Page 19 of Broken Mafia Bride

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 ofyou’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.

7

GIULIA