“You want me to say something cheesy like ‘every day is an occasion with you?’ I mean, it is, but…”
“Stop!” she giggles, kicking playfully at my leg before she bites her lip. “Kinda.” She takes the thing and sets it on her lap to open it carefully, sliding an inner compartment out, and her eyes shine at what she sees inside. “Oh my god, Bruno, is this-”
“Yours,” I say proudly. Inside the box in a foam casing is an ornate switchblade, its handle jet-black. “Be careful, it’s brand-new and sharper than just about anything I’ve handled.”
Her careful fingers reach in and take it out, holding it up to the light with round, wondrous eyes. “Woah, it’s...a step up from the one I had. Bruno, I don’t know what to say!”
“Open it,” I urge her, and she points the blade away from us to push its switch. With a click, the blade pops out.
“It looks sharp,” she says, experimentally holding the thing in her hand, and that’s when she notices something on the base of the blade. She brings it closer to her eyes to squint at and read. When she reads it, I see tears start to well up in her eyes.
I start to say, “It says-”
“Passerotta,” she finishes, smiling and looking up at me.
“A passerotta for my passerotta,” I say, taking the blade from her hand and sheathing it again. “My sparrow. I had it made specially for you.”
She throws her arms around me, and I chuckle as I hug her tightly. “That’s the most dangerous and romantic gift I’ve ever gotten, Bruno.”
“I thought it was fitting,” I say, kissing her on the forehead, “but that’s not all.”
“Oh, the square box!” she says, reaching over and taking it as I stow the switchblade. She opens the next box, and her face lights up—this one needs no explanation.
“Oh my God, Bruno!”
She reaches in and draws out a necklace, silver glittering in the lights above us down to the set topaz pendant. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes.
“Serena, you deserve nothing but the best in life,” I say, reaching out and sliding my hand around the back of her neck. She looks up at me, tears still welled up in her eyes, and when she blinks, they roll down her cheeks as she smiles, still glowing. “We’re going through hell, but I wouldn’t want to go through it with anyone but you. And if we’re going through hell, I’ll treat you like we’re going to die tomorrow. And if we pull through this, I’ll treat you like the princess you are, every day of our lives.”
“Bruno, I-I don’t know what to say,” she says softly. She sniffs, and I wipe away a tear, which makes her smile. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Come on,” I say, nodding to the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Let’s? Are we going back to my place?” she asks, hopping down from the counter and finishing getting her shirt on.
“As much as I’d love to, not tonight,” I say. “Rafaela agreed to let you stay at her place tonight. I messaged her earlier. Things are a little hot right now, and I don’t want to make us easy to find until we can get a better grip on the situation.”
“I’ll text my mom and let her know. And… maybe suggest she stay in a hotel for the evening. Treat herself.”
I’m about to say something when I hear my phone buzzing in the other room. I stride over to it and pick it up. Nico.
“What’s up?” I answer the phone, my brow knit.
“Bruno, where are you tonight?” he asks, sounding urgent.
“Why? What’s the matter?” Serena is looking over at me with concern on her face.
“We got a tip, Bruno.”
“I’m not walking into another trap, Nico,” I say.
“If we got any more bad informants on our radar, you can take my kidneys,” Nico says. “This one’s good, so good most of the Cleaners don’t even know about it. Comes from someone we got among the Irish.”
“The Irish? What the fuck do they want?” We’ve had a long history with the Irish—a lot of ups and downs, but things have been quiet from their end for a long time. The last thing we need is another front in this war.
“There’s a meeting going down tonight, Bruno,” Nico says. “The Cleaners are reaching out to some of the higher-up Paddies. Probably want to sweet-talk them into an alliance if they can persuade them we’re weak enough to take a shot at.”
“Fucking hell,” I hiss, pacing around the back room, and Serena comes to lean on the side of the door, biting her lip. “Tell me you’ve got something else.”
“I do, and you’re gonna owe me for this one,” Nico says.
“Not if you keep me waiting, Nico.”
“I got where the meeting’s happening,” Nico says in a low voice, and my eyes widen. “Some of the biggest names from both sides showing up to parley. Probably a drug handoff, as a show of good faith. Something that shows the Irish that the Cleaners are worth their time.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“There’s more, Bruno,” Nico says. “The Cleaners aren’t even telling a lot of their own men—Bruno, Lorenzo’s gonna be there to oversee the handoff personally.”
SERENA
F rom the expression darkening Bruno’s face, I can tell he’s reading bad news on his phone screen. He heaves a sigh, slips the phone into his back pocket, and looks over at Giovanni, who is clearly waiting for some kind of order. He shakes his head and Giovanni’s face settles into a stony look of resignation, his eyes narrowing. This wordless exchange is enough to throw my anxiety into high gear. I may not be in tune with how the mafia operates these days, but I am certainly in tune with Bruno’s body language, and I know this is not good.
He strides over to me and gently takes my face in his huge hands, staring into my eyes for a moment before kissing me. There’s a sort of quiet desperation in his kiss, the way his fingers press against my cheeks as he leans close to me. I can tell something is wrong. Very wrong, from the way things feel right now. A knot of worry balls up in my stomach.
“I have to go,” Bruno tells me softly, those bright green eyes burning into mine. Somehow, I knew exactly what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth. But there’s no use in fighting it. Bruno is a mafioso and he does exactly what he has to do, whether I like it or not.
So I give him a quick nod. “You have to promise me that you’ll come back safe, okay? I-I don’t have a good feeling about any of this, Bruno. I can’t— I won’t lose you again.”
“Mia passerotta,” he says, tracing his thumb over my chin fondly, “I will never leave you for long. You can trust in that. I will be careful. I have something very important to live for.”
It’s almost as if there’s a silent now missing at the end of his sentence, and it breaks my heart to think that before he found me again, he didn’t think he had any real reason to keep going. I vow to myself to make his life beautiful again, to bring him the kind of joy that will make him happy to be alive. I want to give him everything.