Page 58 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Isabella

T he first round went to me by a pinkie finger’s width, but getting cocky would be a mistake.

Back in our teens, Luca always excelled in the final stretch, his unshakable calm outpacing the way I let adrenaline cloud my aim.

But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m sharper. And I want this win.

“Round two,” I announce, nocking my arrow, eyes locked on the target.

But I sense him.

Luca moves behind me. It’s slow and deliberate.

He wants me to notice.

It’s close enough that I sense the shift in the air when he exhales. Close enough that I know he isn’t looking at the target.

He’s watching me… to distract me.

That used to be one of his tactics. Round one was always fair. After that? All bets were off.

Which, if I’m being honest, is why I liked our competitions so much.

“Don’t miss,” he murmurs into my ear. “Your stance is almost perfect… if not for that one little quirk. ”

I don’t take the bait. “Trying to mess with my head, Caruso?”

“Not at all,” he says, but I can hear the grin in his voice. “I like watching you shoot. You get this little crease between your brows when you concentrate. Very serious. Very sexy.”

I release the arrow before he can say anything else.

It lands just shy of center. A solid shot. But not perfect.

Behind me, Luca makes a low sound in his throat, somewhere between impressed and turned-on.

“You always finish that fast?” he asks.

I glance over my shoulder, lifting a brow. “Only when someone talks through my release.”

He grins, utterly unbothered and still close.

“I’ll be quiet, then.” His voice dips lower. “Next time.”

I don’t reply, and I don’t wait to hear what else will come out of his mouth. I nock the second arrow and shoot.

Better.

The third lands slightly wide. I frown, adjust my stance, and fire the fourth.

It thunks closer to center.

The fifth and last is solid but not quite where I want it.

Not terrible. But it won’t be enough, not with Luca as my opponent.

Grinning way too much, he steps up, adjusting his grip on his bow. The cams engage as he draws the string back.

“Remember, Isa,” he says, sighting his target, “I’ve had years to fantasize about hitting my mark.”

He releases his first arrow. It slices clean through the air and lands dead center.

Crap.

The next four follow. Tight grouping. Flawless control.

By the end of this round, it’s no contest.

“Round Two. Mine,” he says, lowering his bow, his smile even broader.

Damn, he looks beautiful. That boyish charm I was always a sucker for breaks through all that control.

Don’t get distracted.

I mock-scowl. “If we played strip archery, your aim would be way off.” And if it weren’t so cold, I’d test that theory.

His eyes flick to my mouth. “It probably would. Distract me anytime.”

I try to hide my smile but fail.

The air between us is charged, buzzing with something more than competition.

“Final round,” Luca announces, cheeky grin still in place.

Game on.

I go first. Arrow one, close. Arrow two, closer. The third is a little off. The fourth lands strong. The fifth just misses the inner ring. Not bad. But not enough to guarantee anything.

Luca steps up for his last five.

I watch the way his body moves as he draws. The smooth pull of muscle under skin. The tension in his arms. The way his shirt clings to his back and shoulders when he exhales.

And the way he holds himself. Confident. Calm. That quiet control used to drive me wild.

Still does, apparently. My mouth goes a little dry.

I shift my grip on my bow, trying to stay present and not let the heat crawling up my neck distract me. I need him to be the one sidetracked.

He draws the first arrow, anchoring smoothly.

That’s my window.

I step up behind him, like he did with me earlier.

“Hey, Luca?” I ask sweetly, not touching him but making sure he can feel my breath.

“Are you… always that stiff when you draw back, or is it because I’m behind you?”

He chokes on a laugh, and his grip falters.

The arrow flies wildly left and buries itself in the grass.

I gasp, all mock surprise.

“Oh no. Did I… ruin your co ncentration?”

He turns toward me slowly, eyes narrowed and gleaming. “You did not just say that.”

“What?” I feign wide-eyed innocence. “I was only asking a serious archery question. Form is very important.”

“You’re a menace,” he chuckles.

“Thank you. I work hard at it.” I wink at him. “And now we’re even.”

The next three arrows land tight. But that one miss shifts the score.

He pulls his final arrow from the quiver. “This one decides it.”

“Better not miss again.”

He holds my gaze for a beat longer than necessary. “I won’t.”

He draws. Holds. Releases.

It strikes the bullseye so cleanly it nearly splits his previous shot.

Dammit.

“A gentleman would have let me win.”

“Nah. You wouldn’t appreciate that. Being handed victory has never been you.”

I pout. “Maybe I’d have made an exception today.

I’ve had a few…” Shitty is the first word that comes to mind.

But as much as the revelations of the last twenty-four hours stung, having Luca back in my life is a blessing, even if I’m not ready to admit that to him. So I settle for, “… challenging days.”

He doesn’t reply, his eyes holding mine.

And it hits me.

The ache in my chest has eased. The weight in my stomach is lighter. The spiraling doubts… gone, at least for now.

This friendly little tournament, the banter, the thrill of competing with him, it’s distracted me completely.

Just what I needed.

He steps closer, and the change in the air is instant.

Every nerve sparks to life.

His hand lifts to my face, brushing along my jaw, before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“You owe me a truth. ”

My reply comes out quieter than I expect.

“What do you want to know?”

He leans in, his nose brushing mine. That feather-light touch pulls every nerve in my body taut.

I breathe him in. Warm skin. Pine. And something undeniably Luca.

“Did Moretti ever do more than kiss you?”

I expected that question. And I’m happy to give him the reassurance.

“No.” I shake my head. “We agreed to wait until we were married.”

His breath hitches. It’s quiet. Controlled. But I sense it.

His entire body loosens. Shoulders drop. His jaw unclenches.

Relief pours off him like heat.

His hand lingers on my cheek. He leans his forehead to mine, eyes closed. Mine close too.

And for a moment, I let myself revel in his presence, his warmth. The solid, quiet strength I’ve craved for five long years. It sinks into me like sunlight after a long winter.

I breathe him in, letting the scent of him settle in my lungs. For a heartbeat, everything else fades.

No past. No lies. No pain.

Just this.

Just him.

I step closer, winding my arms around his waist, and melt into him.

My heart has come home.

His arms slide around my waist, pulling me closer, anchoring me to him. Our noses brush gently against each other, and for a long moment, we stand there, unmoving.

“ Farfalla ,” he whispers, so much raw emotion swimming in that one word.

And like the name he gave me all those years ago, the butterflies in my stomach unfurl their wings and beat against the cage I’ve kept around my heart.

Every second I stay in his arms, the gravity between us intensifies. But I don’t want to lose control again like I did in the gym.

That was impulsive. He deserves better than that.

So, with more effort than I care to admit, I ease back and gesture toward the targets.

“Better collect those arrows, and you need to dig out the one you landed in the dirt.”

Luca pulls me in for another second, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead.

Then he stretches with deliberate slowness, exaggerated and smug.

“You sure you don’t want to do it?” he asks, his eyes dancing. “I could watch you bend over and on your knees all day.”