Page 62 of Broken Mafia Bride
A dark-haired woman stands. “I’ll go see,” she says, throwing me a narrowed, cutting glare as she moves—one that has me reeling in confusion.
What the hell isherproblem?
Before I can dwell on it, another man steps toward me—composed, unreadable.
“You must be Raffaele Gagliardi,” Lucio Sanna says, voice calm, expression impossible to read.
He’s nothing like I expected. I’ve heard about Re Ombra before—what Italian made man worth his salt hasn’t? He’s been a legend in Sardegna since I was a kid. But this is the kind of place you don’t go digging.
You hear about Re Ombra’s island, and you look the other way.
The man has to be in his seventies at least, but he carries himself like someone ten years younger. His hair is a carefully dyed shade of dark brown, still full, styled with precision. Hisface is more or less unlined, preserved by either discipline or vanity, I can’t tell which.
He doesn’t look like the man who rules Sardegna’s streets and runs the biggest drug operation in Italy.
The only thing that gives him away is his eyes.
They’re a chilling pitch black that seem to suck in every speck of light and color around. His eyes are way too perceptive, and when they flicker over me, I tense.
“Thank you for having me,” I tell him, holding out my hand.
“You’re family now,” he says, “in more ways than one. I would’ve welcomed you into my home for the simple fact that you’re related to Pepe. I believe in family, Gagliardi.”
He chuckles. “You could say I’m old-fashioned. Loyalty, family—those outdated values still matter to me. Do they matter to you, Gagliardi?”
Something in his tone makes me tense. What does he know? Could he know about my history with Giulia? A man like him wouldn’t let someone into his home without doing his homework.
Is this going to bring problems?
All of a sudden, Pepe bursts into laughter. “Raffaele, relax. It’s not an initiation process.”
Lucio Sanna steps back, hands clasped behind his back, a small smile playing on his mouth. “I like you, Gagliardi. And I think you’ll make Isabella happy.”
“Come, I’ll show you to your room,” my cousin says, clapping a hand on my back and steering me away.
But before I follow, I turn—eyes sweeping toward the windows, searching for them.
I hold my breath the entire walk down the hallway, waiting for Pepe to ask what’s going on—why Giulia bolted like the hounds of hell were on her the moment she saw me.
I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
Should I start at that retreat decades ago? At the airport? Or skip ahead to the bone-crushing loss I felt staring into the void off that cliff, knowing there was no way to go after her?
I brace for the inevitable question, but it never comes.
Instead, as we turn a corner, I catch sight of her again. She looks at peace and unbothered. And I can’t help but wonder how much of that was real… and how much of it was just an act.
Wasanyof it?
Chest hot and heavy, I turn to Pepe. “There’s something I have to do first. Excuse me.”
And without another word, I turn and go after Giulia.
“Raffaele! Where are you going?” he calls after me.
But his voice is already a blur.
There’s a part of me that wants to forget the years between us. Forget her scalding betrayal. That part just wants to pull her into my arms, bury my face in the crook of her neck, and breathe her in.
