Page 47 of Broken Mafia Prince
She throws her head back, laughing. “Sure, Giulia. Whatever you say. That’s why we’re both under a blanket, and you’re wearing your thermal socks.”
I bite my lip, trying to navigate out of this trap I set for myself. “He saved me from getting shot and gave me a ride on his plane back to the city.”
“Are you part of the mile-high club now?” Isa gasps.
I grab the cork from the bottle of wine and toss it at her, but she dodges it effortlessly, still laughing.
“You’re blushing again.”
“Because you’re talking about…” I lower my voice, glancing around nervously. “Sex.”
“You, my dear Giulia Montanari, are a prude. What’s so scandalous about sex? It’s a normal thing.” She pauses, leaning in with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I have a feeling it would be atransientexperience with a man like Raffaele, though. I bet you’d hear the angels sing.”
Now that she’s planted that thought in my head, I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to be with Raffaele—his deep blue eyes, his intense presence. I shake my head, trying to push the image away. No way am I thinking about that.
“He’s an asshole,” I repeat, my voice sharp. “He’s probably selfish in bed.”
Isa looks at me, doubtful. “That bad, huh?”
I think back to the way he sat in that plane, his long legs stretched out, his posture effortlessly commanding. I spent the whole time trying not to stare at him like a starving woman at a banquet. Not sure I succeeded.
“Y-yeah,” I croak, swallowing. “He’s horrible, and if I ever see him again, I’ll make sure to let him know.”
“Planning to see him again?” Isa smirks. “I thought he’s the spawn of Satan. Shouldn’t you be thinking about how to stay as far away from him as possible?”
I laugh, but it’s humorless. She’s right. I should be avoiding him. Raffaele Gagliardi is trouble wrapped in a sleek suit and flashing, neon lights. He’s the opposite of everything I shouldwant, but somehow… my body doesn’t listen to my mind. It’s chanting his name like a prayer I never asked for.
Not that it matters anyway. I’m sure Papa will find a way to trap me with Luca. His vendetta will cost me more than I ever imagined, and I’ll be tied to that spoiled brat, Luca, for the sake of his revenge.
My fists clench at my sides, my teeth grinding together. The thought of being tied to Luca makes my skin crawl. If only Papa would look up from his revenge for a second, see that he still has life left to live, that I still do. We could survive, if only the weight of anger and grief didn’t keep chipping away at us.
“You’ll be fine,” Isa whispers softly.
I let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. Isa’s words aren’t the same as when a near stranger once told me I’d be fine. Back then, it felt like something real. Now? It feels empty, a distant echo.
I don’t want Raffaele and his brand of trouble, but part of me… part of me needs it. And I’m afraid that part is going to win.
14
RAFFAELE
Ihesitate briefly before I push open the door to my father’s study and step inside. Even after all these years, entering this room still makes my shoulders tense, my breath shallow. I don’t think I’ll ever truly feel at ease here.
My father’s cold blue eyes meet mine. “I see you’ve outgrown knocking.”
Undeterred by his sharp gaze, I walk further into the room and settle into one of the chairs near his desk. “We need to talk.”
“I didn’t say you could sit,” he responds, his voice icy.
“I need to be seated for this,” I shoot back, meeting his glare.
His eyes narrow with displeasure, and I stand my ground, refusing to look away. The version of me from a few years ago would have lowered my head, too intimidated by his glare to speak, but I’m not that person anymore. I’ve learned that his power lies in controlling others through fear, but I’m no longer afraid of him.
With a dismissive wave of his hand, he leans back in his chair. “Fine. Say what you have to say. I’m busy.”
“You hired a hitman to shoot at the Montanari girl.” The words spill out before I can stop them, and as I say them, a surgeof anger nearly takes over. I want to lunge across the desk, wrap my hands around his throat, and not stop until he’s gasping, remorseful for the first time in his life.
“And?” he replies with an almost casual indifference.
