Page 102 of Broken Mafia Bride

“What are you doing here?” I fix my gaze out the window, still pretending to be concerned with Caterina and the other women setting up for the funeral. Again, I remind myself that I should be down there with them, but I can’t bring myself to be around anyone right now.

The only person who could possibly understand how I’m feeling left the house at dawn to continue the hunt for whoever’s responsible for taking our daughter. I know a part of it is that he’s running from the realization that Isa is gone. Maybe he didn’t love her, but they weren’t nothing, either.

“I heard about…” Papa trails off with another sigh. “I heard about what she did. What Isabella did.”

“She wasn’t just my cousin,” I tell him. “She was my best friend.”

It still feels so wrong to talk about her in the past tense, and I can’t help but wince as the words leave my mouth. What kind of best friend was I, anyway? She stuck by me through so much, and I never thought to ask her what was really going on—if she’dfallen for Raffaele along the way. Instead, I tried my best to avoid her and resented her for being in a position I once occupied.

“I still remember bringing her home to meet you,” he says. “She talked so fucking much, was excited about every single thing—I nearly dumped her in the middle of the highway.”

I turn to look at him, surprised by the thread of sadness in his voice. He meets my gaze, making no attempt to hide the emotion in his eyes. The man before me looks weathered, ancient, and tired, like someone who has seen far too much. He’s always seemed like a giant, unstoppable and unyielding. But now, there’s a fragility about him.

My heart twinges in my chest.

“I didn’t think you’d take to her well.”

“And yet you dumped her on me to avoid spending time with me,” I scoff.

There’s a long beat of silence, and he searches my eyes for something I can’t name. I turn away after a moment, preferring to watch the women move around beneath me.

“She talked so much about getting married in Casa Bianca, about how the gorgeous landscape would be the perfect backdrop for a wedding,” I croak out, tears burning the back of my eyes. “And now she’s being buried here. It’s not fair.”

“She was just a child,” he tells me. “Foolish, reckless—but still a child.”

I lick my lips. “What she did—the lying—I hate her for it, even as she bled out in my arms. I don’t know if I can forgive her, and I can’t just overlook it because she’s gone now and I’m not supposed to fight with the dead, but…”

I look at him. “I think, in the end, she hated herself more. That’s why she confessed. This whole thing had to be eating at her so badly. How the hell did she manage to keep a bubbly attitude through it? Why did she do it?”

There are so many questions, and the only person who can give me the answers is about to be buried six feet under.

“I failed her just as much as I failed you.”

The admission startles me, and I whip my head to the side to stare at him in surprise. His mouth pulls up at one corner in a sad smile. “I’m man enough to admit that much.”

I glance out the window to see if pigs are flying—but alas, I’m only met with the sight of a clear sky.

“I read once that the true measure of a man is his ability to admit when he’s wrong,” he continues. “I haven’t been a man in a long time. I should have protected you, Giulia. Protected you from so much.”

“Papa, I?—”

“I can’t help but think how disappointed your mother would be,” he huffs. “There’s so much I regret. So, so much. When I heard about Isabella, I couldn’t help but think—what if it had been you?”

The tears I’ve been trying so hard to keep at bay start rolling down my cheeks.

“I don’t know if I can just forgive everything and pretend none of it happened. I’m still trying to forgive Isa—and you hurt me far more, and for much longer.”

“I didn’t come here expecting your forgiveness,” he says. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if I were you, either. I just came to tell you that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for neglecting you, for putting everything else in my life above you. I’ve spent so long fighting for the dead that I forgot who was alive and needed me to fight for them instead.”

It’s the most words my father has said to me at once. That realization hits me like a freight train.

“I’ll go ahead with whatever you choose to do from here onward,” Papa says. “It’s your choice now, and I’ll respect and support whatever decisions you make.”

I stare at him, trying to detect any hint of a trick, but all I can see is sincerity shining in his eyes.

“You mean that?”

He nods. “Of course I do.”