Page 121 of Broken Mafia Prince
“She says you’ll want to see her.” The lady sounds nervous now, as if regretting the call.
As she should, of course. Everybody in this building knows I’m not to be bothered. It’s why I bought out the entire place before I moved in here, to make sure I can retain my privacy, and I instruct the staff that they’re to do the same. Or perhaps I’m just an egotistical bastard, and the thought of having a landlord is very unpleasant to me.
“Let her up,” I finally say after letting the woman sweat for a while. I drop the phone back on the cradle, surprised at how gentle the move is compared to how everything inside of me throbs with the urge to rush down and meet her halfway.
Instead, I down my glass of whiskey and tell myself to be patient.
I don’t check my watch or tap my foot impatiently while my private elevator brings her to me, even though I want to. I relax back on the couch and keep my body as still as possible. I almost combust as I hear a distinct pinging followed by the front door sliding open.
And then there she is—the woman who has had me in the palm of her hand from day one. My breath freezes in my throat as I take her in. She’s in a simple, sleeveless white dress that hits just above her knee and black heels. Her coat—thank god—is slung over her forearm, and she’s wearing bright red lipstick that makes me want a taste of her mouth.
She steps into my apartment like she belongs here. And maybe she does—maybe she always has.
Her eyes flick to my cuffs. The gold lions.
She doesn’t say anything, but her breath catches, just for a second. She knows.
Before I can get up from the couch, Marty leaps past me.
My eyes widen. “Marty, down!”
But he continues to barrel toward Giulia. Because visitors are so rare to my apartment, I forget that I have a dog who’s rather unfriendly toward strangers. Alessia, his vet, is the only person besides me that the dog manages to act civilized around.
I found the Rottweiler a few years ago in one of our warehouses. It was malnourished and injured, but it had followed me around the row of warehouses for the whole day while I worked and organized the transport of trucks. After Laika’s death, I hadn’t considered getting a new dog, and the loss had still been too fresh for me to move on from, and so I’d gone home without him.
That night, in my dreams, I’d been sitting on the beach with Laika. I’d woken up sometime around three a.m. and gone back for the Rottweiler. Since then, the dog has only taken to me and Alessia.
Which is why I’m shocked when Giulia goes down to her knees, and the dog barrels into her open arms, licking her face with gusto, tail wagging happily.
“What a good little boy,” she coos. “What’s your name? You’re so cute!” Her laugh is so light and airy that it feels like I can float on it.
“It’s becoming suspicious how you only ever show up when I’m with my dog,” I say.
She peeks up at me. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s your only redeeming quality.”
“Marty, heel.” I order in a low voice, and this time around, the dog thankfully listens, loping away from her to settle at my side. It gives me a look like I’ve taken away his favorite toy, andI agree wholeheartedly with him. I’d much rather be at her side, too.
“Do you want a drink?”
She nods slowly. “Yes, please.”
“Come.” I turn around and make my way into the house, motioning the dog into a spare room that I’ve converted into his room and shutting the baby gate. We continue on our way to the bar at the side where my collection of expensive, quality wines sit, waiting.
“Oh, wow,” she exclaims as I pull out one of the bottles, uncork it, and fill her cup halfway. “Fancy.”
I glance down at her hand as she accepts the cup, noting the absence of that tacky ring. Giulia must see me staring because she follows my gaze.
“Why are you here?” I ask her. I know exactly why, but I want to hear her say the words. I want to hear her choose me over that asshole. I want to hear her choose me over whatever life she thought she’d have when she ran away from this, fromus.
My chest fills with something dark and greedy, and I watch the various expressions cross over her face, knowing I have her exactly where I want her.Mine. Mine. Mine.Everything inside me chants the words, but I lock my hands at my sides so I won’t reach for her. I need her words first.
“You know why.”
“I don’t,” I lie.
She drops the glass without touching the drink and thrusts her jaw into a stubborn angle, hazel eyes meeting mine. “I’m here because this is where I belong. This is where I’ve always belonged.”
A sharp, burning ache cuts through my chest. She could have stayed away. She could have married that asshole and followed the life her father built for her. But she’s here. She chose me—even after seeing exactly how far I’ll go.
