Page 70 of Broken Mafia Bride
Whoever took Noemi is about to learn that bitter lesson.
21
GIULIA
It’s not that I think my father doesn’t care about me at all, but rather, I’ve never been a priority to him. On the long list of things he’s willing to spend his energy and effort on, the first four are his revenge and hatred for the Gagliardis, the fifth is his business—and the sixth is me.
And because his hatred for the Gagliardis is so consuming, I completely disappeared from his focus, leaving us as two bitter strangers living under the same roof.
After my call to my father, where I gave him a brief rundown of everything that’s happened, and Noemi’s kidnapping, I expect that he’ll cool his heels in Chicago, before reluctantly coming here. I’m surprised when, barely forty-eight hours after the call, Caterina comes to inform me that my father is waiting in Lucio’s office.
A brief tingle of excitement touches me as I make my way down the hall to the office. I hate to admit it, but I’ve missed my father. For all his faults, he’s still my family—and call it stupid or delusional, but part of me still sees him as the wonderful father he was before Mama died.
Taking a deep breath, I push the office door open and there he is, hands clasped behind his back. It’s the same way Lucio stands, and the loose similarity brings a small smile to my face.
One that slips away when Papa turns around to face me, and I take him in fully. A gasp slips out of my mouth.
He looks old. Too old and tired. The lines on his face are deep, and he’s lost a lot of weight. There’s far too much gray in his hair now, and his eyes are dull and sunken. This isn’t the man I left in Chicago. What the hell happened to him?
I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to it.
“Giulia, it’s really you,” he rasps. “Come.”
I close the distance between us, and then his arms are pulling me closer, wrapping around me and holding me tight. A shuddered breath escapes his mouth, and I can feel his chest rising and falling too fast.
“I’m here, Papa,” I tell him.
He pulls away. “I thought—I had no idea you—god, Giulia, don’t do that to me again.”
I take a step back from him, putting some space between us. I can’t completely trust the pain in his voice or the relief in his eyes. I can’t trust that any of this isn’t just for show. Because the moment I let myself be vulnerable again, he’ll go right back to being the man who manipulates everything around him for the sake of his war with the Gagliardis.
“I didn’t think you’d notice at all that I was gone,” I say in a scathing voice. “Or did you only realize it when you needed someone to clean up the mess you’d made, and had to substitute with Isabella when you couldn’t find me?”
His mouth falls open, shock and pain filling his features. I don’t want to be this person, the one who is offered an olive branch but whips out a dagger instead. I had planned to walk in here and act indifferent about anything.
But the years of hurt are bursting to come out, combined with the feeling of betrayal over them suddenly wanting a union between Raffaele and Isabella, when they staunchly refused to accept Raffaele and me.
Before he can say anything, the door is pushed open, and Lucio walks in, Raffaele trailing in behind him.
“Enrico,” Lucio says cooly.
Right before my eyes, my father pulls inward, eyes hardening. “Lucio Sanna.”
“Welcome to Casa Bianca,” he says with a mocking smile, stepping around my father to settle into his chair behind the desk. “I trust you’re familiar with the place. Eleanora must have told you so much about it, seeing as you never once came to visit your father-in-law.”
My father’s eyes narrow, but instead of responding to him, he turns back to me. “How is the search for your daughter going?”
I shake my head. “There have been no leads. It’s like she’s disappeared completely.”
“And you think it’s La Rete Rossi?” Papa asks, looking like he’s deep in thought. “Somehow, I don’t think this is a coincidence. This was a very specific move, and the question is, why would they want her?”
“Are you also thinking that this is a move against Re Ombra?” Raffaele asks as he sits.
“If it were, I’d know by now,” Lucio says. “Someone would have said something, or they’d have brought their terms to my knowledge. This has nothing to do with me.”
“Is it possible that they’re taking their time to make you sweat so that you’ll be more amenable to their demand later?” Enrico asks.
The older man sits back, thinking. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
