Page 63 of Broken Mafia Bride

But then again… I don’t think she still smells like the woman I fell in love with.

And maybe it’s better that way.

I have to keep the woman skulking around Casa Bianca separate from the woman I lost in Chicago.

My footsteps are light, careful as I trail after her, watching as she steps into a room. I wait for a few beats for her to come out again, and when she doesn’t, I make my way to the partially cracked door. I lean against the wall, ears cocked.

“I’ve been f-fine,” I hear her say. “I’m in Sardegna right now, but that’s not where I’ve always been. Everything has been complicated.”

There’s a pause. “Of course I couldn’t come back. What was waiting for me in Chicago? You think I wanted to throw myself right back into the middle of a war you instigated?”

Another pause—this one longer. “I didn’t call you to argue, Papa,” she sighs. “I called because I don’t want you to worry about me anymore. I’m well—and have been for a long time.”

The audacity of her telling him not to worry anymore. Does she think it’s that easy? After putting everyone in a state of permanent grief for years, adding fire to the fuel that is our family feud by her disappearance, and breaking my stupid heart, she thinks it’s just a matter of showing up again and telling everyone not to fucking worry anymore.

I start clapping slowly as I step into the room. She whirls around with a gasp, eyes darting between me and the door like a trapped animal looking for an escape route.

A low laugh rumbles out of me. “And here I thought I got the ex-fiancé special.”

Giulia straightens, trying to compose herself. “Raffaele! I… how have you been?”

I motion at the phone in her hand, a mocking smile on my mouth, while on the inside, my chest is caving in. “Here you are, telling your father that you’re alive. For a second there, I was touched. Thought I was the only one you lied to. But turns out, I’m just one name on a very long list.”

Her throat bobs with a swallow, and even from across the room, I can see her pulse fluttering wildly at her neck.

“Raffaele—” she begins.

I hold up my hand. “I don’t think I want to hear anything from you!” I hiss. “What the fuck are you going to say anyway? What excuse could you possibly have for disappearing this whole time?”

Scoffing, I drag both hands through my hair while she continues to watch me. “I’d have understood a month, six months, a year, and maybe I’m stupid for that, but I’d have gotten it—a little break from the chaos of Chicago before you came back to me. I’d have welcomed you with open arms.”

“It was far more complex.”

“Was it!” I roar. “Even if you didn’t want to come back, a simple phone call would have fixed everything.”

Tears well up in her eyes, and I’m tempted to reach out and wipe them away. I’ve never liked seeing her cry, and this time is no different. She broke me, and I still want to clamp my mouth shut, drop to my knees, and apologize. Anything to make those tears disappear.

The realization that she’s shattered me—but that I’d still surrender every piece of my broken heart to her—only makes me more furious.

She moved on, let another man touch her, and loved him. Lied to him with the same mouth she used to lie to me, made him fall with the same wide-eyed, open look that knocked me over from the first glance.

“But you chose to be cruel.” My voice is lower now, rusty with use. “Did you ever, for once in all these years, think about me? Think about how I must have been feeling, or were you just fucking glad to be done with me?”

“You don’t know what?—”

“What don’t I know?” I laugh. “I know about him.”

“You’re getting married to Isa!” she says, her voice trembling with emotion.

My jaw clenches. “It’s different. We were forced to do this—to end this fucking war. Tell me, Giulia—just one thing I have to know. If I hadn’t found you here… would you ever have come back to me?”

My stomach drops as her mouth opens and then shuts. “Don’t ask me that, Raffaele, that’s not fair.”

I take a step forward, and she scrambles back—but I keep advancing until her back hits the wall and I’m barely an inch from her. Her chest is rising fast and high, and I’m disappointed that she smells different.

And yet, my heart pounds in my chest, refusing to see this woman as anything other than mine.

For a moment, neither of us moves.