Page 44 of Broken Mafia Prince
“So delaying me on the tarmac long enough for your father’s newest employee to reach me wasn’t part of the plan?”
Before I can respond, the flight attendant’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Please remain seated and fasten your seatbelts. We’re preparing for landing.”
“I had nothing to do with what happened today, Giulia,” I repeat, my words thick with a truth I’m not sure she believes.
Her eyes search mine, intense and searching, for what feels like an eternity. Then she looks away, almost imperceptibly nodding, as though accepting something she doesn’t quite understand. I see the wheels turning in her head, and a part of me wants to know what she’s thinking.
“Are you ever going to tell me your name?” she asks with a tinge of frustration. “We made a deal back then, and you didn’t keep your end of it.”
I feel a strange itch under my skin, an urgent need pulsing through me. I can’t name it, and I don’t want to, but it’s there, gnawing at me as the plane touches down.
“Raffaele Gagliardi,” I tell her, just as the flight attendant crosses to the heavy doors to push them open.
“Giulia Montanari,” she whispers, like it’s a secret between us, a quiet confession.
“I know.”
“How long have you known?”
Instead of responding, I lock eyes with Tommaso across the plane. After years of working side by side, we’ve learned how to communicate without words. He nods in understanding and steps forward.
“Tommaso will drive you home.”
There’s a moment, a flash, where I think she might say something else. I find myself holding my breath, waiting. Then her eyes shutter, and she stands.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says flippantly, as though none of this matters, as though she’s walking away from something that didn’t leave a mark.
“Stay safe,” I mutter.
“Then tell Daddy Gagliardi to lay off me. I’d like to see my twenties,” she shoots back, the bitterness clear in her words.
I watch her walk off the plane, hypnotized by the smooth sway of her hips, the confident steps of a woman who’s learned the world’s rules and plays by her own.
She’s still the same girl from that retreat, and at the same time, she’s not. Giulia Montanari is all woman now, one in my father’s crosshairs, and that’s a fucking problem.
My hands tighten on the armrest of the leather chair as the memory of her staring up at me with those big, terrified eyes slams into me again.
I rub my chest, trying to ease the tightness in it, and wonder if I need an antacid or something.It’s just heartburn, I tell myself. It happens to everyone. It has nothing to do with the fiery woman who just walked off my plane.
But as much as I try to deny it, the girl from the orchard is back. And this time, I’m not sure I can let her slip away.
Keeping her isn’t an option, though. Even if our families weren’t at each other’s throats, I’m not sure she wants anything to do with me.
I rake a hand through my hair. This is going to be a problem, and I can already see it unravelling. Getting caught up in it may just destroy me. But even knowing that for a fact doesn’t make me want to save myself from what’s coming.
Let it come.
13
GIULIA
“What have you done this time, Papa!” I growl, slamming the door to his office open and storming in.
He looks up from the ledger he’s scribbling in, his green eyes narrowing, his gaze as cold as ever. “You’re back.”
“I almost didn’t make it back, and I have a feeling you’re the reason why,” I snap, my voice rising in anger. “Why else would the Gagliardis hire someone to shoot me in broad daylight, if not for your damn scheming?”
Despite all the tension and years of pent-up frustration and rage toward my father, I’ve never actually spoken to him like this. It’s always been cold indifference, pretending that I don’t care. I’d keep it bottled up, playing the game of pretending not to care. I’d throw out subtle jabs and let my silence do the talking. But not today.
