I point out. “And you seem to know more about me than I do.” A part of me still doesn’t trust him, and my gaze keeps on flickering around the room, trying to figure out an escape plan, just in case.

A hint of a smile plays on his lips. “I’m Marco.”

“And what do you do?”

“I’m a fisherman, contracted with organizations in the U.S. for supply.”

“So we’re in America?”

“Yes. Did you think you should be somewhere else?”

“No, but this place feels strange to me. Wherever I’m from, it can’t be around here.”

“Yeah, the lake I found you in connects to the sea. You could’ve washed in from anywhere.”

“Are you from around here?”

“No, I’m from Sardegna, Italy. Grew up there, now I work contracts that take me around the world.”

“Sounds fancy.”

He snorts. “Yeah, if by ‘fancy’ you mean hauling fish at ungodly hours and getting paid just enough to question all my life choices.”

I blink at him. “So… not fancy?”

“Not unless you’re into the broke fisherman aesthetic.”

A small, tired laugh escapes me before the dizziness reminds me why I shouldn’t be laughing. My head feels less like a cement block, though. So maybe the tea actually helped.

“What do you think h-happened to me?”

“No idea. I was taking my usual route to check my traps and saw some disturbance in the water,” he explains. “I didn’t think too much about it, because it was far beyond my traps. I assumed it was some of the bigger fish fighting for food at the surface or something.”

He drags a wooden chair over and drops into it. “Then I saw the bubbles on the surface. I didn’t think twice about it. I jumped right in, and I barely got there in time. Any longer and you could have been lost.”

I shiver at the thought.

“I tried to pull you out.”

“Tried?” I ask curiously.

Marco nods, his dark gold eyes narrowing. “You resisted at first. Fighting and clawing, even in your weakened state and trembling so bad. It must’ve been some subconscious reaction. I managed to get you to shore and had to cut the dress off you. Sorry if it was important to you.”

I try to remember if it is, but my brain draws a blank. Not like it matters now. The dress is hardly the most important part of this story.

“There was a lot of water in your lungs,” he continues, brows drawing down. “Years ago, a doctor made me take a course in CPR and basic first aid. I was glad at that moment that she did.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I’m sorry for shooting you. I didn’t… I mean, I-I shouldn’t?—”

Marco raises his hand, and my mouth slams shut, ending my tirade. “It’s fine.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not.”

He motions at his bandaged arm. “Luckily, it was a flesh wound. I’m fine. I’m more worried about you.”

“Me? Why?”

He stands up and begins to pace, wearing tracks into the carpet. Feeling nauseous following his to-and-fro movement, I shut my eyes and lean back against the wall.

“I don’t mean to scare you, but I have a theory of how you found yourself in that lake.” His voice pitches low, and a shiver rolls through me at the look in his eyes.

“Tell me.”

“Someone pushed you with the intention to get rid of you,” he says. “I’ve heard stories from the other fishermen about bodies being washed ashore when it floods.”

Ice runs through my veins at his words, goosebumps rising on my arms. I hug my arms around my middle. “Why would anyone want to get rid of me? I can’t be all that important if no one has come to find me by now.”

Or maybe he’s just being crazy, and it’s just as simple as me slipping and falling. The tight stitching in my side tells me different, though. It’s all the evidence I need that this wasn’t just a simple accident.

“I have a feeling it’s your?—”

My heart stutters. My what?

Before he can say more, there’s a brisk knock on the door, and a moment later, a woman pokes her head in through the cracked door.

“Marco, are you telling her about your conspiracy theories?” she sighs. “You’re scaring her.”

“Ariel, meet Sienna. Sienna, Ariel.” Marco does a quick introduction as the red-haired woman walks in.

She’s beautiful in a fun kind of way that puts me at ease for some reason. Her corkscrew coils and colorful clothing add a much-needed dash of color to the otherwise drab room.

“Ariel? Like the cartoon?” Sienna’s eyebrows fly up to her hairline.

My mouth quirks up the slightest inch. “It’s a nickname from yours truly. Since I don’t remember mine.”

“Nicknames already, ohh. I think I like Ariel.” Her smile is wide. “Anyway, I’m the doctor who took care of you and a good friend of Mr. Detective here. Did he tell you I was coming? I bet he didn’t. Men are something else, honestly.”

When she winks at me, I find myself smiling.

“I’m just going to go over there,” Marco grumbles, crossing the room to lean against the corner, muscled arms crossed over his chest. I take my time to drag my gaze over his tall frame, noting for the first time how good-looking he is.

“Like what you see?” Sienna asks slyly.

I turn back to her, heat rising in my face. “Uh, I-I mean, I?—”

“I’m teasing you, I promise.”

“I don’t mean to offend you,” I say cautiously. “But are there no hospitals around?” I pause and swallow hard. “He told me he has first aid experience, but wouldn’t a hospital have been safer for me?”

She glances over her shoulder at him before meeting my gaze. Her eyes are soft yet steady. “Actually, that was partly my fault,” she admits. “The wound on your side is a gunshot wound. Judging by the angle, there’s no way it could’ve been self-inflicted, like a suicide attempt.”

“What?” My voice cracks. Shock ripples through me as my mind reels.

“That means someone shot you,” Marco grumbles from the corner. His tone is rough and sullen, like he’s upset just saying it aloud.

Sienna turns and shoots him a scowl. He shrugs and looks petulant, almost childlike in his defiance. Then she faces me again and offers a faint, tender smile that feels like a lifeline.

“He thinks whoever pushed you into the lake is still out there, searching for you. He’s being a little paranoid, sure, but it’s better to be cautious when we don’t know the whole story.”

I must look as lost as I feel because she quickly adds, “But this could all be speculation, like I said. You don’t have to worry. You’re completely safe here.” Her voice is warm and reassuring, like she’s trying to wrap me in comfort.

“Sure,” I reply softly. I want to believe her despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

“Truth is, Marco would be devastated if you got hurt by some bad guys,” she says brightly. Her eyes flicker with affection. “He may not show it, but he’s been so worried about you.” Her words sink into me and stir something tender and unexpected.

I glance at him and catch the way he avoids my gaze. His eyes dart everywhere but at me. A faint warmth blossoms in my heart. This stranger, who barely knows me, cares enough to worry. The thought wraps around me like a quiet hug and eases the ache of my confusion.

Before I can ask more questions, she’s already rummaging through a bag I hadn’t noticed earlier. “I hope you’re not upset with me,” she says. Her tone is apologetic. “But I had to draw some blood while you were unconscious. I did a thorough blood workup to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”

My heart trips over in my chest, still processing everything, and I clear my throat. “It’s fine.”

“How do you feel right now? On a scale of one to ten, how bad does your head hurt?” Sienna asks.

“Seven. Or maybe I should say six. That tea was great,” I tell her.

The doctor peeks up at me. “Is that Marco’s special brew? He’s been hiding that recipe from me for years. I can’t believe he really popped it out now.” She raises her voice to make sure Marco can hear from where he’s standing. “Do I hear wedding bells?”

I catch Marco rolling his eyes at her antics, and a smile curves my mouth.

“So I’m going to leave medication for your headache,” Sienna tells me.

“I’ll also leave antibiotics for your wound.

If you start running a fever, I’ll be here in a jiffy.

You have a mild concussion, but all you need to do about that is rest. I’ll let Marco know what to look out for, so you just rest, okay?

You’ve been through a horrible ordeal, so you need to recover. ”

She begins to stand up. “Oh, and I don’t know whether you remember or not, but congratulations.”

“What?” I stare at her, at a loss.

“You’re pregnant.”

All the air leaves my body at once.

Pregnant. The word echoes in my skull, bigger than everything else. Bigger than the gunshot, the lake, the empty memories.