Page 84 of Broken Mafia Bride

I squeeze her hand, halting her. “It’s all right. I’m just glad you’re here.” I wrap my arms around her again, breathing in her familiar scent. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you here, Si. Everything is a mess, and I don’t?—”

“Come on in,” she says softly. “Let me make you some coffee, and you can tell me everything. Apparently, there’s a Raffaele in the picture.”

I freeze. “Did Marco?—”

She nods. “No wonder you never took any of the million hints I was trying to give you about Marco. Sheesh, you could’ve just told me—I wouldn’t have wasted my damn time rooting for you two.”

I huff out a laugh. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“It better be. You think I took a twelve-hour flight to Sardegna to hear a simple, basic story?” Grabbing my hand, she pulls me into the house.

We spend the rest of the afternoon devouring a platter of seafood and sipping cold beer while I give Sienna the full rundown of everything that’s happened—including how I ended up unconscious in the water for Marco to find and save me.

“So you think Noemi’s kidnapping is targeted at your grandfather?” Sienna asks.

I sigh. “At this point, we’re just working with a whole lot of theories. Nothing is certain.”

And the thing with Raffaele and Isabella is just one more layer to this mess.

“When you find her,” Marco begins carefully, “what’s your plan? Are you really going to suddenly subject her to a family she doesn’t know? A father who’s getting married to her cousin, a mafia grandfather and great-grandfather who hate each other?”

“What’s your point?” I snap at him.

“He’s right, Giulia,” Sienna says gently, her eyes shifting between us. “She needs a stable, emotionally safe environment to start healing from everything she’s been through. And from what you’ve shared with me, I’m not sure Casa Bianca is that place right now.”

I feel the irritation rise in my chest, but I keep my voice even. “Casa Bianca is protected. Guarded. It’s the safest place I know.”

Sienna nods slowly. “Safe doesn’t always mean healthy.”

“What’s healthier than being surrounded by family?” I ask, trying to hold onto the conviction in my voice.

She doesn’t flinch. “A family built on blood and survival? Giulia, I’m not judging you—but let’s not pretend we’re talking about ordinary dysfunction here. This isn’t just complicated—it’s dangerous. You didn’t run back to this life when you got your memory back. That tells me something.”

“Chicago isn’t safe, I’ll give you that. But Sardegna is different. My grandfather?—”

Sienna holds up a hand, not dismissive—measured. “I know you want to believe that. I know you need to believe that. But places don’t change just because we want them to. This place may look like paradise, but underneath the colorful paint is the dark and the ugly.Beneath the beauty and tradition is still a world built on fear and control. You know that better than anyone.”

I inhale sharply, the pressure inside me spiking. “Iampart of that dark and ugly world, Sienna.”

I meet her eyes, letting the mask slip.

“I’m not the sweet baker, single-mom Ariel that you think you know. I’m a mafia daughter; generations of violence run through my veins. I can shoot a moving target from miles away. I’ve done things I’ll never be able to explain to a therapist. That life isn’t behind me—it’sinme.”

She pauses, something unreadable flickering across her face. “And yet… You left it behind. For four years, you chose a different life. A life where your child didn’t fall asleep to the sound of loaded guns being cleaned in the next room. You may not have remembered your past, Giulia—but you still built a future that had nothing to do with it. That matters.”

My throat tightens, and my words come out thinner than I mean.

“You don’t know me. You don’t get to decide what kind of life I belong to.”

“No,” she says gently, “but maybe you don’t either. Not yet. That’s why I’m asking you to slow down. To think beyond loyalty. Beyond fear.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch Marco’s reaction—a subtle flinch, like the words struck deeper than intended. Guilt rises fast and hot.

I want to say something—to him, to Sienna—but the weight of this room, of this choice, becomes too much.

I stand up from my chair too fast, the chair clattering to the ground, and without another word, I walk out of the house.

Because I can’t do this right now. I don’t want to fight. I’m exhausted by the need to prove myself to everyone, over and over again.