Page 48 of Broken Mafia Prince
“In broad daylight,” I add, trying not to hide how much I’d been affected by the shooting. “What were you thinking?”
“Only cowards do things under the cover of night,” he says, almost smugly. “Didn’t I teach you that?”
I scoff, my patience thinning. As if Edoardo ever taught me anything useful, aside from how to be the biggest asshole in the room. But it’s not even worth holding a grudge. After all, that’s all he knows how to teach—how to manipulate, how to control. How to make you feel small.
“You didn’t tell me anything about it, and you knew I would be at that damn airport,” I say, frustration building in my chest. “You could’ve had me tangled up with the cops.”
What I really want to say is that she could’ve died. She could’ve died without ever knowing who I am, and that thought fills me with so much rage, I feel the muscles in my jaw tighten, my head throb with a headache.
“It’s nothing you couldn’t handle,” he says, reaching for his gold-inlaid cigar box. His eyes never leave me, studying me like a bug under a microscope. “Looks like a little gunshot really rattled you. Is the girl dead?”
“No,” I tell him without further explanation. “The girl isn’t the problem. The problem is you’re putting this family at risk. Everything we’ve worked for—everything we’ve built?—”
“I—” he cuts in sharply.
“Excuse me?” I raise an eyebrow, caught off guard.
He takes a long drag from his cigar, exhaling a plume of smoke that smells like arrogance. “EverythingIworked for,” he corrects me. “Everything we have now is because I’ve gotten myhands dirty, made the hard choices, and taken risks. Shooting the enemy in broad daylight is one of those risks.”
“That wasn’t a necessary risk,” I argue, trying to keep my voice calm. “There were other ways to handle it without drawing attention to us.”
Even though most of my business partners are either mafia or connected to it, a few aren’t, and none of them want the cops sniffing anywhere near them. The moment they sense I’m reckless, they’ll walk away, and with them, so will everything we’ve built.
“Are you the head of this family, or am I?” Father sneers.
My jaw clenches even tighter, and I stare at him with barely concealed hatred. It doesn’t faze him, though. I know loves this—loves rubbing my subordination in my face, reminding me that, no matter how much I’ve built, I’m still just another one of his men in his eyes. Even though my net worth is now more than triple his, he doesn’t see me as anything more than a pawn.
“The Montanaris attacked first,” he continues. “This was just me offering the same courtesy. If they want to play stupid games, they better be ready for the stupid consequences.”
“You could’ve blown up one of their loaded trucks, a warehouse, or ten,” I say, trying to keep my voice measured. I know getting into a shouting match with him is pointless, and he’ll only enjoy the spectacle of it. But I won’t give him that satisfaction.
“That’s the problem with you, Raffaele.” He shakes his head. “It’s why I dread the thought of you taking over. You don’t play the game the right way. When they shoot at you with a catapult, you need to retaliate in a way thatends the war.”
“Then put a gun to Enrico Montanari’s head and blow his brains out,” I say, standing up, unable to keep my frustration in check anymore. “He’s the one you want anyway.”
A humorless laugh escapes him. “I’ll take everything from him first before sending him to his maker—or wherever the fuck he crawled out from.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the contempt underlying his words, but then again, it’s something I should be familiar with by now. His hatred for the Montanaris runs deep, and it’s a sickness that’s been eating away at him for years. TheCosa Nostradoesn’t forgive, but I know this grudge could destroy us all.
“Your hate for the Montanaris will raze this entire family and business to the ground. How long are you going to keep taking cheap shots at them? Did you ever think about the fact that the next victim in this war could be you? Or do you think you can hide behind your desk forever and let your men suffer for it?”
His mouth tightens into a thin line, and I can see the fury rising in his eyes. “If you weren’t my spitting image, I’d think your bitch of a mother pulled one over on me.”
It’s not the first time he’s said this. He’s used my mother against me before, trying to provoke me, but I’m beyond it now. She’s dead. She’s gone, and I’ve long since come to terms with the fact that her choosing to end it all might have been the best thing for her. But him? He’s still trapped in bitterness, dragging everything down with him.
And if he thinks telling me I’m nothing like him will make me cry, he’s sorely mistaken. Nothing makes me loathe myself more than looking in the mirror and seeing his cold blue eyes staring back at me. It’s like seeing his disdain etched into my very face.
“The Montanaris are the enemy.” His voice slices through the air, freezing me in my tracks as I reach for the door handle.
“I don’t think you’ll ever let me forget.”
“One more thing, Raffaele.” My father’s tone drops an octave, and the temperature in the room plummets. “Don’t ever think you can barge into my office and speak to me however youplease. Never forget that I pull the strings that keep your life in motion. I can cut them whenever I feel like it. With just one word, I could destroy everything you’ve worked for.”
Part of me wants to snap back, to tell him to go right ahead and be my fucking guest. But the voice of self-preservation slams into me before I can speak. Instead, I nod cryptically, masking the fury bubbling beneath the surface, and walk out of the room.
Emilio, my father’s right-hand man, is waiting outside. I can tell he’s been listening, the way he stands perfectly still, his expression unreadable. Nearly nothing escapes his notice around here, and despite his intelligence, his business acumen, and his general lack of assholery, he remains blindly loyal to my father. I can’t help but wonder why.
“You knew about the hitman.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement of fact, and we both know it.
