Page 6 of Broken Mafia Bride (His to Break #2)

RAFFAELE

“ Y ou’re going to get yourself killed.”

I glance over at Tommaso with a wide smile. “No, I’m not. Those guys shoot like they’re toddlers with water guns.”

His eyes widen as more bullets ping against the wall we’re hiding behind. “Boss, if you go out there, you?—”

I don’t stick around to hear the rest of his bitching.

I don’t remember Tommaso being so goddamn boring anyway.

This is why I need Matteo around; he’s the fun one.

Unfortunately, I have no idea where the bastard’s disappeared to.

I haven’t heard a peep from him since he snatched my gun away at the cliff.

Probably off-grid somewhere, working on some federal government confidential stuff as usual.

Aiming forward, I pull the trigger of my gun while gunshots rain past me.

I laugh when the first attacker is hit on the shoulder and drops, the second one follows suit barely a second later with a hit to the forehead.

A bullet scrapes past my arm, and I wait for the pain, but just like with every other time for the past months, it doesn’t come.

I’m simply numb.

The part of my brain that feels things is far too busy dwelling in the harrowing pain of losing Giulia to feel anything else.

Laughing manically, I shoot at the third guy, blowing out his knees first before targeting his head. Gunshots still ring out from around the warehouse, and as I turn to run toward it, someone grips my arm, stopping me.

I glance over my shoulder at my right-hand man and yell, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“We have to leave,” he informs me. “Their reinforcements are here. We are outnumbered six to one, it’s a suicide mission at this point.”

I snort. “So you want me to run off with my tail between my legs like a bitch?”

His mouth presses into a thin line. “Coming here was a crazy move from the onset. The cartel trading in our docks could have been the perfect chance to solidify a collabora?—”

I tear my hand away, sneering at him. “Sometimes, Tommaso, you have to forget about business. Being in the mafia isn’t just about making money, it’s blood and death.”

“Stop acting like a fool!” he snaps. “You think if she saw you like this, she’d even want you anymore?”

It happens so fast, I barely have time to register that I’m moving. The hand with the gun smashes against the side of his face, causing him to stumble away, blood trickling down one side of his face. “Don’t you ever speak to me like that again. You have no idea what she’d want.”

He stares at me, expressionless, but there’s something smug about it, like he knows that I know that what he’s said is the truth.

“And none of it is relevant anyway since she’s not fucking here!” I roar, panting. For me, the worst part is the not knowing. Not knowing if she’s still out there, scared, alone, or if?—

I don’t even want to think about it.

Some part of me has accepted that she’s gone, while some stupid, hopeful part still believes she’ll turn up. When I need Matteo to do what he knows best and dig her up, the bastard decides to disappear. Almost like he knew I wouldn’t let it rest until he did.

“Fuck off if you want to,” I finally tell him, trying to get my thudding heart under control. I check what’s left of my bullets, reload quickly, and tear off in the direction of the men. To my surprise, I hear Tommaso curse under his breath and take off after me.

The ever-loyal bastard.

“You need to get that looked at,” my right-hand man says as soon as I pull up into the compound. It’s the millionth time he’s said it, and just like the other times, I slant him a look.

“It’s just a flesh wound.”

“A wound is a wound.”

Snorting, I step out of the car and jog up the short set of stairs leading into the house. As soon as I step foot in the house, I can tell that my father is in one of his shitty moods. His furious roar echoes through the house, and I wonder which unlucky bastard is getting screamed at.

I see two maids at the end of the hallway looking wary. One of them turns, notices me, makes a terrified squeak, and dashes off, the other taking her lead. I glare in the direction they just went in, wondering what the hell that was.

“Raffaele Gagliardi!” my father bellows from inside the house. “My study now.”

I stop in my tracks, jaw clenching in annoyance at being summoned like a common foot soldier. Cracking my neck, I spin on my heels and walk down the hallway in the direction of Father’s study.

The door is open, and even before I enter, I know that something is wrong. The men lining the walls refused to meet my eyes, their shoulders tense, like they were bracing for the explosion they knew was coming. My father is vibrating with rage, a second away from vibrating off his chair.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he snaps, icy blue eyes taking in my state of dishevelment with a sneer.

“Getting rid of pests.”

“By pests, you mean the Vicenzo cartel?”

I blink, surprised that he’s managed to find out in such a short amount of time. I know he’s been keeping tabs on me, but it usually takes him a day or two to find out.

“Yes.”

“You stupid boy!” He bangs his fist against the smooth surface of his desk, leaning forward threateningly. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done, you good-for-nothing waste of space?!”

My spine stiffens, fingers curling into fists at my sides. It’s nothing I haven’t heard, and worse, in the month since everything went down. Just like other times, I choose to take it without deigning him with a reaction.

“Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?” I drawl, already done with this conversation.

It’s almost time for my match in the underground fighting ring, and my blood is thrumming at the thought of feeling bones splinter under my fists, a spray of red across the walls. I’m bursting at the seams in anticipation, and the last thing I need is another of my father’s endless tirades.

“You moron!” he screams. “Did you take one too many hits to the head in your fighting cage?”

I sigh. Of course, he knows about that too. Why am I not surprised? My father’s obsession with being in control means that he has to have his eyes and ears on everything. Nothing about it is normal, but after years of it, I guess I’ve gotten desensitized to it.

“After you fucked everything up and crippled my line of attack, allowing those bastards to strike us, I’ve been trying to find partners to keep this family afloat and alive,” he bites out, eyes getting even colder, if that’s possible.

“Where is this headed?” I ask impatiently.

After what happened at the cliff, and I’d driven in a daze to the Montanari estate and held a gun to Enrico’s head, he had struck back with a move that was both ballsy and reckless.

The explosions he had set off around our clubs, restaurants, car dealership, and other property had gone off almost at the same time, rocking Chicago to its core.

My father was unfortunately caught in one of the blasts, and it left him in a wheelchair, which he’s found difficult to get used to. To be fair to him, though, he isn’t trying very hard. My father just doesn’t want to accept that he can be limited in any way.

“This,” he enunciates each letter in the word, “is headed in the direction of you’re a fucking screw-up . I let the Vicenzo use our docks to trade in good faith for a partnership, and you went in there, trigger-happy and guns blazing, and picked them off like flies.”

I wince.

“Now, his partner Ramirez, who was against this collaboration in the first place, has convinced him that everything was merely a trap from the start,” he continues.

“It looks like I invited them with one hand and slapped them with the other. What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re a loose cannon and a disgrace. ”

“Nobody told me about your deal with their cartel. Maybe if you had put me up to?—”

He cuts in with a derisive snort. “Or maybe if you weren’t a traitor to this family, I’d have been more willing to tell you anything. But how do I know you won’t go running back to the Montanaris to tell them everything?”

“That’s enough.”

“Is it?” He leans forward, his gaze dragging over my greasy hair, ripped and dirty jeans, and the leather jacket that’s now torn and blood-stained. It’s obvious he disapproves, if the way his lips curl up is any indication.

“I’ll be the one to say when it’s enough,” my father hisses. “You lost all your right here when you bent that Montanari bitch over and mounted her like a?—”

Something inside me cracks, clean down the middle, splitting open like a fault line.

I don’t wait for him to say the rest. I whip out my gun from the holster at my hip. Around me, my father’s soldiers start to pull out their weapons, but they’re too fucking slow. I move around in a circle, picking them off one by one.

Gunshots echo in the small study, followed by grunts and the sounds of five bodies dropping to the floor like sacks of potatoes.

When I finally face my father again, my face is a blank mask hiding the bubbling rage inside of me, the monster that wants to burn everything to the ground, this entire city and everything in it.

“One more time,” I urge him. “Let me hear you say it one more time.”

The older man remains mute, gaze flying around the room, searching for an escape. But there is none. I know exactly how many men my father has stationed in the house. I also know that by now they’d have heard the gunshot, and they’re currently making their way here.

I step around his large oak desk and grip him by the collar, holding him high in the air. I wave my gun around carelessly. “Say it, Father. Call Giulia a bitch and say how I mounted her. Say it. Fucking say it!” I scream in his face.

His face is bone-white, terror flashing in his eyes. It’s the first time I’ve ever truly seen my father afraid, and it gives me a high. Now I see why he enjoys it. His fear is like a drug, seeping into my veins and winding me up.

“Look, Raffaele, you know that?—”

The sound of two gunshots cuts him off. The men who thought they were being stealthy at the door fall into a small pile at the door.

“What were you saying, Edoardo?” I drawl. When he remains quiet, trembling, eyes ping-ponging between the empty doorway and the gun in my hand, I shake him a little. “Cat suddenly got your tongue, Father?”

“You’re insane,” he finally says, but it lacks all of the fire and authority I’m used to from him.

Tsking, I toss him away from me like a rag doll, watching him crash against the bookshelf before dropping to the ground, groaning in pain. “Say what you want about me, but she was never up for discussion.”

Three other soldiers rush into the room, and I make quick work of them, firing thrice in rapid succession. It’s almost too easy. I step over fallen bodies as I make my way to the door.

“Where are you going?” he asks from the floor, looking small and pathetic. I can’t believe that in my head, I’ve built my father up to be so large and powerful, while in reality, he’s the opposite.

I continue down the hallway, ignoring his furious screams and bellows. I shoot down any soldiers that approach.

I find the servants clustered up in the foyer, faces as white as pristine sheets. They whimper, huddling closer when I get close enough. I can see some of their mouths moving in a final prayer.

“My father is on the ground where he belongs. You help him up before I get back, you die,” I tell them, before continuing my way. The hunger to destroy simmers just under my skin, and I know it’ll be convenient at the underground fighting cage.

Violence is the only thing that still feels like home.