Page 5 of Broken Mafia Prince
Silence.
My chest tightens.
“Why isn’t she answering, Mommy?” My voice trembles, barely a whisper.
She must have lost consciousness. She has to be okay. She has to be.
“Valentina?”
Not a sound.
Just the pounding of my heart. Just the awful, suffocating silence.
The thudding in my head is getting worse, louder. My body feels all shaky and heavy like I’m made of rocks.
“Mama,” I whisper, my voice all wobbly. “Did this happen ’cause I didn’t wear my seatbelt?” I can feel the tears trying to spill out, and they’re falling in my mouth, salty. I sniff and try to stop them, but I can’t.
I don’t even know if I should be crying or if I should be helping.
Mama’s face softens, her voice is still steady, even though I know she’s scared too. “Of course not, darling. This is not your fault.” She takes a deep breath, but then she sounds serious. “But Giulia, you need to go call your father.”
I remember the brave warmth in Mama’s and Papa’s eyes, and even though I’m so little, it feels like they carry stories of battles fought in the shadows—stories I’m just beginning to sense.
The SUV creaks like it’s tired. Then, suddenly, Mama’s voice gets louder, all frantic. “Giulia, listen to me. The car—it’s moving!”
My heart pounds as I see the car shift, its back tire dragging closer to the cliff’s edge. Mama’s face is pale, her eyes wide with fear.
“You need to go find your father. Quick! You have to hurry—run as fast as you can!”
“ I-I don’t know where he is!” I cry, panic rising in my chest. “Come out of the car, and we’ll go find him together.”
She shakes her head, her voice trembling. “I can’t.”
“It’s easy, just?—”
“No!” she cuts me off, her voice cracking. “Giulia, listen. I’m stuck, and only he can help me.” Her expression hardens, desperation laced with resolve. “You’re always saying you’re not a baby. This is your chance to prove it.”
I nod, stumbling away from the car, searching for my father. But he’s nowhere. Frustration claws at me, and the tears fall faster. I turn, running back to the car, trembling.
“I couldn’t find him!” I sob. “I’m sorry, Mama. I know I’m not a baby, but I’m scared. Why won’t you just get out of the car?”
All she has to do is undo her seatbelt, step out, and we’ll call 9-1-1. We’ll go home. The cops will find Papa. I’ll never not wear my seatbelt again.
The thought spikes through me, and I reach for the door.
“No!” she roars, but I ignore her, wrenching the door open. The car creaks, and I hear rocks tumble from the edge of the cliff.
I glance over, my stomach twisting. We’re right on the edge.
I’ve never liked heights. Just yesterday, Papa and Val leapt off a high rock into the fountain, while I stayed back, safely catching frogs.
It’s one of the many ways Val and I are different. If she were in my place, she’d be at the edge—leaning over, eyes wide with curiosity, fearless.
Mama’s eyes turn glassy. “You have to stop. You have to get help.”
I shake my head, panic rising. I can’t leave her. “I can help. Let me help you.”
She hesitates. “Fine. But you have to be careful. You have to do exactly what I say, okay?”
