Semua Bab The Mafia’s Runaway Bride: Bab 11 - Bab 20

ROSA’S POVThe second I stepped into the bathroom, I was confronted with a scene that made memories flood into my head. There had been a hit. Bianchi?Vincenzo stood in front of the sink, his hands braced against the marble countertop, head bowed. Blood dripped from his fingers, staining the white porcelain. His white singlet clung to him, damp from the water running down his arms, and his shorts hung low on his hips. The harsh glow of the overhead light cast shadows across his face, deepening the sharp lines of his jaw, the hollow beneath his cheekbones. He looked lethal, devastating.And all I could think about was how much I needed his help.I felt frozen, like my body had locked up. The stench of blood was thick in the air, mixing with the sharp tang of antiseptic. I was standing here, desperate, reeling from the doctor’s words about Sofia, but how could I even begin to say it when he was like this?He must have heard my uneven breathing because his head lifted. Our eyes met throu

ROSA’S POVDamn! Damn! Vicenzo was looking at me and I was at a loss for words. I knew the look in Vicenzo’s eyes, it was a look that demanded answers.The moment Sofia rattled off her pasta order like she was reading it off his soul, I knew.I knew what he was thinking because I’d thought it too. A thousand times. How could she be alike to someone she had never lived with? Someone she didn’t know? How could she eat pasta like a man who’d never cooked pasta for her? How did she acquire his taste?When Sofia was born, I prayed her eyes wouldn’t turn blue. When they did, I told myself blue was a common color. When she started to yawn like him, stretch like him, and speak with that same quiet confidence… I told myself I was overthinking.But hearing her talk about pasta that way? That exact way?It scared me.Vicenzo turned to me with those sharp, questioning eyes. I forced a laugh, trying to keep my voice light.“She’s a picky eater,” I said, my voice shaky. “Always has a new preferenc

VICENZO’S POVI woke up the next morning in a bright mood. It didn’t matter that the newspaper headlines today would scream about the death of another mafia boss and there would speculations on what had actually happened. All that mattered to me was that I was going to see Sofia. And Rosalinda. My Rosalinda. I stopped at a mall on my way to her house and purchased the fanciest toys I could get and headed to her house with much gusto.The door opened before I even knocked a second time.And there she was.Rosa. My Rosalinda. It hit me harder than it should, how beautiful she was. Not in the loud, polished way most women in my world aimed for. No heavy makeup. No designer labels screaming for attention. No rehearsed poses for the camera.Just her.Real. Barefaced. Italian beauty in its rawest form.Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, a few dark strands falling over her cheekbone like they belonged there. And those eyes… God, those eyes. No camera could ever catch them right.One gre

VICENZO’S POVIf there was one thing that was certain about me, it is that I’ve been to hell and back. Rosa left me. It was my undoing. My hubris. But here I was sitting in silence, the familiar warmth of hell wrapping around me again. Silence was dangerous. Especially in my world. And tonight, my office was too damn quiet. The only sound was the low hum of the city outside and the soft clink of ice in my glass as I sat there, staring at nothing, thinking about everything. Sofia isn’t mine. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling, trying to process the ache in my chest. How could those blue eyes not be fro

VICENZO’S POVThe first thought that came to my head was Rosa. They had followed me here, they knew where she lived. My blood was boiling with rage and I turned to stare at her door. Rosa knew better than to open it. She was safe, the shot had been for me. I took out my gun and walked calmly to my car.  I could still taste the metallic sting of blood in the back of my throat as I gripped the steering wheel, the leather slick against my palm not from sweat, but from the thin line of blood running down my forearm. A graze. Close enough to piss me off.Close enough to remind me someone out there had finally grown the balls to come for me.