Page 9 of Broken Mafia Bride (His to Break #2)

RAFFAELE

T wo days after the chapel

I start to reach for the bottle of whiskey, but the pain in my shoulder stops me. I fall back onto the couch, hissing in pain.

“Goddamnit.”

I turn my head to stare at the ugly gash on my shoulder. I don’t remember getting the wound, but I sure as hell remember feeling the burn in my shoulder. I snatch the alcohol off the table and splash it over the injury.

I cry out at the burning sensation, putting the bottle to my mouth and taking a long gulp. I sigh when the burn of the alcohol rushes down my throat and settles in my stomach.

I must have fallen asleep at some point because the sound of the bloody doorbell ringing causes me to shoot upright, the half-empty bottle tumbling to the floor, contents spilling.

I glare at the bottle, then turn the glare in the direction of the door, where some asshole hasn’t stopped pressing the doorbell.

“Fuck off,” I snarl.

The incessant buzzing continues. It’s beginning to make me wish I had one more bullet in my gun. Unfortunately, I wasted the last bullet on one of my men who?—

Shit. I can’t even remember what he did.

Realizing that the person at the door has no intention of leaving, I stumble to my feet, shards of glass stabbing into my bare foot.

My jaw clenches in annoyance, and I hop across the apartment and yank the door open, ready to explode at the unexpected visitor. My furious words dry up in my throat as I catch sight of Isabella.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Are you going to let me in?”

I glance over my shoulder at my messy apartment. There’s weeks-old pizza, way too many bottles of alcohol, and clothes strewn over every surface. “No. What do you want?”

“We need to talk.” Then she makes a face, gaze dragging over me. “You look a mess, Raff. I’m not sure this is the right time for what I want to say.”

“I agree. Goodbye.” I start to shut the door, relieved, but she inserts one foot into the doorway, stopping me.

“On second thought…” She sighs. “This might be the most coherent you’ve been in a while.”

“I don’t want to talk right now. Look, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of occupied at the moment.”

She plants her hands on her hips, looking less than impressed. “Occupied doing what? Let me guess, you were in the middle of an important meeting with a bottle of vodka.”

“Whiskey,” I correct, scratching my chest. Her gaze follows the movement of my hand, and red climbs up her cheek. She quickly tears her gaze away.

I narrow my eyes, wondering if it’s just part of my drunk imagination or if Isabella was just checking me out.

“What do you want? Spit it out, Isabella.” I already have a feeling I know exactly what she’s here about.

“Do you know the last time I took a cab?” she begins. “I don’t think I’ve taken one in over a decade.”

“Good for you.”

Her face hardens into stone. “What I’m trying to say is that your father’s men are after me too. I can’t even go shopping without a disguise, and now I have to take a damn cab because they’ve been following me everywhere.”

She takes a step forward. “You have to do something.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“Are you really?” Isabella snorts. “Because last time I checked, you’re more interested in charging headfirst into any fight this war feuds and getting yourself hurt.”

I drag a hand over my face, feeling exhausted. I glance over my shoulder at the side bar, cursing under my breath when I see that my stash of alcohol is all gone.

“Are you even listening?” She waves a hand in front of my face.

“Yeah, yeah.” I nod. The movement ends up making my head swirl, and I cup the side of my head in my hand, wincing.

“Christ, Raffaele. You’re a mess.” Isabella sounds worried. Without giving me a chance to protest, she pushes past me further into the apartment and turns on the light switch.

“Fuck.” I wince as bright lights come on around the apartment, nearly blinding me. “I didn’t say you could come in.”

“I was freezing my ass off out there,” she bites back at me, glancing around at the absolute mess. “How do you live like this?”

Ignoring her, I limp to the kitchen, digging around for alcohol.

“Your father even dragged the media into this mess,” Isabella calls from the living room.

“The paparazzi and press are camped out in front of my building. I had to shut down my social media and get a new phone line. Do you have any idea how many followers and sponsorship deals I’ve lost because this ridiculous family feud is suddenly everywhere?

I can’t catch a break, Raff. It’s exhausting. ”

I hum distractedly, pulling the door of the fridge open.

“Did you know Edoardo got our ports shut down when he snitched?” She lets out a frustrated groan. “I know he’s your father, but sometimes I swear I could strangle him. We haven’t been able to move anything in or out of Chicago. He knows exactly what he’s doing—it’s just plain dirty.”

I hear footsteps behind me. “What are you looking for? And please don’t tell me it’s more alcohol. Haven’t you had enough?”

“If you’re just going to bitch, you should leave.”

“I’m worried about you, Raffie,” she says softly. “I know that you’re hurting and I understand.”

I turn around to face her. “No. You don’t understand.”

“Yes, I do!” she insists, her voice breaking. “Giulia was my cousin—my best friend. She was the only person I had in my corner, the only one who ever really gave a damn about me. You don’t get to stand there and tell me I don’t understand.”

She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes.

“When she told me she was leaving with you, I was happy for her, I swear I was. But at the same time, I knew I was losing the one person who made this place bearable. My favorite person in the entire world. I had to stand there and smile and pretend I wasn’t breaking inside.”

Her voice drops to a whisper. “And now she’s gone. I’ve had to say goodbye to her twice, Raffaele. Once when she left, and again when she never came back.”

“Isa—”

“No.” Her voice is frosty. “I know you loved her and?—”

“I still do,” I cut in. “She’s out there somewhere, and I’m going to find her, okay? So stop referring to her in the past tense.”

A sad smile curves her mouth. “If you actually believe she’s out there somewhere, then you wouldn’t be such a mess.”

My chest constricts, so tight that it feels like all of my organs are being crushed to nothing. “She is out there.” The doubts are slipping out through the cracks, dark and thick as tar, rising up my throat and cutting off all my circulation.

Isabella stares at me for a long moment, terse silence filling the room, before she finally lets out a breath.

“Come on, let me look at your shoulder and leg.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re going to get infected and die before Giulia ever comes back.” She lets out a soft sigh and comes over to me. Too tired to protest, I allow her to pull me to the sink and grab a clean towel from the cabinet.

“Got a first aid kit anywhere around this dump?” she asks.

I huff and motion at the kitchen island. She retrieves the box and plops it down on the counter, then goes to work cleaning out my injury. I grit my teeth as she wipes the area down, pours rubbing alcohol all over it, and bandages it up. Then she does the same with my foot.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t a deeper wound,” she says quietly when she’s finished and returns to my side.

“Raffie, I know you’re in pain—I am too.

I want so badly to believe Giulia is still out there, that you’ll bring her home.

But part of me can’t help feeling like she’s already gone. And it hurts more than I can explain.”

“But I can’t lose you too.” Her voice breaks. “Everything is already such a mess, and I’m trying to be strong, but it’s so hard. Instead of shutting yourself up and dealing with this on your own, I want you to know that you have me.”

Isabella reaches out, cupping my face in her hands, holding my gaze. “You have me, Raff. We’re going to get through this together.”

“I don’t know how to get through this,” I confess in a small voice. “I’m surviving it the only way I know how.”

Isabella pulls me down into a hug, my head dropping down on her shoulder. “Maybe what you need is a distraction, someone who’s always been there for you, someone who understands.”

Her words are soft as a breath, and for the first time since I watched Giulia plunge into the inky depths of the sea, I don’t have the urge to drown myself in another bottle of alcohol.

“I’ve always been here, Raffaele.” Her fingers rake through my hair. “And I’ll always be here. Always.”

There’s something in her voice, some sort of supplication. I’m not in the right frame of mind to figure it out, though, so I just allow myself to be held.

Hours later, I’m back on my couch. I’ve managed to get rid of the rotten food and gather all the clothes into a pile in one corner. I’m showered, I have clean sweats on, my hair isn’t greasy, and I no longer smell like a distillery.

Now that I’m sober for the first time in a long time, my body is no longer numb. One part of me, in particular, is far from numb. Damn, this is the first time in months I’ve even allowed myself to think of this.

I slide my hand down my body and cup my erection from my pants, palming the growing mound. My mind goes straight to Giulia, how she looked that first time in the back seat of my car.

I drag my pants down, allowing my cock to spring free and curl up to my belly. I wrap one hand around the stiff flesh, squeezing tight enough to be punishing. My hips jerk off the couch at the sweet pain. My body has been in a limbo for so long, and it’s come alive all at once.

My skin is buzzing, too tight and sensitive.

I move my hand up and down my length, slow at first, then faster and faster. My mind floods with image after image of her—her head thrown back, those desperate sounds spilling from her lips. The memory of how tight she felt around me, gripping and milking me dry.

I gather the moisture seeping out of my tip and use it to lubricate my length, hand flying faster until it’s almost a blur.

My hips are punching up, fucking into my fist, chasing the high.

I squeeze my eyes shut, the image of her so clear in my head that she could as well be right in front of me, biting down on her lower lip and asking me if I’m close.

“Raffaele.” I hear her voice in my head, and I swear I can smell her vanilla scent.

Pleasure gathers at the base of my spine. With one last tug, it arcs through me, exploding in an orgasm that rocks me to my core, toes curling and mouth gaping open in a soundless cry.

“Giulia, Giulia, Giulia,” I chant her name as I come, a benediction on my lips.

God, I’m so fucked without her.