Page 101 of Broken Mafia Bride

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.

31

GIULIA

“Are you coming?” Caterina asks in a soft voice.

I swallow around a throat that feels too raw and tight. “In a minute. Why don’t you go on without me? I’ll be there.”

“Oh. Okay.” There’s something in her voice, like she wants to say more. I tense, waiting for the condolences. I’m so sick of hearing them.

“We’ll be waiting,” she finally says.

I wait for her footsteps to fade before I let my shoulders drop, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to keep the grief inside where it belongs. It’s not just the grief, though—it’s the anger, the injustice, the horror of it all.

I’m standing by the window of the villa, staring out at the garden where Caterina and a few women are preparing for the funeral. I should be out there, helping, but I can’t bring myself to move.

I should feel relieved. Isabella lied—about the pregnancy, about Raffaele, about everything. But all I feel is exhaustion.

I want to hate Isabella, to let the anger carry me through the grief, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. Isabella is gone, and inher final moments, she had been nothing more than a scared, broken girl.

I glance down at my hands and shudder. I can still feel her blood on them, warm and sticky. Since the dinner at Caterina’s house, every time I’ve tried to sleep, I see her tear-filled eyes—and then her mouth falls open, blood gushing out. When I look around, I’m suddenly in the dark, drowning in a pool of her blood, my broken screams piercing the night.

Before I can get too lost in the dark memories, I hear the door open behind me, followed by the sound of footsteps.

I know who it is even without turning around. For far too many years of my life, I listened for those footsteps with a gradually dwindling hope, waiting for the day they’d walk toward me instead of past me.

“Giulia,” my father sighs as he steps up beside me.