Page 56 of Broken Mafia Bride

“None of your business.” He laughs in my face, teeth bloody, and I hit him again.

“Where the fuck is she?!”

“Somewhere she doesn’t want to be bothered by you. Leave her alone, man,” he snarls. “If she wanted to be with you, she’d be with you. Take a fucking hint.” He swings his head back and brings it down on mine.

I stumble back, head spinning, and he takes the opportunity to push me against the wall, elbow pressed against my jugular.

“Get lost, Gagliardi,” he hisses. “Where the hell were you when she almost died from a gunshot? When she nearly drowned at sea? Nowhere, that’s what. I fucking saved her. And despite everything, whatever shit you did to her that put her in that mess, you think you can barge into my house, fuck up my shit, and demand her like she’s yours? You’re delusional.”

His words hit harder than his head did. Saved her. He saved her. My gut twists, bile rising, because he’s right. I wasn’t there. I failed her. My hands scrabble at his arm, but then I snap. I rip the gun from my waistband and jam it under his jaw, the cold steel biting into his skin.

“I’ll ask you one more time. Where the fuck is she?”

“Do it,” he taunts. “Kill me. You’ll never find her. And even if you do, what then? You think she’ll run to you with my blood on your hands? Shoot me, asshole. Go ahead.”

My finger tightens on the trigger. I could do it. I should do it. He’s the wall between me and her, the smug bastard who stole her when I lost her. One shot, and it’s over. But something stops me. Some weak, stupid thread of doubt. My hand shakes, and then I let it go. The gun slips from my fingers, and I allow it to clatter to the ground.

“I need her,” I rasp, the words ripping out of me like they’re carved from my chest.

It’s the most truth I’ve allowed myself to admit since she left. “I need her. Do you hear me? This isn’t a fucking game or an ego trip for me.”

He blinks, caught off guard, that mocking fury slipping for a second. But then it’s back. “So you can ruin her life all over again?”

A bitter laugh escapes my mouth. “You’ve got it all wrong. If anyone’s life is ruined, it’s mine. I’ve been stuck in limbo for years, chasing a shadow, while she’s clearly moved on. Doing fine without me. And the worst part?” My voice drops, thick with self-hatred. “If I had the chance, I’d let her ruin me all over again.”

Silence hangs between us, heavy. He stares at me, like he’s trying to figure out if I’ve lost my mind. Then he steps back, easing off my throat, but his eyes stay hard, wary.

“Do you love her?” The question slips out before I can stop it, and my chest caves in, waiting for the blow his answer might deal.

“More than anything,” he says, instant and fierce, like it’s a vow. He lets me go fully, stepping away, still watching me like I’m a rabid dog.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t tell me where she is, either,” I tell him with a shrug. “I’ll find her either way. I’ve searched for her for four years with no meaningful leads. Do you think I’ll quit now when I’m so close?”

“Ariel doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

“I’ll let her say that to my face herself,” I tell him.

He wipes his bloody mouth with the back of his palm, and a serious look settles on his face. “I don’t like you, asshole, and you better believe you’ll be paying for all the damages here.”

I watch him as he moves over to the corner and picks up the picture frame, handling it like it’s the most important thing in the entire room. He sets it back on the mantle, staring at it—her, I know it’s her—for a long moment.

Without looking at me, he says, “You talk like she’s yours. But maybe that’s the problem—she never was.”

I tremble with fury, but his next words strike me directly in the chest.

“She’s with Re Ombra. Now get the fuck out of my house.”

17

GIULIA

My phone is ringing somewhere in the room.

I can’t remember where I tossed it, and I don’t care. I wish it’d shatter into a million pieces so I can be unreachable, and they’ll finally leave me alone. All I want to do is sleep, and cry without feeling like I’m wasting away. Why can’t they just let me drown in my own misery?

I don’t need anyone to save me from my deep depression or try to distract me with forced over happy conversations. I tune the sound of the ringing phone out and start to close my eyes again.

Lately, I don’t even mind that nightmares of Noemi haunt me. I used to run from them, staying awake for days just to avoid the crushing guilt that hit me every time I woke up drenched in sweat. But now… now I find myself longing for sleep.