Page 96 of Broken Mafia Bride
“If you wake up before six a.m., you can catch Raffaele jogging shirtless on the beach,” the first woman giggles. “It’s truly a sight. God created that man as an apology to women all around the world.”
“His abs have abs.” The second one sighs. “And his leg muscles in those tiny shorts. I don’t know what I did in a past life to have access to that view, but I need to do it again.”
“Forget the leg muscles, the shorts are perfect for another reason, and I’m sure you can guess why.”
I choke on my drink, alcohol going down the wrong pipe at the obvious insinuation. Who would have thought that I’d be listening to women who look like they’ve never used a curse word in their lives discuss Raffaele’s package when I accepted Caterina’s dinner invite?
I don’t want to hear about the man at all.
I’ve been doing a hell of a good job avoiding him since that kiss at Martina’s house. I’ve made sure that every time he’s walking into a room, I’m walking out of it. Despite trying to make it subtle, Caterina shook her head at me this morning when I abandoned my half-eaten breakfast at the sound of his approaching footsteps.
I really don’t want to remember what a naked Raffaele looks like. But it’s too late—because an image of his broad, strong body rippling with muscles is already burned behind my eyelids. The thing about him isn’t just the muscles or definition; it’s also the way he carries himself. That power and control that wraps around him like his tailored suits make him stand out anywhere, and when you’re around him, you’re instantly sucked into his vortex—but not in an overwhelming way, more in a way that makes you feel protected.
“Are you all right?” Isa rubs my back as I hack and cough, trying to clear my airways.
“Yup,” I croak, eyes watering.
“Is it about what they’re saying?” she whispers, a mischievous smile on her face. “I’m not jealous. It’s a compliment to me, honestly. They want him so badly, but I’m the one carrying his baby and taking his last name soon.”
My stomach turns, and I offer her a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah.”
“By the way, I was going to ask you something,” she sighs. “Since you were with him in the past, and you two discussed a future, did he ever say what gender he wanted his first child to be?”
I raise a brow at her, wondering if I heard her right. When she sees the look on my face, she laughs, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh god, I totally forgot about Noemi.”
I’m fed up with her, sick and tired of listening to her go on and on about being Raffaele’s family, their impending wedding, the child she’s going to give him.
It’s not that I’m jealous… Okay, maybe I am, but it feels like she’s rubbing it in my face that she has the life I’ve always wanted and was a hairsbreadth away from getting.
“Pepe’s here,” Caterina cries excitedly, hurrying out of the kitchen.
I grab the bottle of wine and my glass and hurry after her, not wanting to be around my cousin any longer. One more word about the baby, and I swear to god, I’ll shoot somebody, either her or myself, but either way, I’ll finally stop hearing about it every other second.
I walk into the dining room just in time to see Caterina fling herself into Pepe’s arms, giggling. Her husband wraps his arms around her waist and dips her into a kiss. I tear my gaze away and quickly settle into a seat.
What Caterina has with Pepe is what I’ve always envisioned for myself. He looks at her like she’s a goddess come to earth and treats her like he’s constantly reminding her of all the reasons she said yes to him. Despite the age difference, he worships his wife, takes care of her in a way that speaks of deep, quiet devotion.
It’s beautiful to watch. But it also makes me feel incredibly lonely.
As the two make their way to the table, I grab Cat’s hand and nudge her to the seat at my side before Isabella can take it.
“I was going to sit there,” Isa frowns down at Caterina. “If you don’t?—”
Her words are cut off by the sound of the doors opening again, admitting two men I’ve seen around Casa Bianca—followed closely by Raffaele.
All eyes are drawn to him as he steps into the room. He’s in dark pants and a black, silk button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a few buttons undone. He looks effortlessly sexy. His dark blue gaze surveys the room slowly, then lands on me and holds.
A shiver climbs down my spine at the intensity of his gaze on mine.
He takes a step forward, and my heart ricochets in my chest, nerves sizzling with anticipation. I have a vision of him walkingup to me, saying he missed me and kissing me right here in front of everyone, but then Isa steps up to him like an unwanted bee, curling her arm through his, and the vision shatters and breaks into a million pieces.
I fix my gaze on my bitten nails, trying not to look at Raffaele as my cousin drags him to a seat at the other end of the table.
“I’ve never seen a woman try so hard—even with a ring and a baby on the way,” Caterina snorts at my side, and I snap my head toward her. “I just don’t understand how someone can be so wrapped up in their delusions that they willingly spend their life with a man who clearly has eyes for someone else.”
“What do you mean?”
She eyes me. “I like you, but I hate martyrs—and being one doesn’t look good on you anyway.”
