Page 9 of Broken Mafia Prince (His to Break #1)

RAFFAELE

“If we can get Frankie D’Amato’s handshake on it, we’ll be able to get our trucks through the north side.” Father takes a drag of his cigar, his gaze idly scanning over the field.

The first time my father dragged me to one of his weekend getaways, I spent the entire time counting down the seconds until we could go home. I don’t want to be around my father longer than necessary, nor do I want to get familiar with the ‘family business.’

Guns, drugs, women—they sound fascinating in movies and books, but the reality of it is far different.

Each time my fingers curl around the handle of a gun, I’m struck with the frightening realization that one day I will have to shoot at a real person and not a dummy.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately for me, I’m a natural.

I hit every target point-blank, and I’m good at remembering details, keeping a mental track of money, names, and locations.

It’s made Father lay off on me a little, but it also means that he wants to take me everywhere, and I never get to see Mother these days.

We arrived at this retreat a few hours ago, and since then, it’s been business and more business, just like I’d predicted. I find myself eager to escape the business conversation and traipse through the orchard I spied on the drive in.

Laika is locked up in my bedroom, and I know he’ll be whining to be outside.

“What do you think, son?” His voice snaps me back to the present, and I blink.

“Frankie D’Amato’s word is shit. Driving through his territory is a suicide mission, doesn’t matter if he’s shook hands on it.” I lock eyes with Father’s.

He stares at me for a long moment, and I can feel the other men’s gaze on me.

They’re all holding their breath, waiting for Edoardo to chew me out for daring to insinuate that he’s wrong.

Father is a reasonable enough man, but like most men in the mafia, he’s old-school and likes to think that a man’s word is his honor.

Frankie is a two-faced fucker who’d swear on his own mother’s grave with his fingers crossed behind his back.

“Smart boy,” he grins.

I don’t know if it’s because he agrees with me, or if it’s part of his charade to show the world that the Gagliardis are one big, happy family, but I’m relieved either way.

I tune out the rest of the men’s conversation, staring out over the field with longing.

“Don’t tell me we won’t even get a chance to play cards, Edoardo.” A woman’s husky voice draws my attention to where two brunettes are approaching.

“I was just rounding up my conversation,” Father laughs as the woman sidles up to him.

“And who is this handsome young man?” the other woman asks, eyes running down my frame, causing me to freeze.

This past year, I’ve shot up several inches, and I’m taller than many boys my age. I look older than thirteen, and I’m already the same height as the woman. She’s looking at me like I’ve seen women look at my father, and I resist the urge to brush my fingers against my scar.

I know it’s still there, so the glint in her eyes makes no sense. I come to the conclusion that she’s trying to mock me.

“Handsome?” the first woman asks in surprise, her painted red mouth pursing. “Selene, don’t be mean.”

“Mean?” Selene moves closer and drops a hand to my arm.

The other woman turns to my father. “Isn’t there something you can do about his face? There’s all kinds of cosmetic surgeries you can do to fix him.”

“There’s no need to fix him.” The one beside me winks. “I think the scar is sexy.”

My stomach roils at the way her voice drops. I disentangle myself from her and shift away. Clearing my throat, I avoid Father’s hard gaze on me and try to look anywhere but at the women.

I hate that the first thing anyone notices is the scar. They talk about it like I’m nothing but my scar, and I hate it. I don’t regret saving Laika because he’s the best friend a boy could ever ask for, but some days I wish I could have saved him without getting marred.

“And you can tell he’s going to break a lot of hearts when he gets older,” Selene continues. “Or are you breaking a lot of hearts already?”

“Leave the boy alone,” one of the men says. “If you’re looking for a real man, Selene, you know where to find me.”

“Vinny!” she exclaims in mock shock. “I didn’t see you there beneath your massive ego.”

Laughter explodes around the group, and it makes me feel lonelier than ever. I’d rather be left in the house to read and play chess than to be put on display in front of Father’s friends.

“What’s your name?” Selene asks me when the laughter subsides.

Instead of responding, I snatch my father’s empty wine glass from his hand. “I’ll go get you a refill,” I say, trying to escape the conversation. Then, I decide to leave, hoping he won’t be too angry if I don’t return.

Before anyone can stop me, I spin on my heel and hurry away from the group. The tension in my shoulders loosens the farther I get from them. I dump the glass on a table and slip into the rental, my heart racing with excitement.

I find him scratching at the door, whining like a little drama king.

The moment he sees me, he starts barking, all legs and fur, jumping on me and wagging his tail like I’m the best thing to ever happen to him.

He’s barely recognizable from the scrappy dog I rescued a year ago.

Now, he’s a shiny, healthy ball of energy, looking more like he’s ready to run a marathon than be a lap dog.

Thank god Mama helped me sneak him in. I doubt Papa even cares enough to notice.

“I’m sorry I left you in here,” I tell him with a smile. I rifle through my pocket and hold up a little baggy of treats. “I hope this is enough to say sorry.”

Laika goes crazy at the sight of my peace offering, tail wagging with renewed gusto.

Laughing, I open the door, and we run out of the building, the dog weaving through my legs excitedly. The air at the retreat is clean and fresh, and ahead of us, the trees in the orchard wave in the breeze.

Laika sniffs at the apples on the ground, turns his nose up in distaste, and jogs off. I shake my head at his aversion to fruits and pluck an apple from the tree, biting into it. The orchard is large and beautiful, with plump apples shining on the trees.

I’m thinking of the amazing apple pie our cook back home could make with it when I hear the sound of girlish laughter. I freeze in my tracks, my head cocking in the direction of the sound. I’m beginning to think it’s a figment of my imagination when the sound comes again.

My mouth unconsciously begins to curve into a smile.

“Silly dog.” The girly voice giggles, causing my smile to wither and die immediately.

Eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, I inch toward the direction of the sound, keeping my steps light so as not to alert the girl. And then finally, I break through the line of trees and catch sight of the girl.

She’s dancing around the cleared section of land, spinning and leaping into the air with her hands over her head.

Laika jumps around excitedly, barking and trying to catch her dress in his mouth as it floats around her.

As I listen to her trickling laughter, something inside of me loosens as I stare at the angelic creature.

I’m about to step out and join her when I remember that my scar will probably wipe the laughter off her face. I grit my teeth and take a step back.

Suddenly, she drops to the ground and wraps her arms around Laika. The traitor dog licks at her face, staring at her with big, adoring eyes.

“Where did you come from?” she asks, pushing her brown hair away from her face. “Who would leave such a pretty boy like you out here?”

“I didn’t leave him,” I blurt out.

The girl jumps to her feet in surprise, eyes swinging in my direction. I have no choice but to step into the light now that I’ve exposed myself. I wait for the girl to stagger away in horror so I can take my dog and leave, but instead, she just blinks at me.

“Laika, let’s go,” I order.

His head moves back and forth between me and the hazel-eyed girl, and to my shock, he moves closer to her.

“His name is Marty,” the girl declares, chin thrust in the air.

My face twists in annoyance. “No, it’s not. He’s my dog, and his name is Laika.”

She scoffs, arms crossing over her chest. “What kind of stupid name is Laika? Anyway, if he’s really your dog, why isn’t he at your side right now?”

It’s a good question, and I stare down at the traitor dog. “Laika, come here now.” He turns his head up to the girl and whines, like I’m interrupting them.

“Good boy, Marty. He knows not to go off with strangers.”

I take a threatening step forward. “I’m not a stranger. You’re the stranger. Just give me my damn dog and run back to your mommy, kid.”

She flinches. Instead of feeling triumphant, I just feel like a piece of shit. I have to remind myself that I don’t know the girl, and I don’t care if my words hurt her. I just need her to run off and give me my friend back.

“No wonder the dog doesn’t want anything to do with you,” she snaps. “You’re rude, mean, and horrible.”

I roll my eyes, trying to hide how my chest tightens at her words. I’m not surprised that she thinks I’m horrible; the scar on my face isn’t pretty or subtle. “Beast, Scar, the phantom of the opera—trust me, I’ve heard them all, and I don’t care, just give me my dog.”

Confusion twists her face. “What do they have to do with anything?”

My fingers curl into fists at my side. It’s true that I hate people’s reaction to my face, but what I probably hate more is when people pretend like it’s not there. “Don’t act like you can’t see this.” I jerk a thumb at my face.

She huffs. “Well, I’m not surprised that you have a face to match your horrible behavior.”

“You have that backward.”

“I do not,” she insists. “The dog can’t tell that you have a scar, but I’m sure he can tell that you’re a surly boy, and that’s why he wants nothing to do with you.

It’s probably why you aren’t playing with the other boys out there, so stop blaming your face and take responsibility for your own actions. ”

“You know nothing!” I snarl. The other boys want nothing to do with me because of my face. Even when I’m being nice to them, all they want to do is laugh and try to liken me to every disfigured character they can think of.

She must be naive to think the world is like fairy tales, where everyone can see beneath what a person looks like.

“You’re not always going to get away with playing the role of Beast.” She marches forward until she’s in my face.

The girl is tiny, barely coming up to my chest, but her furious hazel eyes make me feel all of three feet tall.

“You think it’s all right to act like a beast?

Just because everyone tells you that you look like one doesn’t mean you have to act like one. ”

“I—”

But she’s not finished. “If Prince Adam had continued to be horrible to Belle, he’d never have broken the curse and become a man again.” She plants her hands on her hips for extra emphasis.

I don’t know who Prince Adam or Belle are, but I take a mental note to find out everything about them.

The way she’s staring at me, it’s almost like she’s demanding an apology. I open my mouth to say I’m sorry, but decide against it. “I don’t need a lecture from you. Don’t try to steal people’s dogs.”

Her eyes narrow. “Marty chose me.”

“That’s stupid, and Marty is a stupid name.”

“You’re stupid,” she retorts. “And your name’s probably stupid, too. What’s your name?”

I snort. “I’m not telling you that.”

“I’ll find out,” she warns.

It’ll be easy for her to find out from any of the other boys at the retreat. All she has to do is ask about the kid with the scar, and they’ll be all too glad to tell her about the Gagliardi freak kid. For some reason, I don’t want her to find out about me like that.

I don’t want her to look at me like the others look at me. I find that I prefer the annoyed pout on her face. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” I concede.

“I asked you first.”

“We are bargaining.”

“I don’t bargain with strangers. And I don’t know your name, that makes you a stranger.”

My mouth twitches with a smile that I automatically bite back. She’s a little smartass, and she’s fascinating. How old is she anyway? And how come I’ve never seen her around? Whose kid is she?

“Are you sure your cousin is here, Isa?” A girl’s whiny voice slices through the orchard, and I immediately step away from the hazel-eyed girl.

She eyes me for a second, then her face is overtaken by an earsplitting smile. “I’ll be back, stranger. You can have Marty until I return.”

“His name is Laika,” I call after her, but she’s already skipping away, laughing.

I’m smiling long after she’s disappeared behind the tree line, and when I press a hand to my chest, I’m surprised to find my heart racing. What is that feeling in my chest? Is that… excitement?

“What’s got the beast smiling?” My cousin’s taunting voice comes from behind me. Laika jumps into protective mode, hunching down and growling at the newcomer.

My smile freezes on my face, and I turn around slowly to face him. Gino has a smirk pulling at his mouth, and I know that no good can come out of his presence here.

I suddenly have the pathetic thought that I should have followed the annoying dog thief.