Page 116 of Broken Mafia Prince
“Goodnight.” I spin on my heels and walk away without waiting for a response.
It gets harder each time to let her go. One day we’re going to be together, and neither of us will ever have to walk away again. I just know it.
I slide into my car, still tasting her on my lips. I wasn’t done tonight. Not even close.
I’d been sitting herefor twenty-three minutes and forty-six seconds before Alessandro Ferrara stumbled through his front door.
I know everything about him—how he orders his scotch, how often he checks his reflection, and how he keeps his gun in his left pocket, even though his draw is sloppy as hell. I know his weaknesses, his tells, his every twitch—because he’s holding something that belongs to me.
The door swings shut behind him, and the second he sees my shadow in the dark—leaning back against his own kitchen counter like I own the place—his whole body locks up. His hand twitches toward his pocket.
“Don’t,” I murmur, lazy but clear.
He freezes. Smart boy.
I swirl the last of his whiskey in my glass, then set it down on the counter with a soft click. That sound lands harder than a gunshot in the silence between us.
My face comes into view, lit by the city lights spilling through the window—and his face drains of color. He freezes, like a deer staring down headlights.
He knows who I am.
Good.
I make no move to stand, no threat. I don’t have to. My name has already done all the work for me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he breathes, voice shaking just a little.
I swirl the glass, watching the amber catch the light. “You already know—you’re leaving her,” I say, voice soft. “Tonight.”
His brows snap together. “Giulia? This is about Giulia?”
“Don’t act surprised. We both know you were never supposed to have her.”
“She’s my fiancée.”
“No,” I say, my voice flat. “She’s not. She was just a placeholder—a deal your family made with her father. But me?” I lean forward. “I don’t give a fuck about that deal.”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “If this is about family politics?—”
“It’s not,” I cut him off. “This isn’t about the Ferraras. Or her family. This is about Giulia.”
I see it in his eyes—the moment he realizes this isn’t business. It’s personal. And I can almost hear the puzzle pieces clicking together in his head. He doesn’t know exactly why I care so much, but he knows enough.
When men like me show up, there’s no negotiating.
“You’re telling me to walk away from my own fiancée,” he says slowly.
“I’m not telling you.” I sit back again, stretching my legs out. “I’m giving you a choice.”
He swallows hard. “And if I refuse?”
“Then I bury you.” My voice never rises. It doesn’t have to. “I start with you. And after that, I go after everyone with your last name. And when I’m done, you’ll wish you’d never met her.”
His hand trembles where it rests on the table. “You’d go to war over this?”
“I’d go to hell over her.”
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