Page 50 of Broken Mafia Prince
“Or youth,” she counters with a smirk. “At this rate, you’ll eat Luca into bankruptcy.”
My smile fades as I glare at her, my mood darkening. “I’m not marrying Luca. Stop saying that.” There’s no way I’m ever going to let that man-child be my husband.
Of everything I’ve been through, ending up with him would be the worst.
She arches her eyebrows, unbothered by my irritation. “It’s not like you have a choice. Your father’s not letting you wiggle your way out of marrying him. You know that.”
I roll my eyes, knowing she’s right. It’s true that breaking away from whatever this tangled mess with Luca is would be more difficult than I care to admit. Our families are close, bound by history and honor, and I don’t want to cause problems, especially not with everything that’s already on the line. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let myself be shoved into a life with him. Not when I can barely stand to be near him.
It doesn’t help that Isa’s always reminding me how much worse things could get if I tell Luca to take a hike. The thought of him being around, hovering like a shadow, is one thing; having to navigate our families’ expectations and Luca himself with the kind of care that feels like walking on eggshells? It’s maddening. Sometimes I almost wish I could just tell him to go to hell and be done with it. But I know that’s not an option. Not now.
“Miss Giulia.” The sudden sound of a voice pulls me from my thoughts. One of my father’s men is standing by the door, his expression stiff. “Your father would like to see you. He’s in his office.”
I grab a cookie and toss it into my mouth before pushing myself up from the table.
“You’ve got crumbs all over your face,” Isa points out, waving her fork in the direction of my chin.
I pick up a napkin before trailing the suited man to my father’s office. I’m still wiping my face when I push open the doors and come face to face with the last person I want to see.
As soon as Luca spots me, his face crumbles into an expression of exaggerated concern. He crosses the room quickly, his hands reaching out to mine. “Giulia, oh my god, I came as soon as I heard. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”
I bite my tongue, swallowing the retort that’s already forming in my mind. I should be the one asking ifhe’sokay—after all, the last time I saw him, he was passed out in the back of a car, murmuring another woman’s name. But I say nothing, just narrow my eyes at his obviously manufactured worry.
“Hmm.” I hum, keeping my tone neutral.
His brows knit together as he looks me over. “You don’t look fine. I heard that bastard Raffaele was at the scene.”
My father’s head snaps up at the mention of Raffaele’s name. His gaze sharpens, and it’s clear he’s already starting to question what I’ve been keeping from him. The accusation is clear in his eyes, and I know he’s already weighing whether I’ve betrayed him—whether I’ve chosen to side with someone from the rivalCosa Nostrafamily over him.
“He was?” I ask, widening my eyes and glancing between Luca and my father. “This is news to me.” The lie slips from my mouth as easily as breathing.
My father’s eyes narrow so much that all I can see are thin slivers of green. But I hold my ground, keeping my face a picture of confusion, pretending not to understand why he’s upset. After a long, tense moment, he lets out a sharp breath and leans back in his chair, as if deciding not to push further for now.
“Have you seen a doctor?” Luca continues, still hovering over me like some kind of overzealous protector, scanning me like I’ve just been in a car wreck. He’s only this concerned when my father’s around, trying to play the perfect, dutiful boyfriend in front of him, making sure my father believes I’m safe in his hands.
Luca’s good-looking enough. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, always well-dressed in expensive suits. It’s just a shame that the moment he opens his mouth, I immediately wish I could be anywhere but the same geographical zone as him. If someoneasked me to list a single redeeming feature of his, I’d be stuck on nothing.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, forcing a smile.
“Why don’t you two go talk in private?” my father suggests, his tone a little too eager.
At the wordprivate, Luca’s eyes light up, and I barely manage to suppress the eye roll that’s itching to escape. I know exactly what he’s thinking—getting me alone, where he can make his move.
The few times he’s tried to bring it up, I’ve managed to pretend to be shocked and run off, but with my nineteenth birthday approaching and our official engagement looming, I know he’ll get more insistent.
I need to find a way out of this before that happens.
“Why don’t we go get breakfast?” Luca suggests, his smile easy and disarming. But I’m already too tired of this to even pretend I’m interested.
“I’ve had breakfast,” I say flatly.
His smile becomes strained. “Brunch then.”
I fix an apologetic look on my face. “I’m not in a habit of eating between meals.”
“You can have a salad,” he says, his brown eyes dragging over my frame in a way that feels far too critical. “You need it anyway.”
My smile doesn’t falter from my face, but on the inside, my blood boils with fury. How dare this spoiled, lazy, arrogant man-child try to body-shame me? I bet he still gets his shoes tied for him.
