Page 52 of Broken Mafia Bride
“Try to pretend like this is something it’s not.”
“It’s just dinner,” she says sharply. “Don’t be an asshole.”
“I’ve got things to take care of tonight.”
“If those things include drinking yourself into another blackout, don’t bother. I stopped by earlier and poured everything down the drain.”
My jaw tightens. “You what?”
I yank the phone away and groan, dragging a hand down my face, frustration and shame mixing into a toxic knot in my chest. Of all the reckless, stupid things I’ve done since Giulia disappeared over that goddamn cliff, that night with Isabella still festers like a wound that refuses to heal.
I was drunk. Broken. Grieving. I was wasted, vulnerable, and missing Giulia more than ever. She was too. We were both trying to fill the silence with something—anything.
It’s no excuse. I don’t try to make one. I’ve carried it, every ugly second of it, and it’s the only reason I haven’t told her to leave for good. Guilt is a leash I haven’t found the strength to cut.
But maybe that’s not the only reason anymore.
Maybe there’s a part of me that finally sees what everyone else sees—that peace is hanging by a thread, and Isabella and I might be that thread. Maybe I agreed to this engagement not because I believe in it, but because I no longer know what else to do. Because the war is bleeding everyone dry, and I’m tired of losing.
Still, no matter how much I try to play the part, my heart isn’t in it. Not really. Because even now—especially now—every part of me is still looking for Giulia.
“Can you just stop?” I grit out, trying to rein in the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Stop tossing out dinner plans like we’re something we’re not. And leave my damn drinks alone.”
Her voice flares with disbelief. “Are you really trying to dismiss me like one of your booty calls?”
“Isa—”
She cuts in, softer now, the way she always does when she’s trying to shift the conversation into something more intimate. “It’s just two people having dinner. That’s all I’m suggesting. We have so much in common, Raffaele. You’re the only one who really sees me—and I like to think I see you too. We understand each other. We’ve been through hell together. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
I don’t answer, jaw tight, waiting for the ache in my chest to dull.
She doesn’t wait. “I just think maybe we should talk about that night.”
It’s not that I can’t talk about it—I just don’t want to. We’ve hovered around this topic before, always circling, never landing. It’s the same pattern: she opens the door, hoping I’ll walk through it. And I close it without a word.
“I’m not trying to pressure you,” she continues gently. “I know you were in a dark place. I know that night wasn’t what it could have been. But pretending it didn’t happen won’t make it disappear.”
She’s not wrong. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to offer her more than I already have.
To the rest of the world, our engagement makes sense. Two powerful families, one strategic solution. Everyone sees it as a peace treaty disguised as a wedding announcement. Clean. Convenient. Controlled.
But behind closed doors, we are nothing that neat.
Lately, Isabella’s been slipping from compliance into hope. From silence into suggestion. She’s starting to speak like a woman building something—planning a future I never promised.
And I don’t even have the strength to keep pushing back.
The guilt is its own prison. I let that night happen. I let the silence stretch. I agreed to an engagement that, by all accounts, should be logical—but logic doesn’t make my chest loosen when she calls. It doesn’t stop me from waking up hoping the next message on my phone is from someone else.
A knock pulls me from the fog, and Matteo steps in, sharp-eyed, already reading the room.
“I’ve got something for you,” he says.
“Isa, I have to go,” I mutter, cutting her off just as she starts to say something about picking her up later.
I don’t wait for her reply. I end the call, my thumb lingering on the screen for a moment too long.
Matteo raises an eyebrow. “She still hoping this engagement turns into something more?”
