Page 55 of Broken Mafia Bride

I turn to Isabella. “You’ll be fine finding your way to Casa Bella.”

She corrects me gently, arms folded but without heat. “It’s Casa Bianca. And yes, I know the way.”

There’s a pause. She looks at me—not angry, not needy, just steady. “Are you really going to disappear without a word? We just flew halfway across the world together.”

“This can’t wait,” I say, already moving toward the backseat. “Tommaso will take care of you.”

She glances at Tommaso, then back at me. Her jaw works for a second like she’s deciding whether to speak. In the end, she doesn’t fight. She doesn’t plead.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she says instead, voice quiet but even. “Whatever it is.”

There’s no sarcasm in it. No edge. Just something unreadable in her eyes—something that almost feels like understanding.

I don’t answer. I can’t. The words feel too brittle in my mouth. I close the door and, with a curt nod to the driver, mutter, “Andiamo.”

The driver rattles on and on about the fishermen, and the gossip on the island throughout the drive, switching from broken English to flawless Italian. Even with the AC in the car, beads of sweat trail down my back. My hands won’t stop shaking. I wipe my palms on my pants again and again, like it’ll calm the storm inside me.

After four years of searching for her, of standing at the edge of insanity, she’s right at my fingertips, so close that it feels like my heart is being mended piece by piece.

The car has barely pulled to a halt before I’m leaping off it and racing into the small house tucked between a line of trees. “Giulia! Giulia!”

I kick the door open and barge in, gaze flying around the house. It’s cold in a way that tells me no one is around, but I still go from room to room, searching for her.

My frantic search comes to a halt when I catch sight of a photo on the mantle. My hands tremble as I reach for the frame.

Giulia’s hair is much longer in the picture, and she’s wearing a smile that nearly splits her face. She looks radiant. Beside her are two people I don’t recognize.

One is a man with light brown hair, and in his arms is a brown-haired girl smiling down at Giulia.

The picture screams happy family. I trace my thumb over Giulia’s smiling face in the picture, bitterness filling my lungs and choking me. I refused to believe Matteo earlier, but the evidence is looking me right in the eyes now.

She looks happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen her. It’s not just the smile—it’s the light in her eyes, like she’s finally at peace. The kind of peace I spent years chasing, thinking I’d only find it with her. And now… she’s already found it. Without me.

My heart cracks and splinters in my chest, and the violence that’s barely banked inside me rises to the surface, but this time there’s no controlling it. It explodes out of me like a tornado, and I fling the frame against the wall. It shatters into a hundred pieces, but I’m still not satisfied.

I go through the room in a frenzy, tossing and ripping things apart, and yet the satisfaction never comes, the hole that has existed in my heart for years growing larger like a dark hole, sucking away every last bit of hope I have. The hurt that has long since become numb comes back with a vengeance, threatening to bring me to my knees.

“What the hell!” a man bites out, yanking me back before I can reach a potted plant against the windowsill.

I don’t think; I spin around, fists flying. I connect with his face, and the man staggers back. It takes me a second to recognize him through my daze of fury, and when I do, the fury reaches a crescendo.

“You! You took her from me!” I go for him again.

Marco is ready for me this time around, though; he dodges my fist, his own smashing into the side of my stomach. I grit my teeth at the pain and sweep out with my leg, taking him down. He crashes, taking down the TV set with him.

I rush after him, but he rolls away from my kick, leaping deftly to his feet with a punch of his own. I jump away, taking him in for a second. He’s well-built, and I already know he’s a fisherman, and it’s a job that requires strength and stamina. We’re evenly matched, and it brings a smile to my face.

It’s been a long time since I had a good fight, and I’m itching to draw blood.

He turns his head and spits out blood. “You shouldn’t have bothered coming here.”

“You know who I am?” I ask with some surprise.

“Raffaele Gagliardi.” His smile is a mockery. “Ariel’s told me all about you. I was hoping you’d stay in her past where you belong, but here you fucking are.”

Ariel? The nickname aggravates even more, and he must know that if the way his eyes light up as I rush forward is any indication. My fists come down to his face, and he blocks the blow, but I keep on hitting until his hands give way and his nose breaks under my fist. His knee digs into my stomach, throwing me off, and he catches me under the jaw with a right hook.

“Where is she?”