Page 21 of Broken Mafia Prince (His to Break #1)

GIULIA

“ H ow do you even eat this late and still call it breakfast?” I ask my cousin, raising an eyebrow at the plate in front of her.

She lifts her head from her toast and shoots me an amused look. “Sweetheart, I’m not talking to someone who spends all day grazing.”

I gasp, feigning outrage, as I pick up another cookie. “I don’t graze.”

Her eyes flick down to the cookie jar, one eyebrow arching in silent judgment. “You’ve had at least three different snacks since breakfast. How are you not the size of a barn?”

I grin at her with all the pride of a woman who knows exactly what to say. “Superior genes.”

“Or youth,” she counters with a smirk. “At this rate, you’ll eat Luca into bankruptcy.”

My smile fades as I glare at her, my mood darkening. “I’m not marrying Luca. Stop saying that.” There’s no way I’m ever going to let that man-child be my husband.

Of everything I’ve been through, ending up with him would be the worst.

She arches her eyebrows, unbothered by my irritation. “It’s not like you have a choice. Your father’s not letting you wiggle your way out of marrying him. You know that.”

I roll my eyes, knowing she’s right. It’s true that breaking away from whatever this tangled mess with Luca is would be more difficult than I care to admit.

Our families are close, bound by history and honor, and I don’t want to cause problems, especially not with everything that’s already on the line.

But that doesn’t mean I’ll let myself be shoved into a life with him.

Not when I can barely stand to be near him.

It doesn’t help that Isa’s always reminding me how much worse things could get if I tell Luca to take a hike.

The thought of him being around, hovering like a shadow, is one thing; having to navigate our families’ expectations and Luca himself with the kind of care that feels like walking on eggshells?

It’s maddening. Sometimes I almost wish I could just tell him to go to hell and be done with it.

But I know that’s not an option. Not now.

“Miss Giulia.” The sudden sound of a voice pulls me from my thoughts. One of my father’s men is standing by the door, his expression stiff. “Your father would like to see you. He’s in his office.”

I grab a cookie and toss it into my mouth before pushing myself up from the table.

“You’ve got crumbs all over your face,” Isa points out, waving her fork in the direction of my chin.

I pick up a napkin before trailing the suited man to my father’s office. I’m still wiping my face when I push open the doors and come face to face with the last person I want to see.

As soon as Luca spots me, his face crumbles into an expression of exaggerated concern. He crosses the room quickly, his hands reaching out to mine. “Giulia, oh my god, I came as soon as I heard. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

I bite my tongue, swallowing the retort that’s already forming in my mind. I should be the one asking if he’s okay—after all, the last time I saw him, he was passed out in the back of a car, murmuring another woman’s name. But I say nothing, just narrow my eyes at his obviously manufactured worry.

“Hmm.” I hum, keeping my tone neutral.

His brows knit together as he looks me over. “You don’t look fine. I heard that bastard Raffaele was at the scene.”

My father’s head snaps up at the mention of Raffaele’s name.

His gaze sharpens, and it’s clear he’s already starting to question what I’ve been keeping from him.

The accusation is clear in his eyes, and I know he’s already weighing whether I’ve betrayed him—whether I’ve chosen to side with someone from the rival Cosa Nostra family over him.

“He was?” I ask, widening my eyes and glancing between Luca and my father. “This is news to me.” The lie slips from my mouth as easily as breathing.

My father’s eyes narrow so much that all I can see are thin slivers of green.

But I hold my ground, keeping my face a picture of confusion, pretending not to understand why he’s upset.

After a long, tense moment, he lets out a sharp breath and leans back in his chair, as if deciding not to push further for now.

“Have you seen a doctor?” Luca continues, still hovering over me like some kind of overzealous protector, scanning me like I’ve just been in a car wreck.

He’s only this concerned when my father’s around, trying to play the perfect, dutiful boyfriend in front of him, making sure my father believes I’m safe in his hands.

Luca’s good-looking enough. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, always well-dressed in expensive suits.

It’s just a shame that the moment he opens his mouth, I immediately wish I could be anywhere but the same geographical zone as him.

If someone asked me to list a single redeeming feature of his, I’d be stuck on nothing.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, forcing a smile.

“Why don’t you two go talk in private?” my father suggests, his tone a little too eager.

At the word private , Luca’s eyes light up, and I barely manage to suppress the eye roll that’s itching to escape. I know exactly what he’s thinking—getting me alone, where he can make his move.

The few times he’s tried to bring it up, I’ve managed to pretend to be shocked and run off, but with my nineteenth birthday approaching and our official engagement looming, I know he’ll get more insistent.

I need to find a way out of this before that happens.

“Why don’t we go get breakfast?” Luca suggests, his smile easy and disarming. But I’m already too tired of this to even pretend I’m interested.

“I’ve had breakfast,” I say flatly.

His smile becomes strained. “Brunch then.”

I fix an apologetic look on my face. “I’m not in a habit of eating between meals.”

“You can have a salad,” he says, his brown eyes dragging over my frame in a way that feels far too critical. “You need it anyway.”

My smile doesn’t falter from my face, but on the inside, my blood boils with fury. How dare this spoiled, lazy, arrogant man-child try to body-shame me? I bet he still gets his shoes tied for him.

I don’t let my smile falter, though. I know better than to show weakness.

“Brunch sounds like a good idea,” my father adds from his seat, and the glance he shoots me is a clear warning not to be disobedient.

“It really does,” I say through clenched teeth. “I need to go change, excuse me.”

Without waiting for a response, I bolt from the room before my fixed smile completely crumbles.

My steps are sharp and angry as I head upstairs.

Even after all these years, my room feels more like a storage space than a personal sanctuary.

It still looks exactly the same as it did the day we moved in—bland and sterile.

A bed, a dresser, and a table. The walls are bare, beige, and uninviting.

The sheets are plain white, and the table holds only a few books—nothing personal.

Every time I think about decorating, about making it my own, the guilt weighs on me.

It feels like a betrayal of my twin, a betrayal of her memory.

And yes, I know I’m being a hypocrite, fussing about my father moving on with his life when I can’t even do something as simple as put cute sheets on my bed.

With a heavy sigh, I pull a blush pink dress from the closet, along with matching flats. As I slick on some clear lip gloss, an idea begins to take shape in my mind. It’s dangerous, a complete asshole move, but in my defense, he started it first.

A lopsided grin curves my lips as I pull open the bedside drawer, retrieving something that will make all the difference. Maniacal laughter bubbles up in my chest, and I toss the object into my purse, securing my ponytail tightly before heading out the door.

Luca is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, and the worried expression he wore earlier is gone. Now, he’s all impatience, tapping his foot, checking his Rolex like I’ve kept him waiting for hours.

“I’m a busy man,” he snaps as I approach. “Try not to waste my time.”

“I’m sorry.” I drop my gaze and offer an apologetic smile. His eyes flicker with surprise, no doubt thinking I’ve suddenly turned into the perfect little girlfriend. He’s too stupid to see through the act. A smug smile stretches across his face, and he nods, as if he’s just won some great victory.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“There’s a place I’ve been meaning to try,” I say casually, watching his reaction. “But I’ll understand if you can’t; I hear the meals there cost an arm and a leg.”

For all their claim of being so complex and powerful, manipulating men is one of the easiest things to do.

Manipulating Luca is easier than taking candy from a baby, and I’m not surprised at all when he pulls himself straighter and stares down at me like I’ve just insulted him and his entire generation by daring to insinuate that he can’t afford something.

“What restaurant is that?” he asks. “I’m in the mood to try something new anyway.”

“Troy’s,” I say, my lips curling into a secretive smile. “It’s a new place, close to the central shopping district.”

This is going to be too easy.

As we walk toward the door, I catch Isa’s eye. She’s watching me, her suspicion clear as she shakes her head with a warning. I give her a wave, even blow her a kiss for good measure. She doesn’t get a say in what I’m about to do. She hasn’t had to deal with Luca the way I have.

I just hope Luca’s dumb enough to take the bait and not do anything stupid or try to call my bluff. If he tries, he’s going to regret it.

“Couldn’t you at least make the effort to wear some makeup or put on heels?” Luca’s voice cuts through my thoughts as I slide into the cool leather interior of his Mercedes.

This coming from the man whining about how I “wasted” his precious fifteen minutes changing clothes.

I bite back a laugh, but before I can respond, his phone buzzes.

He pulls it out and spends the rest of the drive yammering about some upcoming party, discussing how to score drugs for it and pay off the cops to stay away.

I try not to listen, but my thoughts wander to my new favorite pastime. I can’t help but picture Raffaele, wondering if he’d be the one driving me to brunch instead. Would he spend the whole ride on the phone, too? Or would he —

“We’re here, sir,” the driver announces, interrupting my daydreams as we pull over at the curb.

I blink, surprised that we’ve arrived so quickly. Smoothing down the front of my dress, I steel myself and step out of the car.

Luca is still laughing into his phone as we walk into Troy’s, and my fists clench so tightly, my nails cut into my palms. When we’re seated, Luca finally decides to drop his phone, casting a quick, contemptuous glance at the waitress before looking away, as if this place is beneath him.

Troy’s is nothing like the pretentious, stuffy restaurants Luca usually drags me to.

There are no white tablecloths, no servers in tuxedos, no chandeliers weighing down the room.

Instead, it has a casual vibe, with a high-domed glass ceiling that lets natural light flood the space.

It’s warm and inviting, with a relaxed atmosphere that I can actually get behind.

And knowing this day of the week is its busiest is precisely why we’re here.

“Is this a five-star restaurant?” Luca barks at the server. “Does the chef have a Michelin star?”

The girl’s eyes shift over to me, shock evident in them. I clear my throat and rescue her. “Why don’t you bring us your Monday special, and a bottle of your most expensive red wine?”

“Of course, ma’am,” the waitress says quickly, slipping away before Luca can recover from being completely ignored—and worse, ordered for. Luca likes to be the biggest, loudest, most important person in the room, and I’ve often gone along with it, just to keep the peace.

But not today.

Today, I have a plan, and for it to work, I can’t let him see the menu or get even a hint of the trap he’s about to walk right into.

I reach inside my purse, my fingers curling around the EpiPen I’ve been carrying since we first met.

I can still hear his voice, arrogantly demanding that I stock up on it from our very first meeting because of his shellfish allergy.

I’ve never had to use it before, but I’m counting on today being the day.

He continues to check his watch like the douchebag he is.

“Is that bitch going to take all day to serve us? When she gets back, I’m going to have a word with the manager of this place. Nothing ruins a business more than keeping incompetent people in your employ.”

I hold my smile in place, feigning interest while he drones on about hard work, dedication, and competence—as if those words have any right to come out of his mouth. His hypocrisy is enough to make me sick.

I can’t wait to be rid of this insufferable fucking asshole.