Page 30 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Isabella

T he shelf under the stairs doesn’t look like much. It holds boxes of Christmas decorations, a broken string of fairy lights, and two dusty board games no one has played in years.

But that’s just the cover.

Luca rigged the base with hidden wheels so the whole thing glides forward if you push in the right spot.

Behind it is the door to a secret tunnel, seamless timber paneling, flush with the wall. It takes a second to find the latch. You have to know it’s there, but my movements are practiced.

Once upon a time, this tunnel was Luca’s and my lifeline, letting us see each other outside our allotted and approved family dinners.

The tunnel is narrow, carved deep into old rock, and smells of damp stone and salt.

I move quietly, letting memory guide my steps. No one else uses this passage. No one else knows it’s here.

Even so, every soft scrape of my footsteps seems too loud in the stillness. My heart beats a little too fast, the old fear that someone might discover me humming beneath the surface. And then there’s the ever-present risk of spiders .

At the end, I reach the iron gate that opens into a hidden cave on our neighbor’s property. Rust flakes at the edges. The padlock is exactly as I left it the last time I came through here, for that last date with Andrea.

Luca and I installed it ourselves when we swapped out the old latch. Only we had the key. But now, only I use it.

My fingers fumble at first, slick with the kind of nervous energy that’s hard to shake. But the lock clicks open, and I breathe a little easier.

The tunnel opens into the back of a shallow sea cave, hidden from view and shielded from the elements.

The shift in temperature makes me shiver, or maybe that’s the nerves buzzing under my skin at the prospect of seeing Sebastian.

I crouch beside the far wall, where a tarp covers something nestled behind the stone. Lifting it, I find the bicycle.

The frame is dusty, and the chain shows signs of rust, but it’s still intact.

Luca hid it here years ago, for me to use when he couldn’t pick me up himself, and I would ride it to meet him at our hiding place.

Since then, I’ve used it a few times. When I needed out, or to be someone no one could follow.

I wheel it carefully to the narrow mouth of the cave that’s just wide enough to squeeze through. Then I push it onto the little bush track that leads to the road.

It’s mid-January, and Sicily wears winter like a whisper. The air is cool but gentle, the light a pale gold as it filters through sleepy clouds.

The roads are quiet. There are few tourists this time of year. Mostly only locals wrapped in scarves and their own thoughts.

By the time I reach Zucchero Café, my nerves have settled into something steadier.

I secure the bicycle and look at the familiar stone archway, where vines curl up the walls and mismatched tables spill onto the pavement.

The last time I was here, I was hopeful that plan NUPTIAL with Andrea would move forward the way I needed it to .

Instead, he told me about his promotion, and my plans came crashing down.

And then, of course, Sebastian unexpectedly reappeared and turned a terrible afternoon into something promising again.

Funny how similar things are now.

The reason I am here. The buildup. The what-ifs.

I had texted and talked with Andrea a lot before our first date. And over the last week, it’s been the same with Sebastian.

We messaged every day and even had a phone call. It was easy. Flirty. And I’m getting used to his directness. It’s surprisingly endearing.

As I walk toward him, butterflies swarm in my stomach.

Sebastian is already seated at a small table near the edge of the courtyard and looks completely at ease. One hand rests casually on the table, the other scrolls through his phone.

Today he’s dressed in a soft blue button-down, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. Tan skin, and a posture like he owns the world.

I slow down as I approach, panic suddenly flooding through my chest.

What am I doing?

Before I can sink deeper into my unease, Sebastian looks up and smiles when he spots me. Standing up, he steps toward me.

“There you are,” he says, kissing my cheek gently, his hand brushing my arm as he pulls back. “I was beginning to worry you’d changed your mind.”

The kiss is soft, confident, over too fast. And it still manages to scatter my thoughts. The way he did it, so natural, so sure, it seemed like something we had done a hundred times already. Not like a first.

There wasn’t any awkwardness in our greeting, so different from the one I had with Andrea.

“Not a chance,” I say, trying not to show how warm my face is.

The server appears and hands us menus. Before I can even glance at mine, Sebastian hands both back.

“She’ll have a cappuccino and the limoncello tart,” he says, without hesitation .

I blink. “Will I?”

Yep, he’s definitely bossy. The jury is out on whether I like it.

He smiles like it’s obvious. “It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

“It is. But how do you know?”

“You had it on your birthday, and it looked like you enjoyed it.”

I tilt my head. “That was in September. And you were across the restaurant.”

He lifts a shoulder. “I was watching you all night, remember?”

How could I forget?

“Well, your eyesight needs checking. It was a chocolate cake.”

He hesitates, then nods slowly.

“Hmm. You must have mentioned it on the phone then. We did talk about favorite foods the other day.”

I remember it vaguely. Maybe I did say something.

I search my mind for the exact conversation, but it’s already fading into a blur of flirtation and laughter.

“Must have,” I concede. “You’ve got an excellent memory.”

“Only for the things that matter.”

My stomach does a strange little flip, part thrill, part suspicion, but I brush it aside.

He’s charming. Observant. Perhaps a bit intense. But that’s not a crime.

The drinks arrive, and he offers me a bite of his cannoli without asking, like we have done this a dozen times before.

There’s something comforting in it. Familiar.

And all of it feels… easy. Perhaps a little too easy.

“So,” he says, stirring his coffee slowly, “have I lived up to the hype?”

I give him a look. “What hype?”

“The texts. The phone call. The endless charm. I assumed expectations were sky high.”

I take a sip of my coffee, trying to ignore the way my pulse has picked up.

This is just playful conversation. I can handle it.

“You assumed wrong. I keep expectations low on purpose. Less chance of disappointment.”

“Wise move,” he says, nodding. “But I prefer to exceed expectations.”

“Oh, is that what this is?” I gesture to the food and drinks in front of us. “You trying to impress me with a cappuccino and unsolicited dessert orders?”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

I narrow my eyes. “I’m still debating that.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table. His gaze holds mine, so intense I almost forget to breathe. “Admit it. You’re enjoying this.”

“What, the sugar or the ego?” I hate how breathy I sound.

He smirks knowingly. He must sense the effect his nearness has on me, and I wish I had more experience with men like him. Maybe then I wouldn’t be this affected.

“Both. Though I’ve been told I pair well with dessert.”

I nearly choke on my drink. “That was terrible.”

“But you laughed.”

“I did not.”

My cheeks are warm. He so easily gets under my skin.

He grins. “You’re laughing internally. Loudly.”

I roll my eyes, but my smile gives me away. “You’re impossibly full of yourself.”

“And yet, here you are,” he replies, giving me his trademark wink.

“For now,” I say, finishing the last bite of tart. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.”

The banter softens into easy conversation, and before I know it, we’ve cleared our plates and he’s finishing the last of his coffee.

He glances toward the open park beyond the café. “Walk with me?”

I nod. I don’t want this date to be over yet either.

“Sure, but I have to be back before five.”

He smiles like he understands more than he should. “Then let’s not waste time.”

I step onto the pavement while he pays, drawing in a slow breath. The cool air helps, but my thoughts are still racing .

This is going so well. He’s as much fun in person as he is on the phone.

He joins me a moment later, his eyes focused on me, and my stomach tumbles. I turn my face away, looking anywhere but at him.

I don’t want him to know how easily he rattles me.

We fall into step, strolling past quiet storefronts to the park. The sun filters through winter-clouded skies, warm enough to be pleasant but soft enough to remind you it’s January.

“I’m still not sure about that dessert line,” I say as we turn onto a quieter path.

He pretends to consider. “Too bold?”

“Too cheesy.”

“You say that like the two are mutually exclusive.”

I laugh, and the sound escapes before I can stop it. “You’re dangerous.”

“Because of my pastry-based pickup lines?”

“Because you make people forget they’re supposed to be cautious.”

He slows his steps, turning to me, walking backward for a few paces, eyes on mine like he’s trying to read thoughts I haven’t spoken.

“Is that what you’re doing? Being cautious?”

“I like to be prepared.”

“For what?”

“Unwanted surprises.”

His smile softens, but there’s something else in his eyes now. Something darker.

“I don’t plan on being one.”

The path narrows, the air thick with the scent of citrus from somewhere unseen. His arm brushes mine, but he doesn’t move away.

The space between us seems smaller. My breath catches, and I try to focus on anything else. The stone beneath our feet, the pale winter sun, the rustle of the breeze. But it’s Sebastian who fills my senses.

We stop near a stone archway that overlooks a quiet clearing. There’s no one around, only a pair of pigeons and an empty bench.

When I glance at Sebastian, he’s already closer. His gaze holds mine, as if he’s giving me a chance to stop him if I want to.

Surely he isn’t about to do what it looks like. That would be way too soon, wouldn’t it?

But the warmth in his eyes has deepened, the playful edge fading into something far more dangerous, far more real.

His nearness unleashes a kaleidoscope of butterflies, like I’m teetering on the edge of something I can’t escape.

How is this all happening so fast?

His head lowers and his voice drops, his words a breath between us.

“I want to kiss you.”