Page 38 of Broken Mafia Bride
My cousin Gino snorts. He’s still as much of a prick as he’s been since he was a kid, but the difference is that he knows I won’t hesitate to beat the daylights out of him. I’m stronger, bigger, and a whole lot meaner now.
“Fuck you,” I say without heat, popping the cap of the bottle.
“I hear wedding bells are in the near future for you,” Gino leans forward. “What happened? Do you now finally accept that the Montanari girl is dead and isn’t coming back?”
“She’s alive,” I reply.
“Don’t you think that might be even worse?” he says quietly. “It’s been four years. If she’s not dead… maybe she just doesn’t want to come back.”
I grit my teeth and say nothing, forcing myself to ignore him. I’ve already thought about everything he’s saying—over and over again. I’ve had four years to consider every possibility, to turn this pain around in my head until it carved itself into my bones.
No body means she’s not dead. But then why hasn’t she come back? Why has she stayed away all this time?
She left me once before, but this… this was different. We were this close to finally getting everything we dreamed of—marriage, freedom, a real future. It doesn’t make sense that she’d walk away from all of it without a word.
Could she really be so cruel as to vanish without a trace? Not a single call to me. Not to Isabella. Not even to her father. Four years of silence.
She was happy with me.
Wasn’t she?
“Forget her, Raffaele,” he urges me. “Don’t you think that what’s going on here is more important? This is a full-blown war, and it’s escalating as the days go by. You’re wasting time and resources searching for someone who’s dead when?—”
“Say she’s dead one more time.” My voice is cool, deceptively calm. “I dare you.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to be a douchebag.”
“You’re not trying all that hard.” Matteo snorts from his side, motioning at the server to bring more drinks over.
The music changes in the club, and I hear the faint roar of the crowd whooping in excitement at the choice of music. It must be one of the new famous pop songs.
The server arrives shortly after with the drinks. My cousin waves her away.
“No way.” He shakes his head. “I can’t take any of this crap anymore since I got my surgery.”
“I thought alcohol affects your liver, not your kidneys,” Matteo raises a brow at him.
He glares at him. “Ask me if I care. My wife put me on a strict diet, and she’s been fussing over me twenty-four-seven. I won’t be careless about my health by drinking or eating junk.”
Matteo shoots me a look, and I shrug.
“Anyway, Raffaele is drinking enough for all of us,” he points out.
I raise my bottle in a mocking toast to his words and take a long pull. Even the burn of the whiskey—the one thing that used to make me feel half-alive—is gone now. I barely taste it. And these days, it’s getting harder and harder to get drunk. After years of being best friends with the bottle, I’ve built a hell of a tolerance.
“Look, man, some of us have families we actually care about,” my cousin says, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t want to lose mine. But ever since this shit started, I’ve been living in constant fear that a stray bullet or a bomb is going to take them from me.”
His expression hardens. “And I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels this way—who just wants this fucking war to end.”
“And what exactly do you suggest I do about it?” I drawl.
He scoffs. “Stop being difficult. You know damn well how to end this. Look, I’m sure if Giulia is watching from wherever she is, she’d be happy to see you moving on, taking care of her cousin.”
I sigh, suddenly regretting ever telling him about Giulia and me. I was drunk, bitter, and raw. Gino had been stuck in a hospital bed, waiting for surgery, desperate for any kind of distraction. Once he was discharged, he wanted to know everything. He remembered Giulia from that retreat all those years ago. Imagine his face when he realized the girl who’d once put him in his place and sent him running off like a scolded kid was the same girl who had me completely undone.
“I’m not marrying Isa,” I tell him firmly. “I’m going to find Giulia. And I’m going to marry her. End of story. It’s her or no one.”
“You’re being a selfish ass,” he snaps.
