Page 119 of Broken Mafia Prince
I head back to my room to slick on bright red lipstick for a much-needed bout of confidence. The problem isn’t ending this crazy arrangement with Alessandro or even the consequences I’ll have to face for it.
I don’t care if my father thinks I’m a traitor, and I’m cut off for it. I have Isa to fall back on. She has more money than she knows what to do with anyway, and I’m sure my cousin won’t let me starve. And if worse comes to worst, I have no scruples about selling my overpriced ring and living off it.
That’s not my problem, though. The only thing that has my heart thudding like drums at a carnival is Raffaele, and what he’ll do as soon as he finds out I’m no longer engaged. I know the ring on my finger isn’t what’s stopping him, but without it, there will be no holds barred.
A shiver of anticipation curls through me, and I quickly tamp it down.
Difficult conversation first, thinking about Raffaele next.
The hallway outside Alessandro’s apartment feels wrong. Like stepping into a crime scene before the body’s even cold. The air is thick with silence. My heels click against the marble, the sound sharp and jarring, like a warning I’m too stubborn to hear.
When I reach his door, my stomach tugs with something uncomfortable. The door’s not just unlocked—it’s ajar. A sliver of darkness gapes back at me.
I push it open.
Inside, it’s too quiet. No music, no scent of his expensive cologne, no half-drunk glass of whiskey waiting on the counter. It feels… abandoned. My pulse thuds louder in my ears with every step.
I swallow hard.
A dark smudge catches my eye near the entryway. I kneel to touch it—blood, barely dried.
What the hell happened here?
My fingers tremble as I move toward the kitchen island. That’s when I see them—chrysanthemums. White. Perfectly arranged.
A folded card rests beside them, its edges damp, as if someone had gripped it with sweaty hands.
I flip it open.
Giulia,
I can’t stay. I can’t marry you.
I’m sorry. I should have seen this coming.
It’s bigger than us—bigger than I ever realized.
I can’t be here when it happens.
Forget me. Forget all of this.
Be careful who you trust.
A.
The letter trembles in my hands, the words smudged slightly from the sweat on my fingertips. My heart is pounding so fast it hurts, and then I see it—the cufflink—sitting there on the counter like a loaded gun.
My stomach drops.
His cufflink.
My skin prickles even as I reach for it, a cold dread sliding down my spine.
He’s been here. What the hell has he done?
And worse—why does some twisted, sick part of me already know this is exactly what I wanted?
For a second, I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
