Page 24 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

BIANCA

TINY HANDS, HEAVY HEARTS

I ’m still swaying even after I’m back on dry land. And not just from the boat. It’s him .

Vukan was supposed to be this untouchable force — all sharp edges and cold fury—off-putting, distant, and reserved.

But what I got was someone entirely different.

The way we were out there on the water, and the waves turned, sloshing against the boat, threw me. But not as much as seeing the softer side of Vukan—he wasn’t ruthless.

He wasn’t cold. He was steady, and he held my hair back without a word. He even rubbed comforting circles into my back with his rough hands.

He made ridiculous jokes in Serbian, which I didn’t understand, but they still managed to make me laugh. I’m sure he did it to distract me from the nausea.

He carried me off that deck like I was something precious. Like I was something breakable. And mostly, he gave me the feeling that he’d fight the whole damn ocean if it meant getting me back to shore safely.

And somewhere between the horizon and his heartbeat, I realized I’m not just falling .

I’m already partly gone.

Later, when I walk into Joanne’s office, she doesn’t even look up from her laptop when I breeze in.

“You survived,” she says, deadpan.

“Barely,” I mutter, flopping onto her worn-out couch. “Your boy forgot to mention the whole ‘rough seas in the ocean’ in ‘fishing trip.’”

Joanne snorts. “I figured you’d either come back with a fish or a fiancé.”

“Funny,” I grumble, kicking off my shoes. “All I caught was seasickness, a bruised ego, and embarrassment. It wasn’t a pretty sight, tossing my cookie in front of the most eligible bachelor who always looks perfect.” But that’s not the whole truth.

She finally glances at me and raises her eyebrows.

“You let him take care of you?”

I freeze for a second. Fuck, I did. No one takes care of me. I take care of myself—always.

Then I shrug. “He didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

She flashes me a smile like a Cheshire Cat.

“Good.” There’s a beat of silence before she adds, “Are you still going through with the next date?”

I smirk. “Oh yeah. Children and second chances? That’s my battlefield.”

Joanne grins widely. “That one might break him.”

“Good,” I say, standing up and stretching. “It’s about time he knows what it feels like.” But inside, I doubt anyone has ever broken Vukan.

What was I thinking when I gave him ten dates?

As if the man knows I’m speaking of him, my phone pings.

How are you feeling, Princess?

Great. Thank you.

Good to hear.

To which I text.

Date three is coming. I hope you enjoy screaming children and suspiciously sticky floors.

He doesn’t reply right away. But when he does, I laugh because he amuses me.

Only if I get to hear you scream next.

Joanne reads over my shoulder and nearly spits out her drink.

“Okay, you’re so screwed.”

“Not yet,” I mutter, still hoping I can score a win.

I brought him here to make him uncomfortable.

It was a calculated strike—the children’s shelter, the toddler wing. Forty pounds of chaos per child. Glitter glue. Crushed animal crackers. Crying. Hugging. Juice boxes. Emotions. Cutie faces. Sticky fingers and more glitter glue. All of it.

If anything can rattle Vukan Petrovi?, it would be this, because the shelter is filled with children rolling around like indecisive marbles. He’ll crack when he notices their eyes are too old for their faces.

At least, that was the plan .

Until he walks in and proves me wrong.

The moment we step into the room, he slows. Not in hesitation—just… awareness. Observing. He’s scanning like he’s still on a battlefield, but this time it’s full of squeals, rubber dinosaurs, mismatched trucks, noisy sirens on trucks, and books with torn pages and worn edges.

“Where exactly have you brought me, Princess?” he murmurs as I slip my bag from my shoulder.

“A war zone,” I deadpan. “But smaller. And stickier. Definitely stickier,” I smirk.

A little boy bolts past, waving a wooden sword and yelling, “NINJA TIME!” as he nearly crashes into his legs.

But Vukan doesn’t flinch. Instead, he crouches low. He approaches the child on his level. I admit I’m impressed. But that’s who he is, a man who rises to every occasion.

“Is that a sword?” he asks, voice low but warm.

The boy nods ferociously. “It’s magic!”

“Good,” he says. “Use it wisely. Some things deserve to be fought for.”

He watches everything but says little. But something in him speaks to me. It’s as if this reminds him of things he thought he had forgotten. There’s a look in his eye that I can’t place.

The kid sprints off without a second thought. Vukan frowns, like he’s sad the child left.

I blink at him. “You’re… weirdly good at this.”

“I know what it’s like to grow up in chaos,” he says simply.

I swallow the lump that tries to rise in my throat.

A little girl toddles over with a crumpled sticker stuck to her cheek and a doll in one hand. She looks up at him like he’s a skyscraper.

“You big,” she announces.

“You small,” he replies .

She giggles.

Then offers him the doll with outstretched arms. “She sad.”

He takes it into his large hand like it’s breakable.

“Why?”

“She got no shoes.”

He hums thoughtfully. “No shoes? That’s a serious problem.”

Then, unbelievably, he plucks a Band-Aid from his back pocket, peels it open, and wraps it carefully around the doll’s tiny foot.

“There,” he says. “Now she has something.”

The girl beams. “You good.” She gives him the toothiest smile.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he murmurs, offering her a wink. “I’ve got a reputation.”

I’m watching this unfold with my arms crossed, and my jaw hits the floor. I try to snap out of it, but I can’t. When he returns to me, I ask, “You just carry Band-Aids?”

“I plan ahead.”

“For dolls?”

“No,” he says. “For people who bleed.”

God.

Why is that so hot?

“You trying to make me fall for you in a room full of toddlers?” I ask.

He smirks. “Is it working?”

A little boy starts crying in the corner, and he’s already moving before I can respond.

He kneels beside him, crouching down to his eye level.

“What happened?”

The boy sniffles. “He—he took my train.”

“Did you ask for it back?”

He nods. “He said no. ”

Vukan glances at me, then back at the boy. “Want to know a secret?”

The kid nods, eyes huge.

“Sometimes,” Vukan says, “people take things that aren’t theirs because they’re scared. Doesn’t make it right. But if you stay calm and kind, they don’t win. It might not happen today, but eventually, they will lose.”

The boy nods, as if Vukan has just given him a cheat code to life. And Vukan gently pats his shoulder. “Go ask him again. But this time, offer to share, or take a toy to trade.”

The kid darts off, picks up a toy, and returns to the other child, and they negotiate.

I stare at him. Who is he? The child whisperer?

“You’re terrifyingly competent at this.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t have this growing up. I figured if I can’t fix the past, maybe I can at least show up for someone else’s. And put a better spin on it. Maybe all these moments will add up to something and change their future for the better.”

He pauses, and his words resonate with me. He’s been through something—trauma, sadness, and loss.

“Besides, I sleep better knowing my tiny acts of kindness will pave my way to hell,” he says.

I open my mouth. Then close it. Damn, that’s prolific. “You never talk about your childhood.”

“Nothing to tell,” he says. “Just shit and grit.”

And then, softer—softest than I’ve ever heard him, he says, “I saw kids die in Kosovo. Too many. I couldn’t save them.

I wasn’t strong enough, or old enough, to make a difference.

I was just a boy with a broken heart, a dark world, and a monster for a father.

But here—” He looks around. “Here, I can do something.”

He didn’t say that for sympathy. He said it because it’s true. And he’s sharing a part of his past with me .

I glance at the kids, now laughing again like nothing bad has ever happened to them. They’re brave and resilient.

He invested, and his actions were sincere.

I’m touched. There are no words to describe how deeply he’s moved me.

He doesn’t owe these kids anything. And because of that, I know he’s not performing. He’s just… here, and present for them.

“Thank you,” I whisper as his eyes cut to mine, and I blink to hold back tears. Tears for the kids, and tears for Vukan, who had a childhood that was much worse than mine. And mostly, tears over the fact that he’s so deep.

His eyes are sharp, honest, and uncomfortably vulnerable.

“Don’t thank me,” he says. “This lets me see this part of you. The one who fights for them. That’s the version of you I don’t want to forget.” He looks purposefully into my eyes.

I blink in quick succession before I look away. I can’t let him see me melt. I’m stunned. Damn, he’s so good. As if he knows I’m uncomfortable by his admission, he walks back toward the kids like he belongs there.

I stand in the doorway, pretending I didn’t just lose another piece of myself to the man who never needed words to win.

When he drops me off at my building, I lean in and kiss him. It’s a kiss that comes from my heart, for a man whom I believed didn’t have one, but it turns out he has a heart larger than I could have imagined.

And when he kisses me back, it’s as if we crossed a point of no return. It’s not a kiss of undeniable lust, even though it’s present; it’s a kiss that transcends the darkness and secrets of our past.

It’s real, it’s raw, it’s powerful. And when his arms slide around me as he pulls me into his arms, I don’t protest. I’m vulnerable, but I’ve never felt so safe.

After a minute, I pull away, making an excuse about how I have to go, and I abruptly open the door and tumble out .

I know he’s watching me as I walk away, and it comforts me. He is always watching and protecting me, and I like it.

Hours later, in the confines of my home, his words are still in my chest, echoing the feelings I swore I’d never experience. They’re heavy in a way that shouldn’t feel good, but it’s almost too good.

I recall him saying, “Here I can do something. I was just a broken boy with a monster of a father.”

What the hell is happening to me?

I’ve been with dangerous men before. Men who whispered lies in the dark and made promises they never meant to keep. But Vukan?

He delivers on all his promises. And he does his best to right wrongs in the world. And I don’t know what to do with it. I’m out of my comfort zone, so far out of my league. I have no clue how to process it.

I’m used to being pursued for power. I was wanted for competitions at school, and eventually, I was wanted for my body.

But this man, this problem in a fitted shirt and bloodied past, is treating me like I’m something worth showing up for.

That I’m to be revered. I’m no longer an afterthought.

And he sees me, even though I hide behind sunglasses and designer clothing.

He’s there when I’m sick and when I need encouragement.

And he never gloats. He’s not a smug asshole that I had him pegged to be. He’s anything but that. He’s….fuck it, the truth is, he’s endearing .

He does sweet things for me, even when I don’t ask—especially when I don’t. And it’s terrifying. Because I’m not ready to give him whatever this thing in my chest is trying to become.

But I can’t walk away from him. I shift on the couch and pull a blanket over my legs, as if it’ll ground me. I close my eyes, trying not to picture his hand cradling that little girl’s head when she curled into him like he was her protector .

I’m trying not to hear his voice when he told her she was safe. It’s like he knows what she’s feeling.

I’m trying not to wonder what it would feel like if he said that to me.

And that’s when it dawns on me that he’s unbreakable, like I thought. It’s that he’s already been broken.

But the problem with slow burns is that you don’t realize you’re on fire…until you can’t put it out.