Page 45 of Broken Mafia Bride

“Re Ombra,” I mutter.

Marco jerks like he’s been electrocuted, spinning to face me. “Where did you hear that name?”

“You know him?”

“Everyone in Sardegna knows Re Ombra,” he says, voice low. “He’s the man you don’t cross. A shadow king. People vanish around him—just disappear.” His eyes narrow. “Why wouldyou?—”

“He’s my grandfather.”

He stares at me like I’ve just grown horns.

Before he can say anything else, I cut him off. “There’s no time for explanations or family trees. We need to get to Sardegna. Now. He’s the only one who might be able to help us find Noemi.”

Marco hesitates, then nods grimly. “If anyone can find her, it’s him. But Giulia… asking for his help means stepping into a world we might not come back from.”

A bitter laugh slips out of my throat. He has no idea that I’m far more accustomed to the dark world than anything else.

“Let’s go save my baby,” I say, voice low and steady. “I don’t care what it takes. She’s all that matters.”

Whatever it takes, I’ll find my daughter. And when I do, I’m putting a bullet in Nelly’s fucking head.

14

RAFFAELE

“I’ve heard everything you’ve said and?—”

“Oh, piss off, Edoardo!” Aunt Tilda roars, startling everyone in the room. “I don’t want to hear your bullshit reassurances. I’m sick and tired of you going on about how everything will be all right—and I’m sure everyone else here is sick of it too.”

“Tilda—” one of the women says gently, trying to intervene, but Tilda shrugs off her grip and marches forward until she’s standing right in front of my father.

“Do you have any idea what it feels like to bury a son?” she demands, pounding her chest. “I had to watch my baby be put into the ground. You can’t even imagine that kind of pain.”

“I’ve never claimed to,” my father replies, his face stony.

“You wouldn’t know pain if it hit you square in the face,” Tilda scoffs. “No parent wants to bury their child, but lately, it’s become normal. The constant deaths, the violence, the insecurity—all of it.”

“What happened was—” he starts again, but she cuts him off quickly.

“I know exactly what happened, and I’m wrecked over it. But there’s no one left to take my pain out on, because the kid who killed my son is already dead. And his mother… she must be buried in grief too.” Her voice cracks as she shakes her head, choking on a sob.

Guilt coils in my gut like barbed wire. When her bloodshot eyes lock onto mine, it’s like being skinned alive—slow, brutal, and deserved. Gino died because of me. People will say otherwise. That I didn’t drag him to that club. That I didn’t shove him in front of the blade. But they don’t get it. I didn’t have to. He was there because of me. And that’s enough.

Sleep, what little I ever managed, has abandoned me completely. And I haven’t touched a drop since I stood over his coffin, staring at that unnaturally calm face—like death had given him peace I never could.

“What would you have me do?” Edoardo says, voice tight as he drags a hand down his face. “This war didn’t start with me, but I’ve had to carry it, fuel it, bleed for it. And now it’s devouring everything we built.”

“Maybe not,” another aunt cuts in sharply, stepping forward, “but you can end it. This family feud has gone on long enough, Edoardo. And it’s spiraled past your control. We’re being attacked from every direction—by petty gangs, by old rivals—everyone sees this chaos as their chance to take back what they lost.

“Petty criminals are littering the streets. Drugs, sex, violence—there’s no rhythm to this madness anymore!” Tilda hisses. “Will you finally decide it’s time to act when you’re the last man standing on the rubble of everything you’ve built? Or will it take staring at your own son’s cold, lifeless body?”

My jaw tightens as I glance over and catch Emilio’s eyes. He raises a brow at me, and my own brows knit together, trying tomake sense of the silent question on his face. My father’s right-hand man just shakes his head and looks away.

My father’s silence should’ve tipped me off. The tension in the room—the way Emilio won’t meet my eyes. Something’s coming. Something no one warned me about.

Before I can begin to decipher what that look meant, the door suddenly flies open, and four people walk in.

My hand instinctively moves toward the gun tucked in my holster at the sight of two unfamiliar men leading the group—until I spot Isabella among them.