Page 47 of Broken Mafia Bride
“This war is your doing,” I snap. “And I’m not sacrificing my life to fix what you broke.”
With that, I head for the door, needing to put as much distance between myself and this absurd plot as possible. I still can’t believe it—after all this time, Edoardo and Enrico finally decide to work together, and it’s only to shove their mess onto someone else’s shoulders.
“Don’t you dare walk out that door!” my father shouts behind me. “You stupid boy—you think you know everything, but you don’t!”
I ignore him. I ignore the women. I ignore everything.
Right now, all I care about is getting away.
I jump into my car, slam the door shut, and slam my foot on the gas. Tires screech as I peel out of the compound. I don’t know where I’m going—I just know I need to get away. Away from my father’s twisted plan. Away from the expectations and disappointment etched into the women’s faces. Away from the quiet acceptance in Isabella’s eyes. Away from the guilt choking me over Gino’s death.
My phone starts ringing. I glance over—Isa. Gritting my teeth, I yank open the glove compartment and toss it inside. Even though I know she doesn’t want this either, I can’t help the resentment boiling in my chest. We’re both being forced into this, but she isn’t fighting hard enough.
She should be fighting. She should be standing up to Enrico. How can she let herself be used as a pawn? Doesn’t she believe I’ll bring Giulia home one day? Or has she given up—forgotten all about her cousin? Does she think this is all just a lost cause?
I press harder on the gas. The car jolts forward, going too fast, too hard, rattling through my bones.
I know I should slow down. I’m being reckless. I’m going to kill myself if I keep going like this. But the panic never comes. It’s like I’m too numb to even care.
I raise my head just in time to see a dog limp onto the road.
I slam on the brakes, jerking the steering wheel hard. The car spins wildly for a moment, tires shrieking. I wrestle it back under control, finally screeching to a stop.
My chest heaves as I search the road. No sign of the dog. I stare, confused—there’s no way it could’ve gotten far, not with the way it was limping.
I rub my palms over my eyes. They feel raw. Gritty. Burning from the inside out.
My phone is still ringing as I ease the car back onto the road, now moving at a slower, steadier pace.
The moment I push through the front door of my house, I head straight for the mini bar tucked off to the side. No hesitation. I grab two bottles of scotch, rip the cap off one, and take a deep, urgent swig. The burn hits fast, jolting my system like jumper cables to a dead battery.
I start unbuttoning my shirt with one hand, the other bringing the bottle back to my lips. I gulp it down like water, like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
Before I’m even halfway through the first bottle, I’m reaching for the second, moving through the house like a ghost. I don’t even realize where I’m going—until I feel the wind tearing at my shirt, stinging my face.
I glance down and realize I’m standing at the very edge of the rooftop, the wind clawing at my shirt like it wants to pull me over. Below me, the city sprawls in a chaotic blur of lights and shadows—a patchwork of everything I’ve bled for. This city gave me everything I ever wanted… then ripped it all away with the same unflinching hand.
Far in the distance, smoke rises into the night sky, curling like a signal from hell. Another fire. Another casualty. Another piece of this place burning while I stand up here, watching it rot from the top down.
The endless fights, explosions, and destruction. It has become the normal backdrop of Chicago, and I don’t bother myself too much with it. It’s probably another warehouse or truck full of goods. At this point, I don’t even care if it’s one of our warehouses.
Everything can burn to ashes for all I care.
I try to take another swig and see that I’ve finished the entire bottle. I toss it away and open the second one, gulping it down. Everything is a blur now, but at least the noise in my head is gone.
The bottle slips from my hand, clinks once, then silence. The cold barely touches me. The air’s too still—like it’s holding its breath.
And then I hear it. A voice I haven’t heard in four years.
“Oh my god, Raffaele, what are you doing?”
I spin around and freeze when I see Giulia standing there, staring at me with wide, horrified eyes.
“Giulia… y-you’re here,” I say.
“What are you talking about?” she asks. “Get down from there. You’re going to get yourself killed—are you crazy?”
I drop down from the edge of the roof, abandoning my bottle and hurrying toward her. “Giulia, you’re here. Where have you been? Why did you leave me?”
