Page 6 of Mine Again (Mafia Bride #2)

Chapter Five

Luca

Five years later

I sa stirs in bed, lashes fluttering against her cheek. Even in sleep, she is art, my art… my ruin.

I watch the way sunlight touches her face, gilding her hair, softening the shadows under her eyes. She turns, hugging the pillow close like it could ever be me.

“Happy birthday, farfalla .”

I whisper it in my head, knowing the words won’t reach her ears today. But next year, they will.

By the time she turns twenty-three, I will be there.

No more ghosts. No more distance.

She’ll wake up in my arms, not clutching a pillow in place of me. And we’ll start the day the way I’ve dreamed of for years, her lips beneath mine, her skin beneath my hands, me worshiping her until she knows every second of waiting was worth it.

I zoom in on Isa’s face, the camera sharpening her sleepy features. My hand lifts to the screen, and I trace the curve of her cheek, remembering what it felt like to stroke her skin, to kiss those lips that haunt me.

I can still taste her if I close my eyes.

The memory of her body arching against mine floods back so vividly it makes my heart ache… and my cock harden in my pants.

The soft sounds she made when I touched her. The way her breath shuddered into my mouth when she gave herself to me.

Fuck. My cock throbs, hard as steel, and all I can do is grip myself for the barest relief. But nothing, not even release from my own hand, will ever compare to her.

And it’s been so fucking long.

“I love you, butterfly,” I murmur, letting my thumb drag across the glass as if it were her mouth.

My chest burns with how much I miss her, how much I need her. The longing has carved itself into my bones, etched there as permanent as any tattoo, and it won’t ease until she is mine again.

How have I lasted this long without her?

Watching her heartbreak these past few years has been unbearable. Every tear, every forced smile, cut deep. Especially on her birthdays.

But it’s time to look forward. Time to reclaim what’s ours. The future I promised her is waiting. Not long now, farfalla .

On the desk beside me sits a sleek black box, her favorite chocolatier’s logo embossed in gold on the lid. I had the chocolates flown in yesterday. While I can’t send them to her, the box will wait here, lined up with the others from the past two birthdays.

This year, the pralines are topped with chocolate swallows, birds that migrate apart but always return to the same nest.

The tattoo gun waits in the drawer, this year’s design ready. One more mark for one more year carved into my skin. And after this, no more.

This will be the last birthday she spends without me. And I’ll be with her, watching.