Page 44 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

BIANCA

WHERE THE brOKEN HEAL

I barely make it three steps into Joanne’s office before she looks up from her laptop, her eyes narrowing like a predator spotting weakness. It’s funny how she reminds me of Vukan for a second.

“Don’t even start,” I say, holding her open palm up to me.

She grins, slow and mercilessly. “Oh, I’m starting. You look like you just ran a marathon. Or got hit by a freight train.”

“Close enough,” I mutter, dropping into the chair across from her.

She leans forward, elbows on her desk. “So?”

I press my hands to my burning cheeks. “So what?”

Joanne rolls her eyes. “Don’t play innocent, Bianca. You think I didn’t notice you ghosting me last night? Or the fact you’re wearing a casual shirt and a smile you can’t wipe off?”

I groan and drop my head into my hands. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best.” She smirks. “Now spill. Was it good? Like, life-altering, call-the-priest good? Converting to a new religion?”

I lift my head slowly and meet her gaze .

“Joanne,” I say, voice low and a little awed. “I think I saw God. But it’s not what you think.”

She lets out a loud cackle, which draws a few heads from the hallway.

“Oh my god,” she laughs. Her eyes narrow on me. “You’re ruined.”

I nod solemnly. “Completely.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “And he was gentle? Didn’t break you?”

I snort. “Gentle isn’t the word I’d use. It was...intense.”

Joanne clasps her hands dramatically over her heart. “My little girl’s all grown up.”

“Shut up,” I grumble, but I’m smiling so hard it hurts.

“It’s not what you think. I had him right there.

He had my hands pinned over my head. I was panting, Joanne.

Panting!” I raise my voice, remembering how good it felt.

I was so wet, so excited, and I wanted him more than anything in the world.

“But he asked if I was still pretending NOT to want him. And I said yes, then he left me. He just left me!” I all but scream.

Then, I stand and pace the floor. “I thought he would fall. I had him right there and I blew it!”

Joanne kicks her feet up onto the desk, looking smug. “That’s cold. He left you? The man has a pair of steel balls,” she moans.

Her face looked like how I felt—dejected. It’s as if we’ve both been denied, and we’re both frustrated. Joanne is along for the ride, but even she is miffed by this turn of events.

“So what’s next? I take it you’re not moving in. And you’re not naming your firstborn after me,” she croaks.

I roll my eyes and clench my fists. I’m thinking. Then, I stop. I snap my fingers when it comes to me.

“Next is the date at the animal shelter.”

She sits up straighter. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” I sigh. “After surviving the high seas and...everything else, we could handle some puppies. ”

Joanne whistles. “You’re really putting him through that?”

“Somebody has to make sure he doesn’t get bored.” I grin, standing and grabbing my bag. I’ve regrouped—now it’s time to make him bleed. “Besides, I want to see how he handles real chaos.”

“Don’t break him, B,” Joanne calls after me. “Annihilate him, before he annihilates you.”

I throw a wink over my shoulder. “I’m on it.”

The shelter smells exactly how I remember it—a strange mix of disinfectant, dog shampoos, wet fur, and hope.

I step inside, and the familiar bell over the door jingles, followed by the chorus of barks immediately rising, echoing through the narrow hallway.

Vukan is right behind me, and his hand is resting affectionately on the small of my back. Oddly, it grounds me. There’s no discussion of what stands between us, as silent as a shadow, but more powerful.

“Are you sure about this, Princeza?” he asks, his voice low, sending shivers up my spine.

I nod. “I just want to see him.”

The receptionist gives me a smile of recognition and waves me through without asking questions. Vukan lingers by the desk for a moment, murmuring something I can't hear. Probably checking exits. Checking risks. Always guarding.

But for once, I don't feel like a target.

I just feel like... me.

I move past rows of cages, dogs of every size and color pressing against the bars, tails wagging, eyes hopeful.

And then I see him. Not Vukan, Meatball. The red lab from the charity event.

His tail thumps wildly against the side of his kennel when he sees me, his whole body wiggling with excitement .

I can’t help it. I laugh, and I drop into a crouch in front of the gate. Just the thought of committing to a dog cheers me up. He would be someone I could love and who would love me back, unconditionally, despite my imperfections. He would find me worthy, and his eyes would cast no judgment.

The attendant lets him out for us.

I scratch behind Meatball’s ears, feeling the familiar aching pull in my chest.

He’s even scruffier than I remember—a stout little mutt with mismatched ears, a barrel chest, and the ugliest, most adorable face I’ve ever seen.

He’s perfect. He’s Loyal—a beacon of hope that maybe one day, I’ll find someone who gives me unconditional love.

Meatball is hopeful when he has no right to be. He was left by his owner and is quite old. So, that means the chances of him finding a forever home are slim. But he’s happy and full of love, and there’s no one who can give him what he really deserves, which is a forever home.

We are both akin in that. I’m not sure where I belong either. And at that moment, he lets out a goofy bark and throws himself at me, his tongue lolling, his tail wagging so hard that his whole body shakes.

I laugh an honest, real laugh that feels like it's been trapped in my chest for years. Vukan. Meatball. They are both intent on giving me affection and love that I don’t know how to accept.

I crouch down and press my fingers through his fur, petting him. Meatball immediately shoves his wet nose against my hand, whining, licking, wriggling like he’s trying to climb into my skin.

“Hey, Meatball,” I whisper. “You remember me, huh?”

He lets out a huff and sits, wagging so hard his butt thumps against the floor.

I glance over my shoulder .

Vukan watches from a few steps away, his arms crossed, a small smile curving his mouth.

Not a smirk. Not amusement. Something softer and more profound. Something that makes my heart squeeze tight in my chest.

“He loves you,” he says, like it’s a simple fact. Like gravity. Like death. Like forever love, it’s timeless.

I stand slowly, wiping my hands on my jeans. “I can’t... I can’t take him.”

I hate how my voice cracks.

His brow furrows. “Why not?”

I shrug helplessly, feeling the weight of it settle on my shoulders. “Because it’s not fair. What if... what if something happens? What if I lose him? What if I’m not enough? What if he gets sick? I don’t even know what I’m doing with my life.”

The words slip out before I can stop them. It’s not about Meatball. It’s about everything. Where am I heading? Where are we heading?

Where will I be in two years or three?

He crosses the distance between us in two steps. He gently grips my chin, tipping my face up to his.

“You don’t lose what’s meant to be yours,” he says, voice rough, full of something fierce and unbreakable.

“You fight for it. He loves you. You love him. You just have to accept it. Let go of the fear of not being enough. Anyone who doesn’t think your love is enough doesn’t deserve you.

But he knows you, and he trusts you. Just reach out and take something good for once. ”

I blink fast, fighting the sting in my eyes. He’s right. Why can’t I accept a good thing? What’s wrong with me?

“Come on,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing my cheek. “Let’s just take a walk with him. No decisions today.”

I nod, unable to speak past the knot in my throat.

The shelter worker brings Meatball out on a battered leash. He barrels straight into me, almost knocking me over with sheer enthusiasm.

I laugh again — the kind of laugh that leaves me breathless and aching all at once.

He watches us, something written on his face that I can’t quite name.

Possessive. Proud. Protective. Hopeful.

A man in love? I’m not sure. We’re warring with each other, afraid to give the other one control. I’ve been trying to control everything in my life to never be hurt, but to what end?

I’m alone. I’m in a sterile condo, afraid to pick out a color to make it mine. Would committing to Meatball or Vukan be so terrible?

We walk Meatball around the small park next to the shelter, the sun warm on our faces, the dog happily trotting between us like he’s already decided we belong to him.

The shelter worker comes over, smiling. “We were hoping someone from the event might come back for him. He needs a home.”

I glance at Vukan, feeling his eyes on me, steady and patient.

I could. I could take him home. I could build something small and good. Start small and dream of bigger things.

I want to. God, I want to.

I stroke Meatball’s big, blocky head, feeling him lean into my touch like he already belongs to me.

But the thought tightens something ugly inside my chest.

Home. Safety. Stability.

I don’t have those things. No really. I make it look good, but inside I’m a mess.

I stand slowly, wiping my hands on my jeans. My heart feels like it’s torn in two.

“I can’t,” I say, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “I’m not settled. It wouldn’t be fair to him.” Fear consumes me. Fear of failure or fear of bonding to someone who will only hurt me in the end, because I know nothing is forever.

He rises too, and he’s close enough that I feel his body heat and his strength.

The shelter worker nods, disappointed but understanding.

“We can always hold him for you,” she offers gently.

I shake my head, stepping back. “It’s better if someone else gives him what he needs. Someone who can promise him forever.” My voice cracks on the last word.

Vukan doesn’t say anything. He simply takes my hand, lacing our fingers together, and leads me back outside.

But the sunlight feels too bright and too harsh after the shelter’s dim hallway. And with it, the possibility of Meatball in my home, and I’m sad.

He’s texting something on his phone as we climb into his car.

There’s a hole inside of me, and I don’t know how to fill it.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I keep my eyes down and blink hard as we leave Meatball.

I don’t look back because if I do, I might break.