Page 101 of Broken Mafia Prince
“Raff,” he says, ignoring my murderous look.
Isabella drops into the seat opposite me and grabs my bottle of wine. Sighing, I catch the eye of one of the servers and motion at the pilfered bottle, ordering another. I’m not surprised when the brunette sits up, wide, curious eyes fixing on me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her before she can start cross-examining me. “Shouldn’t you be in some club, breaking men’s hearts?”
“Those are just rumors.” She winks. “I don’t only break hearts in clubs.”
Matteo snorts. “No wonder you two get along so well. The entire population of Chicago has fallen victim to one of you at one point or another.”
“What are you moping about?” Isa asks.
And here I was thinking I’d successfully managed to distract her from the original topic of conversation. It’s one of the ways the cousins are similar. When they pick an interest in something, they become dogs, never letting off until they’ve sniffed out the answer.
“I’m not?—”
Matteo interrupts. “Giulia.”
“Giulia? You mean my cousin?” she asks slowly. “Or is there a new Giulia I haven’t been filled in about?”
“The one and only.”
“I thought we were past her.” She cocks her head at me, her forehead lined in confusion.
I was. Or at least, I thought I was.
For lack of someone else to blame, all fingers point to Isa. She should have put her phone in her purse. Why does she bother carrying designer purses that a whole house can fit into, only to leave her phone lying about?
“Because she’s engaged,” Matteo replies.
She ducks her head and pretends to be inspecting her nails. “Hmm.”
Above her head, my best friend raises one eyebrow at me and flicks his gaze down to the brunette’s bowed head.
“You knew she was engaged.” It’s not a question, and we both know it.
“She only told me once, through that text she sent last year. She hasn’t reached out since. She knew I’d press her for her location if she called. My stubborn self even changed my number after that. Besides, it wasn’t any of our business then, and it still isn’t yours now.” Isa’s sharp eyes lock onto mine. “It’s not like anything has changed between the two of you.”
She’s right that it's not any of our business, especially mine. What happened between us felt like a month-long fever dream, one that hurt when I woke up from it. It’s foolish of me now to feel betrayed that she didn’t sit on her ass this whole time, waiting for me to fix everything so she could return to a perfect world.
“You should have told me anyway,” I insist, teeth grinding together.
Something shifts in her eyes, and she hastily turns away before I can place the expression. She snatches the bottle I’ve just ordered from the approaching waitress and fills her cup to the brim.
“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Matteo chides, but she ignores him.
“You’re not going to find her,” Isa suddenly says, eyes locked on mine. “And even if you do, you’ll be disappointed. She’s not the girl you used to know, not even close.”
Annoyance floods through me, and I find myself talking to her in a tone I’ve never used with her before. It’s a tone generally reserved for assholes trying to rip me off. “So am I.”
“You don’t understand,” she tries to argue. But the last thing I need at that moment is the painful truth. I need a drink… or two.
I rise to my feet. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Raffaele,” she says with a desperate tone that gives me pause, reaching out for me in an aborted move. I choose to ignore it all. I don’t stop walking until a firm grip lands on my shoulders, halting me. I whirl around, staring my best friend down.
“You can save your breath,” I hiss. “If you’re here to tell me that Isabella is right and she’s a bad idea?—
“I’m not stupid enough to try and tell you what to do,” Matteo snorts. “Or to get in between you and the determination in your eyes.”
