Page 11 of Broken Mafia Prince
But instead of his usual hand, he strikes with the other, the cold metal rings digging deep into my skin. The impact sends me crashing to the floor, and I scramble away from the fury pouring from him in waves.
“A disgrace, that’s what you are. From the moment you’ve stepped into this world, all you’ve done is make me a laughingstock,” he roars. “They hide it well, but I see the pity in their eyes. Edoardo Gagliardi? Pitied? In what world does a Gagliardi ever become a figure of pity? We are feared. We are revered.”
“Father, please,” I plead, tears springing to my eyes. I try to blink them back, but those icy blue eyes already clock the tears.
His face twists into a mask of disgust—the same look he always gives when he sees something unworthy. “You’ve spent too much time with your mother. It’s softened you. Made you weak. From now on, you won’t see her.”
“You can’t do that!” It’s the first time I’ve dared speak up against my father, and I want to swallow back the words as soon as they leave my mouth. My eyes twitch for a second. But instead, I rise to my feet and square up against him.
The thought of never playing chess with her again makes my heart race with panic. She’s the only one who sees me for who I am, who doesn’t expect me to be a version of myself I cannot reach.
Father’s face hardens, more stone than man. “You’ll not see or speak to her again until I see a marked improvement in you. Now, get out of my sight.”
I spin on my heels and run to her, my heart pounding in my chest. I refuse to let the tears fall because I’m not a baby, and only babies cry.
“Mother!” I cry out, bursting into her room, but I freeze in the doorway. The chess pieces are scattered on the floor, but she is gone.
“Didn’t I say you’re not to see her again?” Father’s voice rings coldly from behind me.
I turn slowly, my voice shaking. “Where is she?”
He ignores me. “Take him to his room, and make sure he stays there for the next few days.”
One of his men steps forward, grabbing my arm and yanking me toward the hall. I struggle, but his grip is iron, and the more I fight, the tighter his hold becomes.
“Where is she?” I scream. “What have you done to her?”
The guard dragging me over slaps a palm over my mouth to muffle my screaming. He’s too strong for me to dislodge his hold, and after some struggle, my shoulders finally droop in defeat and exhaustion.
With a violent shove, he throws me into my room, slamming the door behind him. The sound of the lock clicking echoes through the room, but it doesn’t matter. I’m too consumed by terror to care about the prison around me.
I have to believe he wouldn’t hurt her. He’s a monster, yes, but he wouldn’t harm her, I tell myself. I have to believe that.
I walk to the window and stare out beyond the high, reinforced walls that encircle our estate. Beyond them, rolling hills stretch toward the horizon, covered in the lush green of late spring. My mother and I used to walk those fields when I was much younger, and I suddenly yearn to be there with her again.
I want to escape. I want to be anywhere but here. I want to disappear with her—to leave this prison behind.
I want a life where she smiles more, and we spend hours playing chess, where I never have to wear shoes that pinch my toes, or sit through those suffocating events where we’re told to stay silent and smile like statues.
I press my palm to the cold glass, and the words she’s said to me a thousand times slip from my lips: “One day, the world will be mine, and it will be better.”
I say the words, but part of me wonders if I believe them. Maybe if I repeat them enough, they’ll come true.
3
GIULIA
Giulia—4 years old
“Papa, what if?—”
“Not now, Giulia,” he says quietly, never taking his eyes off the gravestones before us.
Everyone around us is paying attention to the priest, so I know I’m supposed to remain quiet. But I don’t want to hear his words, and I certainly don’t want to look at the headstones.
It makes everything feel too real. When I think about the fact that I’ll never see my twin sister or Mama again, I get this burning pain in my chest.
And honestly, it’s not like they’re really inside their graves. I overheard the cops say they were taken by the sea. They said their bodies were never recovered—they were… eaten by sharks.
