Page 41 of Broken Mafia Prince (His to Break #1)

RAFFAELE

T wo years later

She’s walking away from me.

As soon as I register that fact, panic sweeps through me like a hurricane, and I try to step out of the car and go after her. My legs refuse to budge, though, and when I glance down at them, I see that I’m stuck in quicksand. The car is gone, and I’m sinking fast.

“Giulia!” I scream her name, reaching for her, but she doesn’t turn around. Not even when I’m finally pulled under, the sand filling my nose and mouth.

Death comes in the form of a dark hallway with a bright light at the end. Squinting, I head toward the light, but just as I step into it, I find myself facing a familiar door. Everything inside of me begs me not to reach for the doorknob, not to put myself through torture again.

My hand moves of its own accord, reaching for the knob and turning it. I push the door open and step inside. The sound of my shoes against the tiled foyer echoes around the house.

I know it’s empty—I can see the furniture covered with white cloth and feel the barrenness of the place. It doesn’t stop me from calling for her.

“Giulia! Giulia!” I cry, gaze flying around wildly for any hint of her.

I search the house, opening doors and begging her to talk to me. “I just want to talk. I just want to say that we can fix this! Why won’t you give me the chance?”

I fling doors open with urgency, searching and searching. Finally, I open one last door, and there she is—with a bullet hole in her forehead.

“I told you,” she croaks. “I told you that you couldn’t end this war. You killed me!”

I glance down at my hands and see that they’re bloody and holding a gun. I let the gun drop to the floor, but by then, it’s already too late. The room is on fire, and the flames are enveloping her.

“Giulia!” I roar, reaching for her.

I jerk up in bed, panting and gasping for air. My body is soaked in sweat, and so are the sheets. It takes me a moment to realize that it was yet another dream.

After Giulia had walked away from me in the park that day, I knew letting her go wasn’t an option. So I’d done what any romance movie male lead worth his salt would do: I marched right to her doorstep the next day and prepared to fight like hell for her.

Her walking away was a sledgehammer against my ribcage, but staring at her empty house was the hit that finally succeeded in ripping me wide open.

I’ve dreamed about those two moments countless times over the years.

The dream starts the same way—with her walking away—but sometimes she doesn’t even make it across the park before a bullet from an unknown shooter rips through her.

I drag my fingers through my hair and check my time. It’s past six p.m., meaning I slept about fourteen hours. The new prescription pills are really working wonders. I’ll have to report to the family doctor so he can get me another batch.

My sleeping schedule has never been ideal, but since she left, it has become almost impossible. I’ve now fallen into the terrible habit of working myself to the bone just so I can drop into an unsatisfying two hours or so of sleep.

I feel slightly rested as I climb out of my sweat-soaked sheets and cross to the bathroom.

I’m supposed to meet a few friends at an upscale bar downtown.

I’ve been working sunup to sundown trying to get to the root of the Echelon Syndicate’s scheme, but it seems like each time I succeed in detangling one part, ten other knots show up.

It’s been two years, but I’m no closer to figuring out any of these. Each time I think of it, a headache pulses in my head.

I turn on the shower to icy spray and step under it, turning my face to the water. I’m so distracted by my thoughts that I don’t hear the bathroom door opening, or the patter of bare feet on the tiles, until someone presses up against me from behind.

I react instinctively and violently, my brain only registering danger.

I spin around, grab the intruder’s neck, smash him into the wall, and start to crush his windpipe, all before I take in terrified eyes, a bloodless face, and the sort of tits no Syndicate soldier can pull off.

I release her and step away, turning off the shower and allowing her to cough and wheeze.

I stare at the woman’s heart-shaped face and wonder who she is.

And most importantly, how the fuck did she get in?

The only people who have access to this flat are me and…

Realization hits me, and my jaw grinds together.

Fucking Matteo, still trying to matchmake everybody while still staying as far from relationships as possible.

Even though they come from the right place, his matchmaking efforts are starting to get on my last damn nerve.

If I had killed this woman, I would have been the first to point the finger at him.

“Get out,” I tell the woman.

I expect her to flee for her life after I just almost murdered her, but a coy smile curves her mouth instead. “Now, why would I do that?”

She steps closer, pressing her naked body against mine suggestively. Not even a flicker of desire steers through me, but then again, I don’t expect it to. Taking women to my bed is now more of a bodily function than a pleasure, and it’s been that way since her .

I can easily push this one face-first into the shower walls, spread her legs, and drive into her just to take the edge off.

Dreaming about that day agitates me, and it’s not a bad idea to release some tension before I have to be out in a social setting.

But my entire body recoils against being with this woman, and I step back reflexively, face hardening.

“Get the fuck out.” There’s an edge in my voice this time around. The woman stills.

“Call me sometime. I left my number on the kitchen island.” She blows a kiss and hurries away.

As soon as she’s gone, I turn the shower to hot and try to soothe my stiff muscles under the punishing burn.

After my shower, I shoot a text to my doctor, informing him of the success of his most recent drug prescription.

I get dressed and leave the penthouse, the private elevator carrying me down to the underground parking garage where my Porsche 911 waits.

My Dodge Charger is in a locked, private garage. The day I found out that Giulia was gone, I drove the car into the garage, covered it up, and walked away. It’s one of my favorite cars, but it’s now forever associated with one of the happiest and worst days of my life.

The drive to Sato and Vita, the high-end bar where we planned to meet, is filled with too loud music. It’s the only thing that helps me drown out my thoughts. Alcohol isn’t even an option, even though it’ll be way more effective.

The thing is, even though I’ve been slowly bleeding out from the wound in my heart that’s refused to scar over, I still have a responsibility to everyone in this family.

I can’t afford to drink myself to unconsciousness and leave everybody to their own devices, no matter how much I want to.

Dealing with the mafia is both invigorating and draining, and with the business expanding, the Syndicate getting bolder, and the men on my case about securing a wife, I haven’t had a moment of peace since I took over from Father.

I pull up in front of the bar and take a deep breath before turning off the music and stepping out of the vehicle. I toss my car keys at the fresh-faced valet and shoot him a nod, silently telling him to better take care of my baby.

The bar is only half full, and I cross through it, heading for a heavy, metal door toward the back. I push the door open, nodding at a suited, muscular man seated at the end of the short hallway with a gun in his lap.

The man nods with respect and motions to the right. I turn and step into a tastefully decorated room. There’s a single, long table in the room, with eleven chairs around it.

Matteo sits to the left of the head chair, while the chair to the right is unoccupied. My crew members occupy the remaining chairs, except for the one at the head. I take my place there, nodding at Matteo.

“You don’t look like someone who’s just had mind-blowing sex. Was she horrible?” He winces.

Matteo’s family moved back to Italy when we were sixteen, and since then, we’ve only seen each other a few times, but we’ve remained as thick as thieves. On our very first meeting, I punched him in the face when he’d called Laika ugly. Matteo is the only person I can comfortably call a friend.

He didn’t hesitate to fly back from Italy when I mentioned the problems I’m facing with the Syndicate.

Since then, he’s helped me connect many dots and hunt them down.

Unlike me, Matteo is carefree and the life of the party, always laughing and joking around.

Beneath all that, I know how dangerous he can be. Only a moron would mess with him.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m late,” an airy female voice says.

I glance up to see Isabella Sanna walking in carrying a bottle of wine. I frown at her, then turn the look to my friend. “You invited her?”

It’s not a question, even though it’s phrased like one, and we both know it.

Since Giulia left, Isabella and I have become close.

If someone had told me a few years ago that Giulia’s cousin would become one of my closest friends, I’d have laughed.

I used to think that she was an airhead who only knew what shoes went with what purse, but I’ve long since revised my opinion about her.

“Of course he did,” she says. “I’m mad that you didn’t.”

“This is mafia business,” I point out.

She struggles to take her coat off while still clutching her overflowing Birkin bag and taking care not to drop the bottle she’s holding. I glare at the man next to her, and he jumps into action, retrieving the wine and her bag.

“I was bored,” she confesses.

Isabella doesn’t have many friends. It turns out that Giulia was her only close friend.

I know she’s hurt by her cousin’s sudden disappearance and worried about her, too.

Neither of us has heard from Giulia since she disappeared two years ago.

Not even Matteo, with his advanced tech skills, has been able to find her.

I know Matteo wants me to quit my search for her. He’s made it clear that he’s rooting for Isabella and me, and I’ve also made it clear that I feel nothing for her. My mind shifts away from the conversation at the table, and I find myself thinking something that I try not to think about.

What if I’d offered to leave with her?

Would I have been happy being away from this life with her, knowing that I’d abandoned my responsibilities and birthright?

The question has haunted me for years, and it fills my mind now.

My life feels like an endless highway now, with duty being the engine that drives me forward. Without that, I don’t know what I am.

“No way in hell,” I tune back in when I hear Isabella snap. “I don’t trust people who drink vodka. What sane person drinks that piss?”

“You’re such a princess,” Matteo laughs.

“You’re a brute. Why don’t you go make love to your computers and leave the humans to their human drinks and not cat piss.” She turns to me. “Tell him he’s crazy, Raf.”

“You’re both crazy.” I reach for my drink.

I’m just about to tune their bickering out again when a ringtone slices through the room. For some reason, something tingles down my spine, and I get tense. I follow the sound of the ringtone to Isabella’s coat tossed over the table.

“Who the hell still calls in the twenty-first century? What happened to texting?” She eyes me judgmentally, and I force a smile on my face.

She’s always complaining about how I never respond to my texts, and I’m always telling her she should just call like a grown-up.

I can’t be bothered to check for texts at all hours of the day.

It’s a running joke between us, and usually, I’d be teasing her, but this time around, my face feels frozen.

Finally, she pulls out the phone, and then she stills, dropping the phone on the table like it’s a time bomb. I glance at the caller ID and stop breathing, feeling my heart skip a beat in my chest.

I can’t believe my eyes as I stare at Giulia’s name on the screen, unable to breathe.

The ringing drowns out the other voices in the room, and it feels like it’s only me and that phone in the room now.

I feel myself reach for it, but I tighten my hands around my glass, wondering if it will crack under the pressure.

“Somebody turn that thing off.” Matteo snatches the phone from the table and rejects the call. “There, done.”

“Why d-did you do that?” Isabella croaks.

“She left you both.” He glares. “She has no right to just reach out of the blue after disappearing with no consideration for your feelings. Let her go.”

Let her go? Impossible.

But how am I supposed to hold on to something that doesn’t want to be held on to?

Nothing has changed since she left… at least for me.

I have a terrible feeling that she’s back now because something’s changed for her.

Has she found a way to navigate the Syndicate’s scheme?

Or maybe she feels nothing for me anymore, so returning now feels safe.

Let her go? There may be no choice but to.