Page 17 of Broken Mafia Prince (His to Break #1)

RAFFAELE

M y heart stops for a split second as I watch Giulia’s body jerk backward. Panic seizes me. My mind screams one thing: She’s been hit, she’s hurt, and it’s my fault for keeping her here. But I don’t have time to dwell on guilt.

Instinct takes over. I lunge forward, wrap my arms around her, and pull her to the ground. My body absorbs the impact, shielding hers entirely. The next bullet whistles past us, too close.

If I had been a second late…

I force that thought away. My men will take care of the shooter.

My priority is Giulia, trembling in my arms like a leaf in the wind.

I push to my feet, keeping her close. When she tries to stand, her legs give out, and she nearly falls.

I catch her, steadying her, and pull her toward the shelter of my SUV.

“You’re okay,” I say, my voice firm, willing her to believe me as we crouch behind the vehicle.

Her wide, frightened eyes meet mine, filled with questions she can’t put into words. Those eyes, a shade somewhere between hazelnut and heartbreak, ignite a fury in me so fierce, I almost leave her to go decapitate the bastard who shot at her.

But first, I grab her arm and check for the wound. Blood smears her sleeve, but relief floods me when I see it’s only a graze. My anger doesn’t subside, but it shifts to a low, pulsing heat.

“You’re safe now,” I assure her, though my voice comes out rougher than intended.

“What’s happening?”

Before I can answer, the sound of screeching tires shatters the moment. A car peels around the corner, heading straight for us. Giulia presses into me, making a small, terrified sound.

The footsteps of my men approach, and I look up to see Tommaso. His usual stoic face betrays a flicker of surprise when he sees us—me, holding her. The look vanishes almost instantly, replaced by his typical blank mask.

“Boss, we’ve got him,” Tommaso reports.

I nod, disentangling myself from Giulia. She clings to the car for support as I move toward the masked man my men have captured. He’s flanked by two of my guys, struggling like a trapped animal.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Giulia take a hesitant step away from the car, hovering behind me. I wonder how much she’s piecing together, if she’ll realize who I really am. Probably not yet. But when she does, she’ll hate herself for finding comfort in my arms, even for a moment.

Years ago in that orchard, I hesitated to tell her my name because I hadn’t wanted her asking about me and finding out it wasn’t just my scar that made me a loser. A nobody with a scarred face and an even more scarred soul.

The scars have faded now, and I’m confident in my looks and power, but something else keeps me from telling her my name. That thing is the simple fact that we aren’t supposed to be within ten inches of each other without it ending in a bloodbath.

“Take it off,” I command, pointing to the mask.

One of my men grips the edge of the cloth and yanks it free. The face beneath is unfamiliar to me. He’s no one important, which tells me he’s a hired hand.

But who sent him? And why target Giulia?

“Who sent you?” I demand.

His eyes dart wildly, scanning for a way out. It’s futile, but I let him try. There’s no way he’s getting out of here alive. A nod from me, and one of my men lands a solid punch to his stomach. He folds with a grunt, gasping for air.

“I’ll ask you one more time before I decide that I don’t want to know after all,” I say, leaning closer. “Who sent you?”

Instead of answering, he presses his mouth into a thin, mulish line. I see his eyes flare, a clear sign that he’s about to do something stupid. Tommaso is quick to react, pulling his gun in a flash as the man reaches for something on his own body.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Tommaso warns.

The man freezes. He’s clearly trying to gather his courage, but I can tell he’s not nearly as confident as he was before.

Whoever hired him must have promised an easy payday, a clean escape. That might have been true—if I hadn’t been here.

Not today.

I hate playing the game of “what ifs,” yet my mind won’t stop. What if my plane hadn’t been delayed? What if I’d been just one second slower? These thoughts claw at me, but another question rises, sharper and more pressing: Why the hell is Giulia traveling without security?

“Who hired you?” I repeat, my tone cold.

After a long pause, the man shifts uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. “Emilio. Emilio Rossi,” he mutters, his voice strained. “He paid me to do it. That’s all I know.”

He looks up. “I was just doing my job.”

Tommaso exclaims. “Your father’s right-hand man. Gagliardi’s head enforcer!”

The man swallows hard, clearly debating whether he should say more. Then, in a quieter voice, he adds. “They wanted her gone. Made sure I got the details right. I didn’t ask questions. Just… just a job.”

“H-his father?” Giulia stammers. “Why would your father want me?—”

The moment it hits her, it’s all too evident to deny it anymore.

“You’re a Gagliardi?”

I turn to face her, meeting her accusing eyes head-on. “Yes,” I reply without inflection, bracing for her reaction.

She flinches as if I’ve slapped her, and her face goes as pale as marble. “No. It’s not—” She shakes her head, her denial desperate, like rejecting the truth will erase it.

The enmity between our families is legendary.

The Montanaris and the Gagliardis— Cosa Nostra royalty locked in a feud older than I am.

Hearing my father talk about hers like they’re the scum of the earth is more familiar to me than breathing at this point.

He never hesitates to curse her family’s name as if they were the source of every misfortune in his life. Then again, it is the usual for him.

Edoardo always finds a way to put the blame for even the smallest inconvenience in his life on them.

A memory flashes in my mind: my father years ago, lounging in his leather chair with a cigar in hand, smoke curling lazily around his cold smile. “They’re dead?” he’d asked Emilio, his tone devoid of sympathy. “Good riddance. It’s a fine day when there are two fewer Montanaris in the world.”

I hadn’t understood the depth of his hatred until that moment. It had left me cold, and now I wonder how far his malice has stretched this time.

I could never forget the words he said to Emilio that day.

Tommaso’s phone buzzes in his pocket, breaking the tension.

Grateful for the distraction, I tear my gaze away from Giulia’s horrified eyes.

There are bigger problems to solve than her sense of betrayal—like why my father would sanction a hit without letting me know.

Granted, he doesn’t care for my approval, but he should have known I’d be here.

Right? Or was my being here during the attack part of his plan?

“Boss, your plane has been cleared to fly,” Tommaso announces.

Without hesitation, I cross the few feet separating Giulia and me, grabbing her hand. “We’re leaving.”

She yanks her hand back as though my touch burns. Her eyes blaze with fury. “I’m not going anywhere with a Gagliardi,” she snaps, her voice shaking. “Especially not one whose father just tried to have me murdered.”

“I need to look at your arm?—”

“Wow!” she cuts me off with mock shock. “A mafioso and a doctor? Impressive.”

“You’re coming with me.”

“No, thanks,” she says through clenched teeth. “But I’ll be sure to send you a postcard when I’m back in my city to let you know I didn’t die from my ‘injury.’”

No one talks to me like this—not even my father dares anymore. But why am I surprised that Giulia Montanari, a woman who travels without security despite the risks, is reckless? Why should I expect her to have any self-preservation now?

“You’re really willing to get on that plane?” I ask, my voice low. “How do you know there isn’t a ticking time bomb on it, ready to blow you to pieces at thirty thousand feet?”

“I’ll take my chances,” she says with a saccharine smile, brushing past me.

Dealing with Giulia Montanari is the surest way to die of heart problems before thirty. When she steps around me, I decide I’ve had enough. If she wants to act like a child, I’ll treat her like one.

Before she can react, I grab her waist and sling her over my shoulder.

Her outraged gasp nearly makes me laugh. “You asshole! Put me down!” She beats her fists against my back. “Help! Someone help me! I’m being kidnapped!”

Tommaso clears his throat, failing miserably to hide his amusement. “What about him?” he asks, nodding toward the restrained shooter.

“You know what to do.”

In a flash, he draws his gun, turning to face the assailant, and fires without hesitation. Straight in the middle of his forehead. The man’s body collapses to the ground with a dull thud, blood pooling beneath him.

The gunshot sound makes Giulia go silent for a second, but the silence doesn’t last; in fact, her screams and struggle to wiggle out of my hold only triple after the man drops dead.

“Take care of the witnesses,” I order Tommaso. “Bribe them, threaten them—whatever it takes. No one talks to the cops.”

“Yes, boss,” Tommaso replies smoothly.

“You murderous Neanderthal!” Giulia screams, thrashing against me. “Put me down! I’m not a bag of flour you can just carry off! My father and grandfather will find me, and you’ll regret this.”

Her words hit me like a bolt of electricity. I’m familiar with Enrico Montanari; in fact, I think I may have spoken to him once or twice indirectly at a function, but then there’s her grandfather. Lucio Sanna? As far as I know, the old man hasn’t set foot on American soil in decades.

“I’m not kidnapping you, settle down,” I bark, climbing up into my plane. I buckle her into the seat facing mine. “Don’t bother trying to run, Giulia. You can’t slip through all my men, and I’m hoping you won’t try.”

She glares at me, her pink lips pressed into a defiant line. I try to ignore how striking she looks, even with her hair disheveled and her eyes blazing with fury.