Page 7 of Broken Mafia Prince (His to Break #1)

RAFFAELE

“ Y es! Yes, Oh fuck!” a woman’s voice screams, and I step closer to the gaping door.

There’s another reason why Father’s study is my least favorite room in the house, I think to myself as I stare at the couple entwined in the middle of the room.

The sight of my father thrusting into one of our maids is nothing new, and unlike the first few times I witnessed it, this time I don’t flinch or stagger away in shock. Instead, I take in the maid silently.

Her hair is the color of bleached gold, and her nose is a little too big for her face. I compare her to Mother and find her lacking in every way.

“ Cazzo … You feel so good!” Father groans from behind her, his hand gripping her hair tightly.

Her head falls backward, her throat bared. The maid’s eyes are squeezed shut, mouth gaping open. She’s bent over Father’s desk, while he stands behind her, his other hand gripping her generous behind.

“Harder! Faster!” she gasps.

“Play with yourself for me, angel,” he grunts, and she complies immediately, hands going up to squeeze and pinch at her breasts and nipples, face twisting in rapture.

They must have been in too much of a hurry to take off all their clothes, because the maid’s dress has merely been pushed down to her hips, and Father is still in his half-buttoned shirt.

“It feels so good, Edoardo,” the woman gasps.

“Are you close? Your pussy is so fucking tight,” he grits out. “You feel like silk, angel.”

The term of endearment, more than anything, turns my stomach, and I’m glad Mother is away.

Once upon a time, when Father still cared about public appearance, he used to call Mother his angel.

To use that term on this cagna feels like a slap in Mother’s face, more insulting than all the whores he’s ever brought back here and fucked in that study.

Mother tried to protect me from it in the beginning, covering my eyes and ushering me away, but the bolder Father got, the more resigned and impervious to it she became. Now, she walks past it like pretending they’re not right in front of her will make them disappear.

“You feel so good inside me.” The bitch lets out a long, drawn-out moan as Father continues to drive into her. “You’re so big, Edoardo. I can feel it everywhere. Don’t stop! Oh god, please don’t stop.”

Father raises his hand and brings it down on her behind, and she lets out a squeak, giggling. It’s at that moment that her eyes fly open and she catches sight of me. A look of surprise flashes across her face only for a second before a sly, challenging smile replaces it.

I don’t walk away now that she’s noticed me, though. If they had wanted to keep things private, they should have taken a second to lock the doors before stripping and pawing at each other like dogs in heat.

“Argh, yes! There!” The woman cries even louder, her eyes fixed on mine all the while. I have the feeling she’s playing up her pleasure for my benefit now.

“You’re dripping for me, angel,” Father growls, reaching down between the woman’s legs. Her eyes fly wide open at whatever he’s doing between her legs, and she begins to tremble, squeezing at her breasts harder and more frantically.

“I’m coming. I’m coming. Oh god, yes!” Lines strain her neck as she throws her head back, eyes rolling to the back of her head. She begins to convulse, a scream ripping out of her throat.

Father wraps a hand around her throat, and his lips peel back into a snarl. An animalistic grunt slips out from his clenched teeth, and his hips finally go still.

I tap my foot impatiently, waiting for the maid to leave so I can do what I came here for. I hope he’s in a good mood after his little diversion and will be more inclined to give me what I want.

The maid stretches lazily to her feet, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She takes her time fixing her clothes, while Father simply pulls his pants back up, a relaxed look settling on his face. I can’t remember the last time he looked that way around Mother or me.

“Any requests for dinner?” she asks with a smile.

Father slouches back in his chair and picks out a cigar from his custom box. “Surprise me, angel.”

Giggling, the blonde turns and heads for the door.

When she reaches me, she pauses, glancing over her shoulder. “Enjoy the show?”

I let a smile curve my lips and step aside for her. Like the others before her, she probably thinks she’ll eventually replace Mother. It’s funny—Mother would rather be anywhere but here, while a hundred women would gladly take her place.

The maid scoffs and walks away.

I glance back into the study and find Father’s cold blue eyes locked on mine. All traces of pleasure he had gotten from his afternoon sport have evaporated from his face, replaced with the icy, indifferent gaze of a man used to getting what he wants.

“May I come in?” I ask, my tone polite, though I know it’s anything but welcome.

Those cold blue eyes flicker with distaste, and he nods curtly.

I step into the room, the weight of the space settling on my shoulders.

When Father’s gone and I take over, I’ll replace the dark, heavy furniture in this room with something brighter.

Maybe I’ll even open the windows to face the garden, letting in more light.

Or perhaps I’ll just seal off the room entirely.

“What do you want?”

Before I decided to come down here, I had practiced what I planned to say a dozen times in the mirror. But now, standing before him, all those words desert me. There’s suddenly a disconnect between my brain and my mouth.

“I w-want… I mean t-to say that—” I pause and try again. “Father, I’d like to request f-for some—” His eyes pierce through me, and I feel a burning sensation at my failure to appear calm and grown-up before him.

“Say what you want or get out,” he commands, his voice cold and his irritation slicing through me. “Or is speaking now too much to ask of you?”

I swallow, steel my spine, and imagine that it’s Mother seated there. This time, the words flow out easily. “Father, I’d like to request some money.”

“What for?”

I considered lying when I was practicing in my room. I know that he won’t hesitate to give me money for a football or a baseball mitt, but if he ever asks where the equipment is and I come up empty, there will be hell to pay.

“There’s a book—” I begin, but he interrupts.

“A book,” he echoes, puffing on his cigar. “And what’s so special about this book?” He says the last word like it’s a personal affront.

“It’s a story about a brave farmer who becomes the hero of his town when the?—”

He raises his palm to stop me. “You want to buy a book, a storybook. Do I have that right? My son wants to read a storybook about heroes and villains.”

Father rises to his feet and comes around the table to stand before me. “Do I have that right?”

I want to tell him it’s more than just heroes and villains, that it’s about bravery and caring enough to fight for something.

I wish I had more things I cared enough about to fight for, but the life I’m living has been carefully curated by someone else.

The only thing worth defending is Mother.

I need to protect her. I can’t let him send her to my aunt’s in Italy for months again, claiming she needs to finally learn how to be a proper wife before coming back.

“Yes, Father,” I mumble, my head bowed, unable to meet his gaze.

Without warning, his hand lashes out and grips my jaw, forcing me to look up at him.

His blue eyes are cold and hard, mirroring my own.

“You want to spend your weekend reading about farmers?” he sneers.

“Do you do these things just to embarrass me? To make me beat my head against the wall, wondering where I went wrong?”

“No, Father,” I blurt out, eyes wide in panic.

“Then it’s your mother, isn’t it?” He shakes me roughly. “Did I not tell you to stop spending so much time around her? Do I have to get rid of her permanently this time for you to come to your senses?

“Don’t touch my mother!” I scream, pulling away from his grip. “If you touch her, I will?—”

“You will what?” he snarls, and before I can react, the back of his hand comes down on my face. I stagger back from the force of the blow, my teeth cutting into the inside of my cheeks.

He grabs me by the collar, lifting me off my feet. “What will you do, Raffaele? Let me tell you what you’ll do—you’ll do nothing, because you can do nothing. The next time you threaten me, make sure it’s not an empty one. Capisci ?”

I nod quickly, eager to escape his grasp, eager to leave this house entirely. Without Mother, this building doesn’t feel like home, and I hate it here more than ever.

Father tosses me away from him, and I don’t wait for him to decide he’s not had enough of me. I turn and walk away, head held high. I’ve since learned never to show Father my weaknesses, my tears, or my eagerness to escape his presence.

Only when I’m far from his office do I pick up the pace, rushing through the living room, the piano room, and the countless other rooms that make this place feel more like a mausoleum than a home. I don’t stop running until I’m out of the house and on the street.

Only then do I slow down, kicking at loose rocks on the road. “I hate you. I hate you so much,” I mutter.

My favorite pastime is imagining a life without Father. A life where Mother doesn’t have to take so many trips away just to escape this gilded cage. A life where I can have all the books I want and never be smacked around.

“Where do you think you’re going, freak?” I hear a boy’s voice taunting.

I glance up sharply, ready to run in the opposite direction, until I notice that the boys aren’t talking to me. Three boys are standing around something. I recognize one of them from some of the parties Father has forced me to attend.

The biggest one in the middle is Rocco, and the other two appear to be his cronies.

“Let’s just end his miserable existence,” Rocco sneers.

I’m about to walk past when I hear a whimper, and despite everything in me telling me to be on my way and I don’t want to get involved in whatever they’re up to, I find myself heading in their direction.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” I ask, feigning a boldness I don’t feel.

Rocco glances over his shoulder and rolls his eyes. “Be on your merry way, little Raff.”

For the first time, I notice the mangy mutt standing at their feet. The poor thing looks terrified, its big, sad eyes darting around for a way out… or a savior.

I suddenly remember the soldier from my book, how he didn’t cower in the face of danger. “Get away from him!” I charge forward, stepping between the dog and the boys, then turn to it. “Get out of here, save yourself.”

But the dog does the opposite and clings to my leg, whimpering and shaking.

Rocco sneers. “Look at the freaks sticking together.”

“We’re not freaks!” The words burst from me, my fingers curling into fists at my side.

The boys burst into laughter, and Rocco takes a threatening step forward, raising the club in my view. “This is your last chance, little Raff, get the hell away from here.”

I notice for the first time that all the boys are holding some kind of weapon. The first sliver of fear rolls through me. The dog whimpers again, and the fear is replaced by anger.

“I’m not letting you hurt the dog!” I growl.

“Your choice.” Rocco laughs. “Get him, boys!”

I scoop up the dog and turn to run, but I don’t see one of the boys’ legs in my path. I trip, falling hard, throwing my body over the dog to protect it. That’s when the first hit of the club comes down on my back.

I howl in pain as bats, planks, and kicks rain down on me, the boys laughing cruelly all the while, while the dog wails in the safety of my arms.

“Let’s get out of here,” Rocco spits. “These freaks aren’t worth our time.”

“Take this for the road!” one of the other boys snarls, bringing down his plank again. This time, I feel a hot flash of pain as it strikes the side of my face. I scream, cupping my face in agony.

“Shit… you hit him too hard!”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Rocco orders, and the boys scatter. The slap of sneakers against the pavement echoes long after they’ve gone.

My face feels like it’s on fire. I lie there for what feels like hours, tears rolling down my cheeks.

I finally get up when the dog begins to lick the other side of my face.

Slowly, I lift it into my arms and make the excruciating walk back to my house, sneaking in through the servant’s entrance to avoid being seen.

There’s a small bathroom at the back of the kitchen that no one ever uses. That’s my destination now. The fluorescent lights flicker, but they’re enough to reveal the blood soaking one side of my face.

My stomach churns with horror. I start washing the blood off, wincing with each movement. But the pain is worse when I pull out the first-aid kit and pour alcohol over the cuts.

I bite down on my arm to muffle my scream, breaking skin. Once I’ve wrapped the bandages around my face, I scoop the dog into my arms and crawl into the dry tub.

“Hello there.” I smile at the mutt. It butts its head under my chin. It’s a mix of a dozen different breeds, and probably the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen, but I think he’s cool.

“What do you think about Laika?” I ask him. “I know it’s a girl’s name, but it’s the name of a very brave dog. She was the first dog to orbit Earth. Isn’t that cool?”

Laika barks, tongue lolling. I laugh, then wince as the movement pulls at my injuries. “Ouch. I don’t think I’ll be laughing for a while.”

He snuggles into my arm again, and there in that tub, I feel proud for being so brave and making a new friend. I wonder what Mother will think about him.