Who Is the Real Mafia Principessa Chapter 09

Who Is the Real Mafia Principessa Chapter 09

Bang!!!

Crash!!!

I kept hitting it, over and over, as wood splinters and broken keys flew everywhere, scraping their horrified faces.

After that, Giancarlo and Mrs. Moretti finally listened to the doctors. They didn’t dare step inside the room again, only peering through the crack in the door with miserable looks.

But Rafael didn’t give up.

He held a fancy dessert box, his fingers wrapped in bandages, and leaned toward me in a nearly humble way, holding a small cake up to my mouth.

“You’re so pathetic, Rafael.”

His hand froze mid-air.

“Begging to be insulted,” I smiled coldly. “Pathetic down to your bones. If Elowen saw you like this, she’d be heartbroken all over again, wouldn’t she?”

He fell quiet for a few seconds, slowly lowering his hand, head hanging. His voice was rough. “Althea… there’s a reason Mom, Dad, and I treated you that way.”

I stared at him, expressionless.

He spoke like he’d made up his mind, slow and heavy. “When I was eight, I was kidnapped. It was Elowen… she got me out of that hell.

She… saved my life. So we’ve always treated her like our real daughter.”

“After raising her a few years, Mom and Dad joked about having a little sister for her. She—who was always strong, who almost never cried—burst into tears. She said she knew she was adopted, that she didn’t deserve to keep us all to herself… but she just wanted to be selfish once. She wanted all our love, only for her.”

“Later… not long after that, someone came after me again. She pushed me out of the way without thinking… and the car hit her instead. She was gone for eight whole years.”

He fell silent. The room was still. He looked up at me, a faint spark of hope in his eyes.

I nodded, very gently.

That spark lit up for a second.

“I heard you,” I said.

Then, before his pitiful hope could fully bloom, I spoke calmly, almost curious.

“Then you should die with me.”

His breath caught in his throat.

“It’s kind of disgusting,” I tilted my head, “but wouldn’t that… make her dream come true?”

The light in his eyes died instantly. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

I watched every bit of expression collapse on his face, then smiled faintly.

“What?” My voice turned light, mocking. “Disappointed I still don’t care, even after your touching little story?”

I leaned closer, speaking each word sharp and clear.

“Did I cause any of her pain?”

“Why do I—the one who was lied to for twenty years, who took everything for her—have to pay for your guilt, for the debts you owe?”

“If you care about her that much, if you’re that sorry…”

“Why don’t you just die?”

I paused, watching his eyes go completely empty, and delivered the final quiet blow.

“Scared?”