“Let me clean you up before you go, at least,” I offer, biting my lip. “I mean, you can’t go out all bloody and injured like that. It’s unsanitary. And if there’s one thing I do have here in abundance, it’s soap. Just let me clean your wounds. Please. It’s the least I can do.”
He hesitates, clearly fighting some kind of internal battle as he looks at me, considering my strange request. Finally, he gives in, and I gently lead him to a sink, pulling up a stool for him to sit on while I grab the least-feminine-scented soap I can find and start lathering up his fists and forearms. Even as he sits on the stool, he’s nearly eye-to-eye with me, he’s so tall. And I consider myself to be relatively tall for a woman, too, at five-foot-seven, so it’s unusual for a man to tower over me in such a way.
He doesn’t even wince at the sting of soap on his cut-up, bruised knuckles, and from the number of scars I feel underneath my fingers as I wash them, he seems to have seen his fair share of fights. I wonder what kind of life he leads, how many times he has done this. Is this his job? Really? To go around protecting women he doesn’t even know?
But Lorenzo and his goons called him a Costa guy. If he’s a mafia associate, then why did he help me? Sure, when I was young and Dad was still alive, things were good. My folks and the mafia were more than just simpatico, they were family. But things have changed drastically since then, and as far as I know, the Costa family certainly don’t make my safety and wellbeing a priority these days. I’m nothing to them. In fact, they probably hate me after everything that happened.
So why in the world did this rough-and-tough Costa enforcer come to my rescue?
As I make my way up his arm, scrubbing gently at the bloody lacerations and dark bruises, I come across a familiar sight. A tattoo. One I have not seen with my own two eyes in many years. The sight of it instantly throws me back, and a tidal wave of confused emotions overtake me. I freeze up, staring at the intricate lines of the tattoo, suddenly remembering all the things I have tried so hard to forget, dark things that time has buried.
And with it, an overwhelming sense of urgency to ask, to know for certain that this man is who my heart wills him to be. By chance, by fate, by magic. By whatever means necessary for him to have walked back into my world again, albeit beaten down and roughened up and subdued.
I look up from the tattoo to meet his gaze, and the answer to my question is there in his pale green eyes long before the words even leave my lips. It’s him. I know it is. But I still can’t stop myself from asking, just to be sure.
“Bruno? Is… is that you?”
BRUNO
F or a few long, sweet moments, we stare into each other’s eyes, frozen. Her hands are still holding my forearm, her soft fingers on my rough, hardened hands warm even as the water starts to get cold. Her touch is one of the things I’ve missed most from my old life. I never want it to end.
But as strong as my arm is, as powerful as the body sitting before her in the little shop may be, those eyes of hers hold me still. Her gaze searches mine. Those eyes are feasting themselves, staring right into my soul, making me want to let her know everything they want to know even as my own eyes hold her paralyzed.
Finally, I let myself give her the smile I’ve been waiting years to give her.
“Ciao, bella.”
And just like that, we’re teenagers again.
Tears swell up like springwater in those endless eyes, and her lip quivers for half a second as a tidal wave of emotion crashes through her system.
“Bruno!” she squeals, and before I can open my mouth, she flings herself at me, little arms wrapping around my torso as she buries her face in my chest. My chest is rippling with muscle, but even I can feel how tight she’s trying to squeeze me, and I couldn’t keep the grin off my face if my life depended on it.
My thick arms wrap around her, practically covering her in me as I hold her warmth against my body, and I hear her start to sob before I can put my lips to the top of her golden head. My large hand strokes her back, and I feel my own heart swelling as I give her a gentle squeeze back.
“Serena,” I say, and it feels so good, so free to feel her name roll of my tongue. I’ve held myself back from this moment for so long. I still don’t know if it was the right choice. But right now, in this moment, I let myself just be with her as we hold each other tight.
I’m a hardened man, but I can still feel. And Serena is the sweetest feeling in the world.
After what feels like forever, she turns her head up to look at me. Those wet, reddened eyes don’t dampen the smile on her face. “Oh my god, it really is you! I...I can’t…”
“Shush, shush, you’ve been through a lot today,” I say, giving her a reassuring squeeze, my huge arms holding her protectively. I feel her take a breath and let it out slowly.
She bites her lip, trying desperately to bring her emotions back in line, but it’s useless. And I can’t believe the joy I feel in my own heart—the relief.
She isn’t afraid of me? After everything. After how we parted ways last time?
Not only that, she’s overjoyed to see me. To be with me.
“I just...I never thought I’d see you again,” she confesses, half-laughing, half-sobbing. She sniffs, wiggling an arm free to wipe her eyes and laugh at herself all over again. “Oh my god, I’m such a mess, don’t look at me!”
It’s my turn to laugh as I hug her tight to me as she tries to get away, and she gives a little squeal of delight as I give her a bear hug that lifts her feet off the ground for a moment. It’s like no time has passed between us at all.
I set her down and release her. She immediately grabs a paper towel from the counter and dabs her eyes, checking in the mirror to see what the damage is. She could have raccoon eyes streaming down her whole face, and she’d still be irresistible to me.
After another sniff, she takes a step back and looks at me with a gaze that really see me for the first time. “Oh my god, and you were in here yesterday! I... I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you!”
I give a cocky smile. “That was the plan. Besides the glasses, though, I’ve changed a lot, Serena.”
“No you haven’t,” she says in a laughing sob, looking over my face as more and more recognition crashes through her. “If it weren’t for that beard... but I’d know those eyes anywhere,” she says, dreamily, and I can tell she only half-realizes the words are coming from her mouth. Catching herself, she blushes and runs her fingers through her hair, getting a stray lock out of her face. Another sniff.
“You’re one to talk,” I say, a warm smile on my face as I take her in, looking her up and down. Her face reddens at my gaze, but she doesn’t turn away, either. She always was like that—she liked to play shy, but my gaze excited her. It always had, and it still does, I see. “Serena, you look... incredible.”
A moment passes between us in silence as we just stare at each other, smiling stupidly. Teenagers all over again.