Page 25 of Broken Mafia Bride
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Are you going to let me in?”
I glance over my shoulder at my messy apartment. There’s weeks-old pizza, way too many bottles of alcohol, and clothes strewn over every surface. “No. What do you want?”
“We need to talk.” Then she makes a face, gaze dragging over me. “You look a mess, Raff. I’m not sure this is the right time for what I want to say.”
“I agree. Goodbye.” I start to shut the door, relieved, but she inserts one foot into the doorway, stopping me.
“On second thought…” She sighs. “This might be the most coherent you’ve been in a while.”
“I don’t want to talk right now. Look, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of occupied at the moment.”
She plants her hands on her hips, looking less than impressed. “Occupied doing what? Let me guess, you were in the middle of an important meeting with a bottle of vodka.”
“Whiskey,” I correct, scratching my chest. Her gaze follows the movement of my hand, and red climbs up her cheek. She quickly tears her gaze away.
I narrow my eyes, wondering if it’s just part of my drunk imagination or if Isabella was just checking me out.
“What do you want? Spit it out, Isabella.” I already have a feeling I know exactly what she’s here about.
“Do you know the last time I took a cab?” she begins. “I don’t think I’ve taken one in over a decade.”
“Good for you.”
Her face hardens into stone. “What I’m trying to say is that your father’s men are after me too. I can’t even go shopping without a disguise, and now I have to take a damn cab because they’ve been following me everywhere.”
She takes a step forward. “You have to do something.”
“I’m doing my best.”
“Are you really?” Isabella snorts. “Because last time I checked, you’re more interested in charging headfirst into any fight this war feuds and getting yourself hurt.”
I drag a hand over my face, feeling exhausted. I glance over my shoulder at the side bar, cursing under my breath when I see that my stash of alcohol is all gone.
“Are you even listening?” She waves a hand in front of my face.
“Yeah, yeah.” I nod. The movement ends up making my head swirl, and I cup the side of my head in my hand, wincing.
“Christ, Raffaele. You’re a mess.” Isabella sounds worried. Without giving me a chance to protest, she pushes past me further into the apartment and turns on the light switch.
“Fuck.” I wince as bright lights come on around the apartment, nearly blinding me. “I didn’t say you could come in.”
“I was freezing my ass off out there,” she bites back at me, glancing around at the absolute mess. “How do you live like this?”
Ignoring her, I limp to the kitchen, digging around for alcohol.
“Your father even dragged the media into this mess,” Isabella calls from the living room. “The paparazzi and press are campedout in front of my building. I had to shut down my social media and get a new phone line. Do you have any idea how many followers and sponsorship deals I’ve lost because this ridiculous family feud is suddenly everywhere? I can’t catch a break, Raff. It’s exhausting.”
I hum distractedly, pulling the door of the fridge open.
“Did you know Edoardo got our ports shut down when he snitched?” She lets out a frustrated groan. “I know he’s your father, but sometimes I swear I could strangle him. We haven’t been able to move anything in or out of Chicago. He knows exactly what he’s doing—it’s just plain dirty.”
I hear footsteps behind me. “What are you looking for? And please don’t tell me it’s more alcohol. Haven’t you had enough?”
“If you’re just going to bitch, you should leave.”
“I’m worried about you, Raffie,” she says softly. “I know that you’re hurting and I understand.”
