Page 7 of Broken Mafia Bride
“Get out of my way.”
“No. I’m not going anywhere. Just stop and listen, for god’s sake.”
My gaze shifts down to her, the hand with the gun twitching at my side. It takes little effort to flick her aside, ignoring her indignant squeak, and then my gun is finally pressed to Enrico’s forehead.
“I’m going to ask you for the last time,” I growl.
My finger trembles against the trigger. Part of me wants to pull it, just to feel something break that isn’t me.
“Raffaele, stop! If you shoot him, you won’t make it out of here alive.” Isabella’s voice is shaky.
But I’m past caring. At this point, a bullet to my head might just be the greatest mercy I’ve ever been shown.
I step closer, the gun pressing more insistently.
If he doesn’t answer, I’m not sure which of us will die first.
“Tell me where she is, asshole.”
3
GIULIA
Icome to with a gasp, feeling like I can’t draw enough air into my lungs. My skin is clammy against rough sheets, every muscle aching like I’ve been hit by a truck. I blink at my surroundings, groggy and disoriented.
“Are you about to run again, Ariel?” someone asks.
My head feels heavy, like it’s stuffed with wet cotton.
I turn slowly and meet the wary gaze of a large man. He’s standing by my bed holding a pink, steaming mug that doesn’t suit him at all. He sees me looking at it and shrugs.
“It was a gift.”
In that moment, some parts of my memory come rushing back. I remember the confusing dreams I had and being saved by someone. I remember running too and realizing we’re in the middle of nowhere. My gaze drops to the bandage tied around his shoulder, and a sick dread squirms in my chest.
Oh god.
Did I really shoot him? The memory is slippery, half-formed.
“You should drink this.” He holds the cup out to me, but I flinch away from it.
The man glares at me. “I’m not trying to kill you. If I were, I’d have left you to sink to the bottom of the lake or left you to your fate when you were stupid enough to run.”
“G-go—” My throat is as dry as the Sahara, the words ending with a croak.
“Drink the damn tea, Ariel,” he gripes. “Poisoning is a cowardly move anyway.”
Eyeing the cup carefully, I try to sit up, but my body rebels against the movement. Too weak, I fall back to the bed, panting. Even that small movement exhausts me.
I consider my options. The man is right about the fact that if he wanted to kill me, he could have done so by now. I don’t know any bad guys who would get shot and still try to help. So maybe he’s not the enemy, after all.
“Here.” He drops the mug and steps forward, helping me into a sitting position, and thrusts the mug into my hands.
I lift the cup to my nose and sniff, wincing at the strong smell. “W-what’s this?”
“It’s supposed to make you feel better,” he says. “It’s a bunch of things, but trust me, it works wonders.”
I want to say that I have no reason to trust him, judging by the fact that he’s a stranger, but instead, I obediently press my mouth against the rim and take a sip. I’m relieved to note that it doesn’t taste as bad as it smells. Holding my breath, I toss it all down my throat.
