Page 27 of Broken Mafia Prince
I can’t help the laughter that spills out of my throat at his response. I love this back-and-forth we have going on. “If I tell you my name, will you tell me yours?”
“Maybe.”
It’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time, and I find myself smiling a toothy smile, heart racing in excitement. There’s something about the boy that makes me want to crack through the layers he’s wrapped in.
“I’m Giulia,” I finally reveal.
“Giulia,” he echoes, the name rolling off his tongue like he’s experimenting with it.
“Well?” I ask impatiently. “What’s your name?”
The boy opens his mouth to respond, but I never get to hear it, because at that moment, there’s the sound of a twig snapping behind us.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, miss,” my maid’s exasperated voice says. “You know your father hates it when you run off and—” She stops when she sees the blue-eyed boy standing next to me.
I don’t get why she’s looking at him like that. Like his face is all wrong or something. Like life’s going to be mean to himbecause of a silly scar. She shouldn’t talk about life being unfair. She’s been a maid forever, since I was little.
I scoff at her words. I doubt Papa would even notice if I were to disappear for a month.
“Miss Giulia.” There’s panic in her voice. “Come over here, now!”
When I look at her, I see she’s still staring at the boy, her face blanched with horror. The boy’s face gets as hard as granite, and he steps away from me.
“What’s your name?” I ask the boy again, reaching out and grabbing his wrist.
The maid makes a startled sound in the back of her throat, then hurries forward and grips my shoulder tightly. “Let’s go, Giulia. We’ve already wasted enough of your father’s time.”
I try to protest, but she wastes no time pulling me away. I keep on glancing over my shoulder to stare after the boy as I’m led further and further away from him. Just before he and his dog disappear from view, I see him raise the hand I had held and stare at it with reverence.
“What were you thinking, talking to that boy?” she chides.
“What’s wrong with talking to him?”
She gives me a look like I’m crazy. “You can’t tell me you didn’t see his face. Please, Miss Giulia, you should be more careful about being associated with such people.”
I want to tell her that she has no right to talk about my new friend like he’s damaged beyond repair just because of his face, but at that moment, the car honks, and I see Papa glaring at me from the rolled-down window of the SUV.
“We’re behind schedule. Get in the car, Giulia,” he orders.
I’m wide awake for the entire four-hour drive back to the house, my mind occupied with thoughts of the blue-eyed boy. I wonder who he is, and if I’ll ever see him again. I promise myself that if I do, I’ll find out his name and everything about him.
“Are we there yet?” my cousin mumbles sleepily for what has to be the hundredth time.
“No,” I tell her distractedly. “Go back to sleep.”
Her head falls back on my shoulder, and her tongue sticks out from the side of her mouth, like she’s tired. It makes me think of the boy’s dog, and I can’t help but smile, remembering how mad he was when I told him the dog’s name was Marty.
I do something I haven’t done since that horrifying incident that changed the course of my life. It didn’t work then, but I hope it’ll work now.
I have to see the boy again.
And so, I squeeze my eyes shut, and I pray.
8
RAFFAELE
Raffaele—16 years old
