Page 1 of Broken Mafia Prince (His to Break #1)

GIULIA

The sun is low and golden, making everything all shiny, like the whole world got dipped in glitter. Our SUV rolls down the Pacific Coast Highway, with big, scary cliffs on one side and the sparkly ocean on the other.

I know where we are because Mama always tells me how to say and spell the names of places we visit. I like learning new things. Mama says I have the mind of an adventurer, which I think means I’m really smart.

We’re going home from our weekend trip, and the car is all warm and cozy, like when you crawl under a blanket fresh from the dryer. The road in front of us looks like it goes on forever and ever. Maybe even to space.

“Valentina, you’re singing off-key!” I whine, poking my twin sister in the arm. She gasps like I just told her she smells bad, then we both start laughing and singing even louder.

It’s a silly song, but it’s ours, and it makes me feel all warm and happy inside, just like the sunshine outside.

“This song kinda sucks,” Val says, scrunching up her face like she just ate something gross. She’s all wrapped up in her giant princess pony blanket—the one that’s so big it swallows her whole. She never goes anywhere without it.

I don’t have one. Because big kids don’t need blankets. Obviously.

Val’s been saying “sucks” a lot ever since she heard a man on TV say it. She thinks it makes her sound like a grown-up, but it’s really just the funniest thing ever. Mama says we shouldn’t say it, but Val does anyway and winks at me like we have a secret.

“No, it doesn’t,” I insist, crossing my arms. “Mama likes it.” I shake my head and stick out my tongue at Val to show just how wrong she is.

Mama plays it every Saturday morning on her iPod while I dance around the kitchen and Val bakes. Well… tries to bake—my tummy still hurts just thinking about her brownies from last Sunday.

Papa calls it an oldie song, but I don’t care. I like standing close to Mama, sharing her earpiece while we mix the batter. I sneak a taste sometimes, dipping my pinkie in when she’s not looking. Mama’s batter is the best thing ever.

That is, until Valentina adds her secret ingredient and ruins it.

Only God knows what she puts in there. And I’m pretty sure I don’t want to find out.

Val rolls her eyes at me like I’ve just said the dumbest thing in the world. “Mama’s old. Of course she likes it.”

Up front, Mama gasps and spins around in her seat so fast I think she might break her neck. Papa coughs into his fist, but I can tell he’s laughing. My jaw drops as I wait for Mama’s reaction.

“Who says I’m old?” Mama asks, narrowing her eyes.

Without thinking, I point right at my twin. She’s always the good one, and I’m the one who gets in trouble. It’s only fair.

I don’t know why everyone says I should be more like Val. My twin is a total crybaby who refuses to go anywhere without a big, pink bow in her hair. It’s covered in shiny stones that could probably blind a person.

“You think I’m old?” Mama’s mouth droops at the corners, and Valentina shakes her head so fast her pigtails go flying.

“No,” she replies. “You’re prettier than all our friends’ mommies. And your hair is beautiful.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Papa laughs, navigating the car at the bend.

I press my face to the window while Mama explains the new vocabulary to us. I don’t tell Mama that I hear some of our uncles using more flowery words.

They aren’t really our family, even though we call them uncles, but they’re always coming in and out of our house and giving us chocolate. I enjoy the treats.

“Giulia, darling, why don’t you have your seatbelt on?” Mama asks.

“Because I can’t turn around in my seat if I have it on,” I say, trying to defend myself.

“Put your seatbelt on.” She narrows her eyes at me. “And don’t you dare pout at me, young lady, you know better than to be so careless. Why can’t you be more like your sister?”

My bottom lip sticks out, and I stubbornly turn my face away. There it is again, the comparison.

“Why does it matter? Seatbelts are for accidents, that’s what our teacher says.” I spread my arms as I speak.“Papa won’t let us get in an accident, so?—”

“Giulia Montanari, listen to your mother this instant,” Papa says sternly, his green eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

I sigh and glance over at Val, who is already buckled up and staring wide-eyed at me. Rolling my eyes, I grab the buckle and drag it across my body.

I don’t see why I have to wear the stupid seatbelt; it’s not like anything bad has ever happened or will happen. Papa drives so well that I always feel so safe.

“You can say goodbye to getting those sneakers you wanted.” My mother wags her finger at me. “You don’t deserve nice things if they don’t make you behave yourself and be respectful.”

“But Ma!” I whine, my bottom lip trembling. I deserve good things, too.

“I have nothing else to say to you,” she says as she faces forward.

I cross my arms over my chest and burrow deeper into the leather seat, furious.

How is it fair for her to promise me those sneakers and then change her mind just as quickly? A promise was a promise, and I open my mouth to say as much, but at that moment, Mama glances over at the side mirror.

I turn off my thoughts. I know how fast my lips work; I can’t lose anything else.

“Enrico, it’s that car again.” There’s a thread of worry in her voice; I see her expression tensing up.

“You worry too much, my dear,” Papa sighs.

“Someone is supposed to.” She glances over her shoulder. “That gray jaguar has been behind us since we left Malibu. My instincts say they’re following us.”

I shoot my twin a glance. Val quickly undoes her belt, and together, we climb to our knees on the seat and peek at the gray car.

I like how we both know what to do—unlike when we fight, and she stresses me out.

“Do you think it’s following us?” Val whispers, but she may as well have screamed the question. I shake my head, our dreams of being spies down the drain.

“Val, Giulia, get down from there right now and put your seatbelts on!” Papa snaps, his voice sharp like the time I spilled juice on his important papers. “Nora, please, you’re making the girls panic. Can you drop it?”

I gulp. Papa never snaps. Well, almost never.

But Mama doesn’t drop it. She cranes her neck to peek out the window again. “I don’t like it, Cuore mio. What if it’s?—”

Papa’s grip on the wheel tightens just a little. Even as I laugh and tease, a tiny shiver runs down my spine, as if the road itself is whispering that something isn’t right. I notice, because I always notice.

“Coincidence,” he murmurs. Then, firmer, like he’s trying to convince himself, too. “It’s just a coincidence.”

Something prickles at the back of my neck, like that feeling you get when you’re being watched but you’re not sure.

The tension in the car is soft, but it’s there—like something’s waiting.

I don’t really get it. Mama’s always careful, like she knows things.

Papa? He’s like a locked box, full of secrets, with a key nobody can find.

Sometimes, when I catch a glimpse of Papa’s eyes in the mirror, I wonder if they hide secrets as mysterious as the dark streets Mama whispers about at night.

I like to think I got Mama’s superpower intuition while Valentina got her dark eyes and fancy cheekbones—the ones that make people notice her in a room even when she’s just standing there.

Something tells me Papa’s more worried than he’s letting on.

“How about this?” he finally says, his voice a little calmer. “I’ll slow down at the next bend, and if he stays behind us instead of passing, it means you’re right.”

“Okay,” Mama agrees, her voice softer now.

I watch as he helps her settle back into her seat, his hand resting on the wheel while the other holds Mama’s. It’s like a little piece of magic, quiet but there. Their love is the kind that could light up a whole room… or in this case, a car.

They smile at each other, and just like that, I feel warm inside, too.

“My shoes are too tight,” Val whines.

“You always wear those ugly, stinky shoes.” I stick my tongue out at her, and she makes a face.

“You suck,” she snaps.

Val pulls out her princess pony blanket—the one she can’t go anywhere without—and wraps it around herself like a magician vanishing under a cape. It’s her way of disappearing when she doesn’t want to talk to me.

“He drove past.” Mama sounds relieved. “I don’t know why I’m being so paranoid. I’m sorry for getting you worried, Enrico.”

He chuckles. “You wouldn’t be the woman I love if you didn’t keep me on my toes.”

“I love you, too,” Mama laughs.

“I love you three,” my twin pipes up, causing my parents to burst into laughter.

“That joke isn’t even funny,” I snap, crossing my arms. “You suck.” I clamp my hands over my ears, bracing for Val’s comeback.

But before she can answer, everything shatters.

A truck crashes into our lane, its headlights blinding—twin demons that sear my eyes. Dad swerves, the tires screeching as the car fights for control.

The honk is deafening, followed by the sickening sound of metal twisting and glass shattering. The world tilts violently—upside down, then back again, like some twisted ride I never wanted to get on.

I hear a scream, sharp and panicked, but I don’t know if it’s me or Val.

Everything blurs, my mind failing to catch up with what’s happening. In that split second, the cozy, familiar world of our family trip seems to twist into a secret dance of danger, reminding me of the quiet mysteries Papa never fully explains.

The world spins, a dizzying mess of noise and motion.

The SUV rolls. Once. Twice. Three times. I lose count. My heart hammers in my chest, louder than anything else. The calm from before vanishes in an instant, replaced by fear that claws at my insides.

I’m weightless for a moment, thrown into the air, before slamming into the roof of the car. The impact knocks the breath from me, pain crashing through my bones as the world flips again.