Page 35 of Broken Mafia Bride (His to Break #2)

RAFFAELE

A bottle would fix this. Whiskey, vodka, even a shitty bottle of beer, just one hit of something sharp to take the edge off. But I made a promise: I’d never touch another drop after what happened with Isabella.

I’m not an alcoholic.

Or at least, that’s what I tell myself while my body threatens to buzz out of its skin suit.

I wipe my palm over the fogged-up bathroom mirror and come face-to-face with startling blue eyes that stand out even more against my pale face.

My gaze drops to the stitches on my shoulder, where the bullet grazed me.

If I’d shifted just an inch to the right, the bullet would’ve dug deeper—and she would’ve been fine.

It’s the same thing with Gino all over again, and the guilt of it is pulling me under.

It’s been four days since the assassination, and I can’t help but think it’s my fault. I brought her here, then went off on my own to search for Noemi, incurring someone’s wrath. And now she’s dead because I wanted to be a hero.

I should’ve listened to Lucio when he told me that things on the island are done differently than in Chicago.

But fuck it—I was sick of dead ends. And anyway, I don’t trust Lucio and Enrico as far as I can throw them.

It’s hard to believe they’re putting their all into a child they haven’t even met.

I don’t know what kind of man Re Ombra is, but I doubt he’s all that different from my father—or Giulia’s. If it doesn’t benefit them somehow, it doesn’t matter.

Which was why hearing my father talk about my marriage to Isa “keeping the peace” in Chicago was ridiculous. As if he gives two fucks about peace. The fucker probably saw it as his chance to get close to Lucio Sanna, whisper about how horrible Enrico is, and strike some alliance with him.

None of that matters now anyway. Because she’s dead. And even though she deceived all of us—tore Giulia and me even farther apart—her being gone doesn’t make things easier.

Despite what she did, the truth is… she saved me.

If I’d kept drinking and fighting, I’d have eventually run out of luck and gotten myself killed.

Did she fall in love with me?

That’s the question that’s been stuck in my head. Was I so blind that I didn’t see her slowly falling for me? Or was she just desperately trying to secure her future?

Before I can spiral into another wave of dark thoughts that make it hard to breathe, I hear the bathroom door open and footsteps approaching. I know who it is immediately, and something inside me loosens, just knowing she’s close.

Then Giulia presses up against my back, a breath shuddering out of her.

“You should be resting,” I say gently.

“I could say the same about you,” she whispers, her hand curling over my shoulder, brushing lightly against the stitching there.

I catch her hand and pull her forward, spinning us around so she ends up standing between me and the sink. She lifts her head, eyes meeting mine—and a memory flashes through my mind: blood, a scream, and the sound of something breaking that might’ve been a heart.

“How are you doing?” Giulia asks. “Everyone keeps asking if I’m okay, but I didn’t know Isabella for the last four years. You did. She was your fiancée.”

“I guess her place in my life was always clear to everyone,” I tell her. Then, softly. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she blurts out, her lashes lowering. “I should have?—”

“There’s no room for blame in here,” I say, pressing my thumb lightly against her lips to shush her. “At least not now. We have all the time in the world to dissect it. Right now, you should be resting.”

“Nothing on the shooter?”

“Nothing but that he blended in with the guests until it was time to act. He escaped during the chaos. But we’re looking for him—Pepe and me.”

“Still, it’s just not adding up. Are you sure there isn’t anything else you’re missing?”

I shake my head, about to tell her about the guy from the fighting ring—but decide against it.

The last thing Giulia needs is to get more worked up than she already is.

Isa’s death has taken a toll on her, and I’ve watched her check out of conversations, watched her look lost and afraid.

I’ve seen her draw herself up with the last of her strength, all just to keep the rest of us from worrying.

“I don’t understand,” she croaks. “Why would someone come after Isa? She never did anything to anyone. It has to be the same person who has Noemi. Do you think our daughter is…”

She trails off, her face draining of color.

It’s the first time she’s called Noemi ours, and a tension I hadn’t even known I’d been carrying around dissipates.

“I don’t think the person was after Isabella. The bullet grazed me. An inch of her moving in the wrong direction and…”

Fuck. I can’t even bring myself to say it out loud. I’m hurting so bad right now, but the look on Giulia’s face tells me I can’t afford to break down more than I already have. I need to be strong for her.

I lean in.

“I swear to you, Giulia,” I tell her, cupping her face and raising her head so her eyes meet mine. “We’ll find our kid and we’ll bring her back.”

“You can’t promise me that.” She tries to blink the tears back. “I’m starting to think that?—”

I seal my mouth over hers before she can voice whatever horrible thoughts have been haunting her. I don’t want her to even put those words into the world. So I place my hand into the hair at the back of her head and pull her closer, slanting my mouth over hers again.

Her taste bursts against my tongue like fireworks, and my brain goes into overdrive.

She makes a desperate sound at the back of her throat, her hands clutching at me as she kisses me back. Suddenly, it’s no longer just a kiss to keep her from breaking. We’re two opposite ends of a magnet, and the walls between us crumble, allowing the force between us to bring us crashing together.

The torn fabric of our souls is being mended, and we’re both trembling.

There are so many words, so much left unsaid, but our mouths and hands convey everything:

I missed you.

I love you.

I’ve always loved you.

It’s always been you.

It’ll always be you.

Nobody else could have ever done it for me. It’d have been useless to try to replace you.

You’re mine.

I’m yours.

Always.

Always.

She grasps the knot of my towel and yanks, the fabric unraveling and slipping down my legs. Our mouths attack each other’s like rabid animals—kissing, biting, so eager.

“Want you,” I growl against her neck, raking my teeth down the side of her skin.

She tosses her head back, gasping, her nails digging sharply into my biceps. I hope they’ll leave scars—some evidence that this isn’t merely a figment of my imagination, that after so long, I have Giulia again.

As if in sync, our hands go for her clothes, grabbing at the thick bathrobe she has on, undoing the belt, and pushing it off her shoulders. I have to break away from her for a moment to take her in.

She’s still as impossibly sexy as ever—sexier, in fact. She’s filled out a lot more since Chicago. She’s softer, her hips more rounded, her breasts fuller. My cock throbs at the sight of her, and when my gaze meets hers, I find her staring up at me with the slightest hesitation.

“Fuck, baby,” I groan. “I missed you so much.”

This time, she’s the one who reaches for me. We come together like stars colliding—hands touching, mouths tasting, exploring, rediscovering. I grab her by the hips and lift her onto the bathroom countertop, then step between her spread thighs.

My mouth goes on a journey, tasting every inch of her honeyed skin I can find—her collarbone, her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. I lick circles around her beaded nipples, and they tighten even more.

“Raff,” she groans, leaning back and watching with half-lidded eyes.

Then, to my surprise, she reaches for me, thumbing my nipple. Electricity shoots straight down to my core, and I bite out a curse. A small, satisfied smile curves her mouth, and she pinches them.

“Fuck,” I moan.

My body is a live wire, and she’s about to trip me. I know I’m not going to last—no matter how many times I count backward. Everything about her is driving me to the edge of insanity: her smell, her taste, her soft skin, the mischievous glint in her eyes, the way her body responds to me.

“I need you, baby.”

She swipes her tongue over her lower lip, her voice husky when she says. “Then have me.”

I waste no time positioning the head of my leaking cock at her entrance. I pause for a second—the last rational part of my brain reminding me about protection. But that thought evaporates the moment she wraps her legs around my hips and lets out a soft, needy sound, arching toward my length.

Without another thought—not that I’m capable of any—I roll my hips back and push into her.

She’s impossibly tight, but so fucking wet that I slide right in like butter. I’m shaking so hard with the effort of not blowing right that second as her walls grip me.

“Christ, baby.” I drop my head on her shoulders. “I’ve fantasized about this, about you, a million times since you disappeared, but the reality surpasses anything and everything.”

“I’ve fantasized about this too,” she confesses. “You don’t know how much.”

I chuckle. “I can guess.”

“Fuck me, Raff,” she pleads. “I need you.”

I slap my palms down on either side of her hips, bracing myself, and then I’m moving inside her. I roll my hips back, then plunge back into her.

She lets out an ear-splitting scream, gasping, clawing at me. I fuck into her like a wild animal, and she’s right there with me, thrusting up to meet me. My hips piston into her, bouncing her body with the force of my thrusts.

Giulia sobs, gasping, moaning, and panting as she holds on tight, allowing me to push our bodies higher and higher until we’re standing right at the peak. She’s so fucking breathtaking, tears streaming down her eyes, mouth parted in pleasure, pupils blown.

I can feel the orgasm building at the base of my spine, threatening to erupt out of me at any second. My thrusts are beginning to lack rhythm, my body moving on pure animal instinct. Giulia bends her head and opens her mouth over the skin at the junction of my neck.

On my next thrust, she bites down on me, a muffled scream tearing out of her mouth.

I reach between us for her clit. I flick my thumb over the bundle of nerves, and a full-body shudder moves through her. I pinch her clit between my fingers.

“Come for me, Giulia,” I growl as my own orgasm begins to bear down on me.

She rips her head off me, neck straining as she comes, her pussy squeezing around me. With one last pump, I’m coming too. And then our mouths are coming together in a lazy kiss, while our bodies wind down, sweat cooling on our skins.

“I missed you, Raffaele,” she tells me. “I was so tired of it all. Of fighting you, of pretending that I was fine with us being apart. I thought it was what was best for us all. I didn’t want to be selfish.”

“I want you to be selfish about having me, tesoro .” I swipe a strand of her hair away from her sweaty face.

“So what now?” she whispers, sounding uncertain.

If it were up to me, I’d take her right down to the chapel I spotted yesterday, hold the priest at gunpoint if necessary, and tell him to marry us. But it’s not up to me. What Giulia and I just did is in no way an indication that everything is now perfect again and we’re free to be together.

There’s still so much to figure out, so many questions to answer, a cousin to lay to rest, and Noemi is still out there somewhere.

After the haze of what we just did clears, I know Giulia will still be uncertain, will still hold back.

But if there’s one thing I’ve always been good at, it’s reminding her exactly where she belongs.

So I say the next best thing. “Now, we get in the shower and get some sleep. We need it.”

Giulia looks relieved. “Okay.”

“Good girl.”

She nods, relieved. But I see the doubt in her eyes. We’ve got miles to go. And I’m not letting go of her this time.