Page 19 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

BIANCA

AMONG THE brOKEN, WE BELONG

H e walks away like the ground owes him something. He’s confident, calm, and unapologetically lethal. I’m not calm, not as confident, not really. However, I’ve been trained to be deadly.

I have no right to ask him to stay, but I don’t want him to leave. So I’m watching him go, and my heart aches. I can’t help but stare at him, like maybe if I stare hard enough, I’ll make him turn around.

He doesn’t. But damn, he doesn’t need to. He commands attention without trying. Jeans—dark, fitted, low enough to remind me of things I shouldn’t be thinking about, especially when it’s the man I’m sworn to hate.

His designer shirt looks like it was painted on him, but it doesn’t overstate. The sleeves have been rolled up to his elbows, snug enough to make it criminal. And those arms…

He’s different than the boys I’ve dated.

Yes, boys. He’s decisive. I’ve never had a man who’s stood up to me before, not like him.

He’s not afraid to tell me “no.” He’s a man who can stand up to me and entertain my snarky comebacks.

He is worthy of my attention, and I want to get to know him.

I want to know where he’s from and what makes him tick .

And, yes, he’s sexy as sin. Of course, I’ve had fantasies of being with him. Of what it would be like to rake my nails down his back, and have his arms hold me tight.

Ink wraps up one like a dark story told in pictures and obscure words. I’m sure they all hold a memory. I’ve never seen all of it. One: he never offered. Two: I never asked.

But I want to. God, I want to.

His shoulders move beneath the fabric with every step, broad, decisive, and steady, like the world doesn’t touch him—he moves through it. His walk is effortless.

No one would guess he’s a billionaire. Not by the way he walks. Not necessarily by the way he dresses. Because he doesn’t need to show off his wealth or power, because he is powerful.

But today, the attraction isn’t dark like he could kill me. It’s soft and purposeful. The fact that he came shows he cares and thinks of others. It’s the fact that he took time out of whatever dark, bloody empire he runs to attend a dog fundraiser.

He just did it for me. He didn’t ask for a spotlight. He didn’t do it to make points. He was about to leave without seeking me out, which means his intentions weren’t to manipulate the situation to make himself look like a savior. And that speaks louder than any words he could have said.

The lump in my throat is too big to swallow. He touched a part of me, a part of me I don’t show to anyone, let alone a man. Because the men in my childhood hurt my feelings, and they killed the love I gave them all in a cowardly attempt to control me, and it was a way to make themselves meaningful.

And it’s not that I haven’t been around men, because I’ve known men who’ve promised me the world and delivered nothing but disappointment. They never put in the work to get to know me, to really see me.

Vukan didn’t promise a thing. He just showed up. And now he’s walking away, and a piece of me is going with him. Not because I gave it, but because he took it .

And the worst part? I don’t want it back.

I should walk away from him because he’s worldly, experienced, and devastatingly handsome, and I’m sure he’ll break my heart. It might not be today, or tomorrow, but eventually every man breaks my trust and hurts me.

But no matter how much I fight my desire for him, it continues to build. We’re molten lava and fire—like a smoldering volcano. And I’d be lying if I said I’m not afraid of what will happen if I continue on this path because he’s dangerous, and because he knows me. The real me.

I’ve never trusted any men. Sure, I trust my brothers to a point, but even they bend the rules. Like when they negotiated with Vukan and didn’t inform me that I would pay the price for the family’s salvation.

I’m tired of dating men who tell me what they think I want to hear.

I’m tired of dishonest men. Then, there are the assholes who “forget” their wallets at home.

And finally, the affluent men who only want me on their arm, or in their bed, and they never ask for my input on anything.

They have their entire life built around comfort, the jet-set life, and hanging out with their friends, and never get to know mine.

The problem with rich men is that they expect me to follow them blindly. They expect me to play a part. But they never asked if it was okay with me.

Vukan’s not like the men I’ve dated.

He came to see me today, and somehow, he got me to talk about things that I never talk about. I left all the hurt and pain in the past. But like all trauma, it sits and it festers and it becomes a shadow that follows me wherever I go.

He’s had trauma, too, and he understands this. He knows where I came from, and he knows some of my scars.

This makes him dangerous, because if I’m not careful, he’s going to unravel me like a moth-eaten knitted sweater.

How does he always know what to say and what to do?

I return to the fundraiser, but it’s not the same as it was before he arrived. The event winds down, my feet hurt from walking over pavement all day, and there’s glitter on my hands.

I’m tired. I’m ready to go home. I say my goodbyes and make my way to my car, wondering how much money I promised to fund more dog adoptions.

That’s when it hits me. I need to start a nonprofit for the family. I’ll call it the Borrelli Foundation. I’ll run it. It’s the perfect place for me. I’ll be responsible for managing charitable donations and organizing gala events. I can raise funds for worthy causes.

And I’ll do it happily.

I won’t need to impress anyone.

I will be the person to make the children and the dogs know what it’s like to be chosen.

Today, my work helped something be seen. And if I lay a solid foundation, I can support numerous charities. This way, my world will change the world one small step at a time.

I can’t believe his childhood was similar to mine. He shared his sadness with me. He’ll never act like a victim or complain; his past speaks for itself. But I know he has scars like me.

And I saw the want in his eyes.

I drive home, remembering the weight of Vukan’s words, and his soft voice that makes the hair on my neck rise. Damnit, I miss him.

But right now?

I’m going to recuperate from my long day. And that means I need to stop obsessing over the mysterious Serb in my life.

Later, I’m sipping wine when my phone pings. My heart flutters. Why does it happen every time I receive a text message ?

And why do I hope it’s him?

Did it go well? Raise a lot of money? Adopt a stray?

I stare at the screen for longer than I should.

The message is simple. Nice. Teasing. And so Vukan.

But I see it for what it is, and I know he’s checking on me.

Again.

Not because he has to. Because he wants to, because he has a million things to do, but he’s made me his priority.

And that’s more dangerous than any weapon he’s ever held.

I type back, fast and flippant:

Raised double the goal. Didn’t cry once. Didn’t adopt, but almost ran off with an older dog named Meatball.

A beat later:

Thanks for showing up.

I don’t send anything else. I can’t overthink it. I can’t give him too much.

But I hold my breath, hoping he’ll text again. I can’t explain the lump in my throat or the fact that my heart’s still sore in places I thought were scarred over and numb.

A minute passes, and I gulp my wine, disappointed that he didn’t text again. And then, he replies a minute later.

Should’ve brought Meatball home. I hear labs are good with children.

Maybe it’s just a line. He’s always surprising me. And he always mans up to the occasion.

But somehow… I wonder what it would be like having children with him. Do I want them? Sure .

And for the first time in my life, I’m thinking about the possibility of a future with someone. And it scares the shit out of me.

So I order sushi, which arrives an hour later in a sleek black box with a ribbon, as if it’s a gift, but it tastes like nothing. I push a piece around my plate for twenty minutes.

I take a few bites and throw the rest of the food in the fridge like I’m actually going to revisit it tomorrow. But I know I won’t.

The condo is quiet—too quiet. The lights are low. Everything is in its place. Everything I own is expensive, and yet, untouched. It’s like I don’t live here.

Because my life, my heart, and the causes I champion, the ones I live and breathe for, are outside these four walls.

I walk barefoot through my living room, feeling like a guest. I shouldn’t feel like this in my own home. Not in the place I built to be peaceful. But tonight, the silence presses in like it wants to remind me I’m incomplete, that I could have more.

And he’s never not on my mind. I want his voice in my ear again. I like the warmth of his body near mine—his sexy body is hot against my body.

Damnit, I long for another kiss. I thought he might kiss me today, and I wouldn’t have objected. However, it was my event, and it wasn’t the right place. I get that. But it didn’t stop me from fantasizing about it.

He has a way of intently looking at me that’s not a stare, but it terrifies me because he sees my essence. Why does it feel like he sees parts of me I’ve spent years hiding?

I go to bed and scroll through my messages, past the banter, the smug little one-liners, and the orders disguised as invitations. Every word drips with intent. With want. With him.

By the time I set my phone down on the pillow next to me, my body’s already humming. Not because of the words he says. But because they’re his. And right now, his absence is the only thing louder than the want curling low in my belly.

I stare at my phone like I haven’t already read the thread three times. His texts still glow against the dark screen. Simple but warm. The Wolf has a heart. I should put the phone down. I should sleep.

But instead, I’m still lying here in my overpriced sheets, wrapped in expensive fabrics, contemplating a truth I don’t want to name. I want to hear from him again, just one more time, tonight.

Just to take the edge off this feeling, like I didn’t get enough of him today. I’m sure if he texts again, this burning need between my legs will go away. Because I’m wet just thinking about him. I don’t want to use my purple ‘friend’ to satisfy myself.

The truth I can’t deny is the fact that I desire Vukan and I long for him .

I’m sure he’ll satiate my urges that have become unbearable. My fingers hover over the keyboard for a full minute before I give in.

Hell.

Meatball says hi. He misses you already. We talked, and he said you smell like danger and poor decisions.

I stare at it. Is it too much? Too soft?

I hit send anyway, and ten seconds later, three dots appear. Then disappear. Then come back, making my pulse volley like a ping-pong.

Tell Meatball I miss him, too. You, I’m still deciding.

I chuckle before I type:

Liar. You decided the second you kissed me like you meant it .

I send it before I can second-guess. The dots come back instantly.

You're right. I decided long before that.

And just like that—I’m breathless and my heart is racing.

I press my thighs together under the covers, all because of a man who doesn’t ask. He listens and he sees.

I can’t sleep, and because I’m a masochist, I check for new texts.

I’m a woman with a bad habit: when I discover a new one, I tend to adopt it—I just work that way. It might not be ideal, but it’s my quirk to bear. Then my phone pings, and my heart races.

Good night, Princess.

Sleep well, Wolfie.

I can’t deny the way my body responds to him. I remember how his huge cock pressed into me with the kisses after our boxing match, and I’ve been hooked ever since. And yeah, spending more time with him is dangerous. But I made the deal, and I have to see it through.

But damn, Vukan is growing on me, step by step.

I no longer count how often I find myself thinking about him. Hell, I hate myself when I glance at my phone fifty times a day to see if I missed one of his texts! But it doesn’t stop there. I often wonder what he does with his time when he’s not with me.

I’m beginning to think I was too generous with ten dates, and it would have been safer if I had picked a lower number. Much lower.