Page 42 of Broken Mafia Prince
But who sent him? And why target Giulia?
“Who sent you?” I demand.
His eyes dart wildly, scanning for a way out. It’s futile, but I let him try. There’s no way he’s getting out of here alive. A nod from me, and one of my men lands a solid punch to his stomach. He folds with a grunt, gasping for air.
“I’ll ask you one more time before I decide that I don’t want to know after all,” I say, leaning closer. “Who sent you?”
Instead of answering, he presses his mouth into a thin, mulish line. I see his eyes flare, a clear sign that he’s about to do something stupid. Tommaso is quick to react, pulling his gun in a flash as the man reaches for something on his own body.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Tommaso warns.
The man freezes. He’s clearly trying to gather his courage, but I can tell he’s not nearly as confident as he was before.
Whoever hired him must have promised an easy payday, a clean escape. That might have been true—if I hadn’t been here.
Not today.
I hate playing the game of “what ifs,” yet my mind won’t stop. What if my plane hadn’t been delayed? What if I’d been just one second slower? These thoughts claw at me, but another question rises, sharper and more pressing: Why the hell is Giulia traveling without security?
“Who hired you?” I repeat, my tone cold.
After a long pause, the man shifts uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. “Emilio. Emilio Rossi,” he mutters, his voice strained. “He paid me to do it. That’s all I know.”
He looks up. “I was just doing my job.”
Tommaso exclaims. “Your father’s right-hand man. Gagliardi’s head enforcer!”
The man swallows hard, clearly debating whether he should say more. Then, in a quieter voice, he adds. “They wanted her gone. Made sure I got the details right. I didn’t ask questions. Just… just a job.”
“H-his father?” Giulia stammers. “Why would your father want me?—”
The moment it hits her, it’s all too evident to deny it anymore.
“You’re a Gagliardi?”
I turn to face her, meeting her accusing eyes head-on. “Yes,” I reply without inflection, bracing for her reaction.
She flinches as if I’ve slapped her, and her face goes as pale as marble. “No. It’s not—” She shakes her head, her denial desperate, like rejecting the truth will erase it.
The enmity between our families is legendary. The Montanaris and the Gagliardis—Cosa Nostraroyalty locked in a feud older than I am. Hearing my father talk about hers like they’re the scum of the earth is more familiar to me than breathing at this point. He never hesitates to curse her family’s name as if they were the source of every misfortune in his life. Then again, it is the usual for him.
Edoardo always finds a way to put the blame for even the smallest inconvenience in his life on them.
A memory flashes in my mind: my father years ago, lounging in his leather chair with a cigar in hand, smoke curling lazily around his cold smile. “They’re dead?” he’d asked Emilio, his tone devoid of sympathy. “Good riddance. It’s a fine day when there are two fewer Montanaris in the world.”
I hadn’t understood the depth of his hatred until that moment. It had left me cold, and now I wonder how far his malice has stretched this time.
I could never forget the words he said to Emilio that day.
Tommaso’s phone buzzes in his pocket, breaking the tension. Grateful for the distraction, I tear my gaze away from Giulia’s horrified eyes. There are bigger problems to solve than her sense of betrayal—like why my father would sanction a hit without letting me know. Granted, he doesn’t care for my approval, but he should have known I’d be here. Right? Or was my being here during the attack part of his plan?
“Boss, your plane has been cleared to fly,” Tommaso announces.
Without hesitation, I cross the few feet separating Giulia and me, grabbing her hand. “We’re leaving.”
She yanks her hand back as though my touch burns. Her eyes blaze with fury. “I’m not going anywhere with a Gagliardi,” she snaps, her voice shaking. “Especially not one whose father just tried to have me murdered.”
“I need to look at your arm?—”
