Page 105 of Broken Mafia Bride
“I don’t think they have a single thing to do with this.”
“There’s no way Lucio kidnapped his own great-granddaughter and then hired someone to take out his niece,” I protest. “The man has been working relentlessly to find Noemi. He gave us the lead on Martina’s whereabouts.”
“And she was dead by the time you got there,” he points out.
My brain whirls as I try to piece together what I know about Lucio. Why would he kidnap Noemi? He doesn’t stand to gain anything at all. It doesn’t make any sense.
“It doesn’t add up,” I say, shaking my head.
“I’ve been thinking the same thing. It’s more than likely someone working under his ranks—a right-hand man or something. Someone he trusts who’s gotten greedy. Kidnapping Noemi might be a move to bring Re Ombra to his knees.”
“They can use his great-granddaughter as leverage to bargain for him stepping down.”
“Or this entire thing is a way to distract him from an impending coup,” he raises an eyebrow. “I’d applaud the move if I were on their side.”
“Damn it.” I drag both hands through my hair, my muscles bunching with tension. This whole thing is the worst case of chasing tails. We’ve been running in circles from the start, and it grates on my nerves to know that some asshole is out there, watching all of this and playing God.
“I can’t believe I’m dealing with my father’s mess on top of this.” I lean my head back against the headrest, teeth clenched in frustration. “Keep me updated. Find out if it was really Martina on that plane.”
He gives me a look, which I ignore. We both know no further investigation is necessary—it’s more than safe to draw conclusions at this point. I just don’t want to face the significance of this discovery.
The only person I can think of in Lucio’s ranks capable of pulling this off is my cousin Pepe. The worst part is that I can’t vouch for him. I see him once or twice a year, and I wasn’t even present at his wedding.
More exhausted than ever, I push the car door open and step out, shaking away all thoughts of Pepe and Lucio. I need to deal with my father now—and he requires my full mental arsenal.
I make my way back to my car and climb into the driver’s seat. The guard at the gate nods before granting me entrance. As I pull into the compound, I catch Matteo’s truck zooming off in my side-view mirror.
Emilio is barking orders into his phone as I step out of the car. He freezes when he sees me. The look I shoot him is glacial. He’s supposed to stop my father from making stupid decisions—or at least inform me when he does—but instead, he just goes along with whatever his dumbass boss wants.
I’m starting to suspect my father has Emilio’s family locked in a basement somewhere. That’s the only explanation for why the man can’t just shoot my father the middle finger and walk away. He’s the first to look away, and I continue into the house.
I rap lightly on the door of my father’s office before stepping in. The room is unusually bright, and my father seems full of energy. He spins his wheelchair away from the window and rolls it back to the desk as I enter.
“Welcome home, Raffaele,” he grins. “I thought you’d forgotten where you belong.”
My eyebrows climb. Did this bastard cause all that ruckus just to bring me back to the city and into his office? I’m about ready to strangle my father and finally get some much-needed peace of mind.
“Did you?—”
“My condolences on your fiancée’s death.” His mouth pulls down into an insincere frown. “Very tragic. She was so young. Anyway, this isn’t the end of the world. For you, at least.”
Jesus Christ.
“The alliance is still necessary to restore peace to the city,” he continues, like her death is just another Tuesday to him. “It’s what she would’ve wanted.”
“What the fuck are you going on about?”
He picks up a file from his desk and waves it at me. “I’ve done the work of compiling a list of suitable women who are willing to help further the Gagliardis’ position and end this unnecessary war. Just like you, they’re sick of the deaths and?—”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I cut him off.
He ignores me, flipping the book open. “There’s Izetta Moretti. Her father owns most of the malls on the east side. It’d be easier to clean our money through his businesses. She’s my first choice, but there are others. Andrew Costa has anunmarried daughter—a tiny slip of a thing, but smart, I hear. Ricci’s daughter just got widowed too, so that?—”
“Enough, Father.” I’m shaking with rage. Can’t I catch a damn break? How long has he been waiting to toss his stupid list in my face? But then again, when it comes to being selfish, inconsiderate, and playing power games, I always underestimate him.
“This is the time to make a move!” he insists.
“Didn’t you want a match between the Gagliardis and the Montanaris?”
