Page 40 of Broken Mafia Prince
The hurt I’d felt at him not remembering everything from that day melts away in an instant. He remembers. He remembersme.
I thought I was crazy for still remembering every single detail from that magical afternoon for so long. For holding onto something that probably meant nothing to him. I’d even convinced myself that it was better this way, that it was all just a fleeting moment for him. But now? Now I know he not only remembers but must have gone out of his way to find me since I never told him my last name; it makes me feel less insane.
A man like him—clearly a made man—has no shortage of resources. If he wanted to, he could track anyone on the face of the earth. So why didn’t he ever try to reach out?
The thought spins in my head, dizzying and maddening all at once. Why remember me if I was nothing to him? Why stay silent all these years?
But then, isn’t that just the nature of men? Always keeping their cards close to their chest, wanting something until they don’t, dropping you like dead weight the moment they find a shinier distraction.
Not that the blue-eyed man everhadme to begin with, but I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I refuse to let his Olympian physique and those infuriatingly gorgeous eyes change that.
Clearing my throat, I cross my arms over my chest. “I thought you lost your memory around the same time you lost your personality.”
“And you haven’t changed at all.”
The words land somewhere between an insult and a compliment, and I’m not sure which way to take them. There are a hundred questions I want to throw at him—Why didn’t you look for me if you knew who I was? What’s your name? Did you ever go back to the retreat, hoping to see me? Did you pray for us to meet again, like I did?
Instead, I settle for something safer, something smaller. “Where’s Marty?”
I half-expect him to tell me his dog’s name wasn’t Marty, that I’d gotten it wrong. But instead, his jaw tightens, the corners of his mouth pressing together until they turn white.
“He died.”
Two simple words. But they land with the weight of a sledgehammer, leaving me reeling.
Even though I suspected as much when he hadn’t replied immediately, it still doesn’t prepare me for how those two words slam into me like a bat.
I suck in a breath, heart panging for him. “I’m sorry.” I hesitate, realizing I still don’t even know his name. I wait for him to fill the silence, to give me something, but he doesn’t.
“Well?” I snap, trying to cover my discomfort. “Are you going to make me play twenty questions, or are you going to tell me your name?”
Only he can evoke a hundred different emotions in me within the space of minutes. Only he makes me feel like I’m on a rollercoaster with no clear path. It’s always been like this with him, but it’s even worse now, because a few more ingredients have been added to the already complicated brew.
It’s impossible not to notice how gorgeous he is and how it affects me. Just standing here with him makes my stomach flutter wildly, and it feels like I can’t get enough air into my lungs. I recognize attraction even if I’ve not felt it before.
His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—even though I’m not supposed to, I like it.
“You’ve always been such a curious little thing.”
I take offense immediately. “I’m average height in many countries. And don’t act like you know me. We spent less than two hours together over a decade ago. You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough, Giulia.”
I shiver. There’s something about the way he says my name, something too intimate, something that makes me want to drop down to his feet and do whatever he wants me to.
It’s equivalent to a string, invisible but unyielding, tethering me to him. And worse, it makes me want to give in and drop my morals—which I don’t have many of to begin with.
This sudden, all-consuming attraction to a man I barely know is dangerous. Reckless. I’m better off taking my chances with any of the men Father has thrown at me over the years—men with polished smiles and empty hearts. Like my shoe-for-brains boyfriend, for example.
This way lies nothing but destruction. I should turn away now, before it’s too late.
“I make it a habit to know everything about the things that catch my interest. I know the girl from the retreat, and I know the woman now,” he continues.
He’s interested in me. That’s the only part of what he says that stays with me; the rest of his words dissolve into static.
My throat tightens, and I open my mouth to demand an explanation, but the sudden screech of tires cuts through the air.
I whip around, my heart leaping into my throat as a black SUV with tinted windows skids to a halt just a few feet away.
