Page 31 of Broken Mafia Prince
“You bastard,” I say in a low, furious voice. I feel all the air desert the room as Edoardo rises to his feet and rounds the table, fury sparking in his eyes. The maid spins on her heel and runs off, smart enough to save herself.
“What did you just say to me, boy?”
Warning bells go off in my head, and I know I should backtrack, apologize, do anything but ignite his rage more. “I said that you’re a cruel, heartless bastard who didn’t deserve someone as good as Mother.”
“Your mother was a weak nobody from a family so in debt that they were willing to sell her out to the lowest of scum,” he spat. “I should have known such a weak woman would only be able to give me a weak son.”
“Don’t talk about her like that, you asshole!” I scream. “She deserved better than an egotistical scumbag like you. You think we’re the reason why you don’t have the entire world eating out of your palm, when in reality, they can all see that beneath your expensive suits and colognes is a rotten, small man who will do anything to get ahead.”
I know what’s coming next even before it happens, and I allow the blow to glance off the side of my face. I allow myself to feel every second of the pain, because it’s the only thing capable of distracting me from the heart-wrenching hurt of knowing Mother’s gone.
Father raises his hand again, but this time, I feint to the side, dodging the blow.
That’s when I remember that I still have Emilio’s gun. It’s almost like a reflex when I pull it out and hold it to his forehead. Even though I haven’t perfected my aiming, from this distance, it’ll be impossible for me to miss, and we both know it.
“You were always a good shot,” he drawls.
“Fuck you!” I growl. “I don’t want any compliments from you. I want you to go to hell for what you’ve done to her.”
I want to see the fear in his eyes, I want him to look me in the eyes and feel as terrified and as helpless as he’s made Mother and me for years. Instead, amusement makes one corner of his mouth curl up.
“Careful, boy,” he warns, his tone icy. “You’re dangerously close to crossing a line you can’t come back from.”
“I don’t care!” I shout, the fury and grief choking my throat. “She was your wife—my mother! And you act like it’s nothing. What kind of man are you?”
“A man who doesn’t waste time mourning the weak,” he snaps. “And you’d do well to remember that, or you’ll end up just like her.”
The venom in his words stuns me. My fists clench at my sides, and I take a step forward before I can think better of it. His guards, stationed by the door, tense at my movement, but I don’t care. Right now, I feel like I could take on the world—or burn it all down.
“Drop the gun, Raffaele,” a voice comes from behind me, followed by the sound of a gun cocking.
I don’t bother looking around to face Emilio. “He’ll be dead before you shoot.”
“And you’ll go next,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.
I’m not stupid enough to think I can kill Father and get out of this house alive. Not with his men everywhere. With Mother dead, though, what do I have to live for? Hazel eyes flash in my head, and I find myself dropping my arm.
Something inside me snaps. For years, I’ve tried to win his approval, to prove myself worthy of being his son. But standing here, with my mother dead and his disdain cutting into me like a blade, I realize I’ll never be enough for him. I’ll always be a disappointment in his eyes.
“You’re not a man,” I say, my voice low but firm. “You’re a monster who destroys everything he touches.”
His eyes narrow dangerously, and I know I’ve gone too far. He stands slowly, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. “Say that again,” he growls, each word a threat.
But I don’t.
“Coward!” Father roars, his fist coming down on me again and again and again. “You dare to talk back at me, to hold a gun to me? No man has ever held a gun to me and lived.”
I curl up into a ball on the ground as his fists continue to rain on me. I drown out his furious voice, going to a place in my head where Mother is still alive and waiting for me to beat her at another game of chess.
My days of beating her at her own game are over.
“One day the world will be yours, and it’ll be better.”I hear the words as clearly as if she were standing beside me. I allow a single tear for her to fall to the carpet.
Someday the world will be mine, I tell myself.
Someday starts today.
Edoardo’s fists finally stop,but I don’t stop feeling the pain. The numbness spreads through me like a drug, dulling everything but the cold, bitter rage pooling in my chest.
