Page 8 of Broken Mafia Prince (His to Break #1)

GIULIA

“You’re back, Papa!” I say excitedly, jumping down from the step stool I’ve been using to reach the stove.

The smell of vanilla fills the kitchen, reminding me of Mama.

I hope it will do the same for Papa, too, and maybe make him think of her like I do.

I’ve spent the whole day flipping through recipe books, desperately searching for something that might taste as close as possible to the way Mama used to make it.

Something that’ll make everything feel right again, even if just for a little while.

The chocolate chip cookies are cooling on the kitchen island, the banana cupcakes are in the oven, and I’m mixing a fresh batch of dough for sfogliatelle .

Papa always liked them, and I still remember the way he’d sneak behind Mama, trying to steal them off the cooling tray when he thought no one was looking.

It made me laugh then, and I almost smile now, wishing I could make him happy like that again.

“What are you doing, Giulia?” Papa asks, his eyes scanning me briefly before his gaze slides over the messy kitchen like he doesn’t even notice it.

“I thought I’d make something sweet for us,” I reply, smiling so wide my face hurts. “I was going to make some iced tea, and we could watch The Sound of Music .”

It is—no, it was—one of Mama’s favorite movies. She always cried at the end, while Val and I remained dry-eyed, singing along happily. My chest tightens like it always does when I think about them.

It’s like someone’s squeezing my heart, and it makes me feel small and lost all over again.

Leaving our home and moving here hasn’t done anything to lessen the pain of losing them, and in fact, some days it feels like I’d have been better off in California. It felt like home there, and at least I was able to fall asleep when I curled up in Val’s bed.

My bed here is too big, and everything feels foreign. Even though it’s been three years, I still feel like a stranger drifting through unfamiliar rooms and hallways.

Papa still doesn’t talk about Mama much. After she passed, he got rid of everything that reminded him of her. Every picture, every piece of furniture that had belonged to her. It’s like he thought moving here, to this enormous house, would be enough to forget.

But for me, it just made everything worse. I miss the old house, even if it was small. At least it felt like home. Here, everything feels like it’s on display, like it’s all just for show.

Papa’s always busy, and even when he’s here, it’s not really him I’m talking to.

It’s like there’s a wall between us. His work friends, the new staff, the bodyguards he hired—they’re all here, always here.

There’s never a moment that’s just us. After Mama and Val…

after everything… it feels like we’ve both been lost, just floating through life, never really connecting.

We live in this huge mansion now, with ten rooms and too many hallways to count, but I would trade it all for the times back in California when I didn’t have to walk around alone, checking in with the bodyguard before I could even speak to Papa. It’s like I’m invisible now.

“What do you say, Papa?” I ask, my voice trembling just a little. “Should I give you a few minutes to wash up and join me? I’m almost done. We can watch it together, just like we used to. Just like old times.”

Some emotion rises in the depths of Papa’s eyes, and for a breathless moment, I think he’s going to take my offer and take one step toward erasing the distance between us. But then the door behind flings open, and two men in dark suits walk in.

The moment cracks and then shatters as he turns away from me. “Make sure to clean all this up.”

I refuse to take his words for the clear dismissal they are. Dropping the whisk on the counter, I rush after him. “I’ll put the cookies in the fridge, and they’ll keep until you’re done with your meeting.”

He doesn’t spare me a glance. “Not now, Giulia, I’m busy.”

“I wouldn’t mind cookies,” one of Father’s guests says, swinging around to face me.

I take a step back, something unpleasant crawling down my spine as the man’s dark, beady eyes land on mine.

I recognize him as the man who’s been coming around consistently for the past few weeks.

I don’t like any of the men Papa brings to the house, but I’m particularly averse to the one smiling down at me.

“They’re not for you!” I snap at him.

“Gentlemen, shall we?” Papa motions to his office, and the men follow his direction.

I wait for my father’s eyes to meet mine so I can plead my case again, but a moment later, the door shuts between us.

If only the door was the only thing separating us , I think bitterly.

I press my head to the solid wooden door with a defeated sigh. What had once been a little gap between Papa and me was now a gaping chasm, with no bridge in sight. Every time I attempt to cross over to his side, he takes a step away, widening the space between us.

“I don’t know what to do,” I mutter.

“I can’t think of a single person with a vendetta against Nina, which means that whoever did it was either after me or him,” I hear Papa say.

Vendetta? Against Mama?

I press my ear close to the door, curious. I haven’t heard him mention Mama or Val since they were taken from us, as if they’d ceased to exist to him.

“Not a lot of people knew about their connection, so I doubt this has anything to do with him,” one of the men replies.

“And the tattoo? The one on the figlio di puttana who was driving the truck?” Papa asks, voice threaded with desperate fury.

My eyes widen in shock as the realization of what they’re discussing hits me. I assumed that Papa was trying to forget the other half of our family and wipe all traces of them from his memory, but it appears he’s still actively trying to uncover the mystery of that day. I press closer to the door.

There’s a pause. “You were right about it belonging to the Echelon Syndicate. But the question is, what do they stand to gain by doing this?”

I hear something crash. “I don’t care about finding motives. What I care about is raining hell on these bastards’ heads!” he hisses. “The man I shot had that tattoo. The design is too unique for it to be a casual coincidence. The Echelon Syndicate took my family from me.”

The tremble starts from my legs and spreads up to the rest of my body. Papa’s words echo in my head like a taunt, and I want to push the door open, rush in, and remind him that I’m his family, and he hasn’t lost me.

By the time I push the hurt from his words and start listening again, I realize that I’ve missed some part of the discussion. They’ve moved on from the Echelon Syndicate, and Papa is cursing someone out.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that criminal Edoardo was behind this. It’s the sort of underhanded move he enjoys making,” he spits, voice laced with malice.

One of the men clears his throat. “The Gagliardis are Chicago royalty. Pointing fingers at them without evidence wouldn’t be in your best interest.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“On the side of whoever won’t get a bullet to their heads first,” the man drawls. “You haven’t had any interaction with the Gagliardis in years. Why would they suddenly decide that they have unfinished business with you? It doesn’t make sense, Enrico.”

“Some bastardo plotted and took everything from me.” Papa’s voice is suddenly as cold as ice, and it makes me shiver. “That doesn’t make any sense, either. Just find me the body first. I’ll get to the bottom of this if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Not everything,” I whisper to the door. “What about me?”

I wonder if he’s always just loved them more than me, or if seeing me is a cruel reminder of everything he’s lost. Neither of the options is comforting.

My stomach feels achy, like when I’ve eaten something bad, and I stumble away from the door, unable to stay there one more second and listen to him act like I’m lying somewhere at the bottom of that cliff, too.

Tears sting my eyes, and I wrap my flour-covered arms around myself, feeling lonelier than ever. Back in California, I would’ve crawled into Mama’s closet and snuggled into one of her big, soft sweaters. But here, there’s nothing left of her.

Then I remember the letter.

I couldn’t read it before, so I just kept it.

I rush to my room and lock the door, just in case Papa comes in. He never really does, but I’m not taking any chances.

The letter is the only thing I brought when Papa told me to pack a backpack fast one morning at breakfast. I hid it under a loose floorboard. I have to push my bed a little to find it, and my hands shake as I do.

I pull out the cereal box that contains the letter and then climb into my bed, reading Mama’s neat cursive.

Dearest Papa,

By the time this letter reaches you, I will be long gone. I only hope you’ve not been searching too long or worrying that something horrible has happened to me. I haven’t been kidnapped or stolen away. I left of my own free will, and I hope one day you’ll be able to understand and forgive me.

What I have with Enrico is rare, and you may think that I’m making a mistake, but I believe Enrico when he says that a love like this doesn’t come twice in one’s lifetime, and so I refuse to miss out on it because you don’t think it’s right.

How can something that feels this good be wrong, Papa?

Enrico says there’s a world out there with endless possibilities for us, and I want to see it. You gave me a life, but he wants to give me the world.

Don’t bother looking for me, because you won’t find me, and even if you do, I won’t come back voluntarily.

Give Mama all my love. Tell her that I’m sorry I couldn’t be the perfect little princess she wants me to be. I hope that someday, you’ll be able to forgive me and be a part of my future.

Until then, ciao.

Your daughter,

Eleanora.

I trace my thumb over Mama’s handwriting, trying to feel closer to her. It’s just words on paper, but it has to be enough for me. I trace my eyes over the letter again, feeling like some pieces of the puzzle are finally coming together.

A memory of Val asking Mama when we were going to visit her mother flashes in my head. Papa had laughed and snatched my twin into the air, distracting her with tickles, but I had noticed Mama’s sudden quietness.

I wonder if my grandparents know that Mama is dead? Papa ought to tell them. And then another horrible thought occurs to me.

The letter still being here means that it was never delivered, so there’s a chance that Mama’s family doesn’t know what happened to her and why she suddenly disappeared.

I can’t stop thinking about the fact that my grandparents disapproved of Papa.

All our lives, Val and I had been told that our grandparents were too far away, too busy, and there had always been an excuse for why we never heard from them.

While the truth was that Papa had taken their daughter away from them.

The questions plague me now, filling me with the urge to show my father my discovery.

But what if he takes the letter from you? a voice in my head asks, causing me to hesitate.

What if he doesn’t? What if this is the thing that finally bridges the space between us? Excitement washes over me, and I jump out of the bed, intent on marching straight to his office to tell him about the letter.

Just then, there’s a knock at the door, and the knob begins to turn.

“Papa?” I ask slowly, breath catching in my throat.

“Giulia, what are you doing in there? Open the door.” He sounds annoyed already, and it makes me fly into action.

“Fifteen seconds, Papa!” I call out. “I’m just changing out of these stained clothes.”

I fold back the letter, tuck it into the cereal box, and toss it into the space under the floorboards. I race to the other side of the bed and put my shoulder into pushing it back into place against the wall.

Sweat pours down my face and makes loose tendrils of hair stick to my face. I push the strands away from my face, take off my apron, and rush to the door, unlocking it.

I’m panting with exertion by the time Papa’s tall frame comes into view. My mouth is just curving into a pleased smile, thinking he’s changed his mind about spending the afternoon with me, when he suddenly thrusts a girl in my direction.

My eyes widen, and I reel back, staring at the girl with a mixture of shock and suspicion. She’s a little older than me, and her big, brown eyes stare back at me with matching suspicion.

“Who is she?” I ask, pouting.

“Meet Isabella,” he says. “Your cousin.”

I jolt. “Cousin? I’ve never heard of any cousins.”

His mouth presses into a thin line, and he reluctantly adds, “She’s from your mother’s side. I’ll let you two get acquainted. As a matter of fact, why don’t you watch that movie with her?”

My heart sinks to my belly. “But it’s our movie.” I hate the childish whine in my voice.

I swing my gaze over to the taller girl, who’s staring between Papa and me with confusion etched into her face. All of a sudden, the confusion clears on her face, and she sniffs.

“What’s burning?”

Oh no!