Page 65 of Broken Mafia Bride
All of it this time around.
“I didn’t tell you about the baby because part of me was terrified you’d realize what we had was actually real—and that you’d reconsider.”
“Giulia—”
I cut him off before he can start giving me assurances I don’t want or need. “I knew it was stupid—of course I knew. You wanted me, and you’d talked about a family. I guess everything was just happening too fast, and it was all a mess, and I was confused.”
The tears well up in my eyes now, and this time I don’t bother blinking them away. I have a feeling that no matter how much I try to hide them, he’ll see right through me.
“I didn’t even want to mention the baby at all,” I continue, my voice lower now. “Because I was terrified too. I didn’t want to bring the baby into that chaos—not even by uttering its existence.”
I meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, Raffaele. I never meant…” I trail off, then clear my throat. “I lost my memories after I fell into the lake. For the first few months… I didn’t even remember who I was.”
He tenses. “Did that bastard fisherman seriously take advantage of a woman with memory loss? I’m going to kill him.”
“It wasn’t like that!” I cry. “It’s not like that between Marco and me.”
His jaw tightens. “He’s in love with you.”
There’s a question buried in those seemingly simple words, and his eyes search mine—careful, wary.
“Are you?”
I don’t waste time pretending otherwise. “I’m not in love with him.”
He exhales, shoulders sagging in quiet relief, no longer rigid and locked up.
“And after you gained back your memories? Why not then?”
“I’m sorry, Raffaele,” I tell him in a shaky voice. “I missed you every day, but it wasn’t just about me anymore. Noemi becamemy priority, and I couldn’t risk making her a target in this family feud, or whatever the fuck all of this is.”
“Noemi,” he tests the name on his tongue, and the faintest hint of a smile touches his lips. “It’s a beautiful name.”
“It was only after I regained my memory that I remembered—it was one of the names you suggested, back when we used to talk about having children,” I say softly.
Silence descends between us; it’s far from being light and easy, but the edge that existed at the beginning is missing now. An easy truce, perhaps—or maybe the calm before an explosion.
“There was that day at the church.”
His head snaps up, eyes widening. “You were there.”
There’s something certain in his voice, like he’s always known—deep down—that I had been.
“You knew?” I ask, surprised.
“No,” he says. “But I could’ve sworn I felt you. The feeling has stayed with me ever since. I knew you were close… but it made no sense.”
“I didn’t know who you were,” I confess. “All I knew was that I felt drawn to the stranger in the confession booth. I couldn’t walk away. I just sat there, crying for you… confused.”
I swallow, blinking hard. “I swear to you, Raffaele, if I’d just—if I had known who you were, if I had talked to you—god, we wouldn’t be here right now. We would’ve fixed all of this, and?—”
I hang my head, throat tight and aching.
I can’t manage any more words from a throat that feels like it’s bruised and wrecked. But I force the rest out, each word like salt against open word. “We would have been together. We wouldn’t have had to go through all of this just to have life rip us apart again, and again.”
Raffaele steps closer, voice low, urgent. “it’s not too late.”
“W-what?” I blink at him, startled.
