Page 31 of Broken Mafia Prince (His to Break #1)

GIULIA

S omeone is in my bedroom.

The thought jerks me into full consciousness, but I remain perfectly still, keeping my breaths even and my eyes squeezed shut. Slowly, I inch my hand under my pillow in search of my gun. Panic lances through me when I come up empty.

I must have left it in the bedside drawer. If I can reach for it before the intruder catches on, I can?—

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of sizzling. It’s strange enough to make my eyes fly open. Instead of my plain beige bedroom walls, I find myself facing stained wood paneling. At that moment, the memories come rushing back like a flood, and I jerk upright, eyes wide.

I really went to see Raffaele yesterday. We really got attacked by Syndicate operatives, and I really let him spread my legs on a kitchen counter in an unknown location and finger me into a mind-blowing orgasm. Holy shit, what was I thinking? Had I been thinking at all?

There’s another sizzling sound, and this time around, my head snaps to the side, or more specifically to where the man in question is standing, wearing low-riding sweatpants and—holy God in heaven—nothing else.

My hungry gaze tracks down the rippling muscles of his back to the two divots right above the waistband of the pants.

A flutter rises in the bottom of my stomach, and I swallow. Waking up to a sinfully sexy man cooking half-naked is something I didn’t know I needed before now, but now, I’ve seen the light.

Just as slowly as they crept down, my eyes begin to move back up.

The sound of Raffaele clearing his throat causes my eyes to fly up to his, and to my horror, I find him watching me, a small smile pulling at his mouth.

“You could have done a full sketch in the time it took you to ogle me. That’d have lasted longer,” he says.

Scalding heat rises up my cheeks. I quickly duck my face. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” He still sounds amused, and it grates at my nerves, but at least he returns his focus to the pan.

Whatever he’s cooking smells amazing. I never would have guessed that a man like him, who must be used to people jumping at his orders at the click of his fingers, would be able to even boil water.

It seems there’s a lot about Raffaele I don’t know.

As a matter of fact, I don’t know him at all, I have to remember that.

It might look or feel like we’re buddies, but he’s definitely not on my side. He’s on the side of whatever protects his best interests.

A glance down at myself reveals that I’m still fully clothed. I make a face at the realization that I went right to bed after what happened last night without even cleaning up in the bathroom.

As if Raffaele can read my mind, he suddenly glances over his shoulder. “There’s sweatpants and a T-shirt in the bottom drawer. A spare toothbrush is in the bathroom. If you want.”

“Uh, thanks.” I stumble to my feet. I don’t meet his eyes as I hurry for the bathroom, wondering if he realizes that his chopping board is right where my ass was last night.

I let out a sigh of relief when I’m safely enclosed in the bathroom.

I quickly rip the toothbrush from the pack and brush my teeth.

I wash my face at the sink, then change out of my clothes.

The clothes swallow me whole, and I have to roll the waistband of the joggers several times for them to stay up.

I look like a little kid playing dress-up in her parents’ clothes.

Sighing, I drag my fingers through my hair before stepping out of the bathroom.

Raffaele is plating up the food when I step back into the room, and he passes me a plate as I walk past. The pancakes look perfectly fluffy and golden, and so does the bacon.

I settle on the edge of the bed with my plate, and he passes me a glass of juice.

When I raise my eyebrows at that, he shrugs.

“I don’t drink coffee, so I don’t keep any here,” he explains, completely unembarrassed that he drinks children’s fruit juice.

My mouth twitches with a smile, but I bite it back, tucking into my food. A deep moan slips out as the food touches my mouth, flavor bursting out on my tongue. It’s safe to say that the food tastes just as good as it looks. Is there anything he can’t do?

I peek up at him leaning against the counter, wolfing down his food like he hasn’t eaten in years. A man of his size must need a lot of food to fuel him. I wonder what else he has a large appetite for. If I let him, would he?—

I shove the dirty thought back where it came from and concentrate on taking one bite after another. Thoughts like that lead nowhere good. I should know; after all, a few hours ago, I’d been begging for Raffaele’s touch like he was cocaine and I’m an addict.

“How do you think they found us?” I ask. “I mean, at the warehouse? Do you think they’re following us?”

He glances over at me. “Why would they be following us? Unless they know we know something, and the only way they’ll know that is if either of us told someone.”

“Isa would never betray me!” I snap.

“I didn’t say anything about that.” He pushes another fork piled with pancakes into his mouth and chews.

He continues after he swallows, and I totally don’t get entranced by the way his Adam’s apple bobs.

“It could also be that the people I asked to look into this matter for me aren’t as trustworthy as I thought. ”

“What are you going to do?”

“Fix this.”

“How?”

“Eat your food, Giulia. I need to drive you home.”

I take the dismissal for what it is and go back to my food. It’s better if I don’t know what he plans to do anyway. Plausible deniability and all that. I have no doubt whatever he intends to do won’t involve a nice sit-down conversation and a bottle of orange juice.

“I’ll have the clothes laundered and sent back.”

His gaze flickers over me. “You can keep them.”

An hour later, I’m tiptoeing into my father’s penthouse in the city and hoping that, for the first time in his life, he’s decided to sleep in.

As soon as I cross the foyer into the high-ceilinged living room, there is a clicking sound, and the room is suddenly awash in yellow light.

I whirl around to see my father seated on the couch, staring up at me with a blank expression.

“Good morning,” I say nervously.

He studies me for a terse moment. “Where did you sleep last night?”

Experience has already made it clear to me that I’m a shitty liar. So, rather than give a straight answer, I blink at him. “Didn’t you get my text?”

“I don’t remember Isabella being a size XXL,” he drawls.

Damn it, I forgot to change back into my things. “It’s not hers, Dad. And don’t ask me who it belongs to. Trust me, you do not want to hear the sordid tale.” It’s a half-truth at best, but it beats stumbling through a lie and tipping off all my father’s bullshit radars.

“Giulia, I’m?—”

He’s cut off by the ringing of the doorbell. Relief rocks through me at the interruption. I could kiss whoever is at the door right now. I don’t wait around to hear what else Papa has to say. Instead, I hurry for the door, beating one of my father’s men to it.

The smile on my face withers to nothing as I catch sight of the visitor. “What are you doing here?”

Luca glances over my shoulder. He must see my father, because his expression settles into one of concern. He steps forward and wraps his arm around me, causing me to go as still as a statue.

“I only need to look away for one second for danger to find you,” he sighs. “At this point, I’m terrified you won’t even make it to the altar.”

“I’d rather be dead than stand at the altar with you, asshole,” I whisper into his ear, causing him to jerk away.

His eyes are wide with shock for a moment. I narrow my eyes at him, conveying how serious I’m being. Any hesitation I had about refusing this marriage is gone now that I’ve found out that he’s only marrying me for the sake of his inheritance and he’s even more of an asshole than I ever thought.

Not even a gun to my head would make me say ‘I do’ to him.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Father says from behind us, then disappears down the hallway leading to his home office. He’s barely left the room when Luca grips me by my arm and yanks me into his body, face twisted into a sneer.

“So the little bitch now spreads her legs for the enemy, huh?” he bites out.

I still. “Let go of me, you asshole.”

“You dare ask me to let go of you?” He scoffs. “I’m your betrothed, and you won’t even let me touch you. Here I was, like a damned fool, thinking it was because you were pure and untouched. Turns out you’re just like every other lying whore who doesn’t want the good guy.”

“You really think you’re the good guy?” I laugh. “I need some of that bottle of delusion you’ve been drinking.”

His brown eyes flare. “So you’re not denying it?”

“I have nothing to say to you, Luca,” I snap.

“Your informant needs to get his eyes checked, and you need to check your level of audacity. You think you can waltz into my house and call me a whore? I haven’t been sleeping around, but that’s not out of respect to you.

I’m not going to marry you, and I don’t owe you shit! ”

It happens too fast for me to process. He spins us around and pushes me backward. I let out a cry of pain as the back of my head smacks into the wall.

“I’ve been far too nice to you, and that’s become a problem. You?—”

“You’ll let my daughter go this instant or spend the rest of your life eating through a straw,” my father cuts him off in a cold voice I’ve never heard him use before.

Luca’s eyes widen in panic, and he pushes away from me, pasting on his bullshit easy smile. “We were just talking, you know how it is. Right, Giulia?”

“Go to hell and stay there, pezzo di merda .”

He slants me a furious glare, but before he can make a move, Father clears his throat. I expect him to reprimand me for calling Luca names, but instead, he motions down the hall.