Page 52 of Ruined Vows (Borrelli Mafia #5)

BIANCA

SAFE ENOUGH TO FALL

T he darkness wraps around me like chains—thick, suffocating, and relentless.

“Amara! No! Please!” I scream, reaching out blindly, my voice raw and ripping through the darkness. I see her being dragged away, hear her screams tearing the air apart.

Then the gunshot. Sharp. Final.

I watch Stefano fall. Blood spurts. His head becomes a bloody stump.

I jolt awake with a strangled cry, clawing at the sheets, my heart is hammering so hard it hurts. I can’t breathe. I don’t know where I am. I’m thrashing about when I hear a familiar voice.

“Bianca.” It’s steady and low, but enough to cut through the fog. “You’re safe. I’m here. I got you.”

Warm hands find me in the dark, cupping my face, and they rouse my sleep. I blink wildly, and through the dimness, I see him—Vukan. His eyes lock on mine, dark and fierce but unwavering. It’s the look of a man who has his own nightmares and understands mine.

It’s comforting, and without thinking, I reach for him, clinging like he’s the only solid thing left in a world that keeps me safe. His skin burns warm under my palms, his heartbeat is heavy against my fingertips.

“It was real,” I choke out, my voice splintered. “I was back there. I couldn’t stop it. Amara—Stefano?—”

“I know,” he murmurs, pulling me close. His arms wrap around me, sure and solid, like he can hold back the nightmares clawing at the edges of my mind. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here with me. You’re safe. It will pass.”

I bury my face against his chest, breathing him in—leather and something darker only he carries. His heartbeat thuds beneath my ear, anchoring me, and oddly, it drowns out the echoes of screams and gunfire that haunt me.

“It never stops,” I whisper, barely audible. “It’s like my mind won’t let me move on.”

He tips my chin up, his thumb brushing away tears I didn’t realize were falling. The touch is soft. Devastating.

“It’s trauma. It never quite leaves. You’re stronger than this,” he says, voice rough with conviction. “Stronger than the darkness, just remember always to seek out the light, Sre?o.”

The way he looks at me... Like I’m something worth saving. Worth fighting for.

I’m not supposed to need anyone, not after everything, not after the blood, the betrayals, the constant war to stay breathing.

But with Vukan—it’s different. He’s different.

And I trust him.

He doesn’t just hold me to comfort me—he carries and comforts me, like tonight. He doesn’t care if my past is messy; he takes all of it and accepts me, without flinching. I don’t think anything about me will ever scare him. He’s not the type of man who leaves.

And I realize—with a sharp, terrifying clarity—that I don’t want him to go.

I want him here, next to me. Always. And that’s when the wetness I’ve been holding in escapes my eyes .

“You saved them,” he says fiercely, like he can hear the guilt still tearing through me. “You saved yourself. You’re stronger than any nightmare. But I’m here for you,” he reassures me. And it’s the first time someone understands how debilitating the past can be, and he’s okay with it.

Another tear slips loose, and he catches it, his thumb slow, gentle. His touch lights something dangerous inside me, something I don’t dare name.

I look up at him through the blur, speechless. But this man has touched parts of me no one else ever has, and no one else ever will.

He’s so close that if I leaned in—just a little—I could kiss him. But the thought of making the first move terrifies me more than the dream.

Because kissing Vukan wouldn’t be a mistake, it wouldn’t be weakness, it would be surrender.

And God help me—part of me wants to surrender to him more than I want to breathe.

But I don’t move. Neither does he. He just stays there, steady, real, waiting, and letting me choose.

Then he shifts, pulling me down into the bed with him and tucking me tightly to his side like he already knows what I need.

His fingers slip into my hair, stroking my head, and the repetitiveness soothes me.

It’s scary how he does little things like that and how effective they are at giving me exactly what I need.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers into the dark.

I press my forehead to his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, and take comfort in the slow rise and fall of his breath. I never want to picture my life without him in it.

I’m not just falling out of the nightmare. I’m falling into something else. Something dangerous, but also something beautiful. And that terrifies me more than blood or violence ever could because I’m falling for him .

And no matter how much it frightens me... I don’t want to stop.

I wake slowly, the gray light of early morning bleeding into the room. For a moment, I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. I just feel. I’m comfortable and relaxed, and for the first time since living with Vukan, I don’t feel the need to run away from it.

Is this what normal is? The quiet, comfortable silence? The heartbeat next to mine and the serenity that comes from the knowledge that the man beside me will never quit on me?

His arm drapes over me affectionately and protectively. His hand rests on my hip, his fingers brushing the bare skin between the hem of my camisole and the waistband of my shorts. His solid body presses into mine, and his breathing is deep and steady.

I turn slightly, just enough to see him. His face relaxes in sleep, and the hard lines soften. Almost boyish. Almost. But I know there’s nothing soft about the man, not really.

I should pull away. I could slip out of bed before I do something reckless. But I stay to savor the feel of him and the way his chest rises and falls against my back. The rough scrape of his jaw when he shifts and brushes my shoulder.

Desire curls low in my belly. I want him. Not just his touch. It’s not just how he looks at me like he’s starving; it’s because his look conveys I’m the only thing that can satisfy him.

I want him to take me, push me out of my comfort zone, and knock down whatever walls I have left. I want him to claim me so completely that I forget why I ever tried to stand alone.

I shift back against him, just enough to press my body into him and feel his morning wood .

“Bianca,” he rasps, his voice still thick with sleep and something darker.

I turn into his arms, deliberately, until I face him.

The air between us crackles when his eyes meet mine, heavy-lidded and soaked in primal desire.

I reach up, my fingers brush his jaw line, and I trace the stubble of his skin.

My body arches toward his. I don’t speak.

I don’t need to because he sees it in my eyes and feels it in the way I tremble.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, his forehead resting against mine.

“I don’t want you to stop.” I breathe the words against his mouth.

Something in him snaps. Or maybe it’s me.

He kisses me roughly as his mouth crashes onto mine. I open to him without hesitation. It’s fire. Hunger. And it’s everything I never let myself need until now.

His kiss claims me. And maybe he does, too.

A soft gasp escapes me as he deepens the kiss, and his warm tongue slides against mine, tasting, taking, and it consumes any doubt.

Heat crashes through me, a wildfire consuming every fiber of my being.

I fist my hands in his hair, pulling him closer.

I can’t get enough of him. I breathe him in—the scent of musk and bergamot fills my senses.

He growls, low and deep, it’s a sound that vibrates through me, making me ache. His hand slips over my breasts, his fingers splaying against my skin, rough and possessive. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine. His breathing is ragged.

“Are you sure?” he rasps. “Tell me, ljubavi. Tell me you want this.”

I arch into him. “I want you. I want all of you.”

That’s all it takes. And this time his kisses are fiercer, and his hands move with purpose, sliding over my nipples, baring more than my body to his gaze.

“Beautiful,” he breathes .

I trace his face with my fingertips, memorizing, claiming. He shudders under my touch, his hands finding my face, brushing my cheeks.

I run my hand over his chest and through the tufts of hair. His eyes never leave mine. His body steals my breath—hard muscle, scattered scars—a brutal, beautiful story written on his skin.

“You’re sure?” he asks again.

I answer with a kiss that says everything.

He groans, then he’s stripping the space between us.

His mouth trails fire down my neck, my collarbone, and lower.

When he joins his body to mine, it’s everything.

He moves with a desperation that mirrors my own, each thrust unraveling me.

His hands grip my hips. His mouth finds mine, stealing cries, giving his own.

It’s wild. Raw. Real. It’s more than a need.

It’s surrender.

When I fall apart in his arms, he follows, murmuring my name like a vow. We collapse together, tangled and breathless. He doesn’t let me go. And I don’t want him to.

The room hushes, and only our breathing remains. His arm wraps around me, fingers tracing slow patterns on my spine. I press my face against his chest, lulled by his heartbeat.

He finds my hand and brings it to his lips. “You’re mine now,” he says against my skin. “Mine.”

It should scare me. But it doesn’t. I nod, unable to speak. My silent submission. He tilts my chin, his eyes burning into mine.

“You scare the hell out of me,” I whisper.

He smiles, just a little, but his gaze stays serious. “Good. You terrify me, too.”

I let out a breathless laugh. Then he kisses me again, soft and slow, memorizing. We lie face to face, fingers trailing, eyes locked. The world could fall apart, and I wouldn’t care. Not as long as he’s here. Not as long as I’m his .

Then, he says. “I’m never letting you go, Bianca.”

And I know it’s a promise. It’s his vow to me. And I believe him. I curl into him, let myself rest. And I don’t dream of blood. I dream of him. Of us. Of something real.

When I wake up, sunlight spills across the sheets. I turn my head. He’s already awake, watching me. Tousled hair. Bare chest. Stubble shadow covers his jaw. He’s beautiful. A flush rises to my cheeks. I duck my head.

His fingers find my chin. “Hey. No hiding.”

I meet his gaze, and I don’t see regret. There’s no awkwardness—only him.

“You’re beautiful when you blush,” he says, smirking. “Almost makes me want to see how many more times I can make you do it.”

Heat floods me. I punch his chest, but he laughs, catches my hand, and kisses my knuckles. The tenderness steals my breath.

“This wasn’t just—” I start.

“It wasn’t just sex,” he says firmly. “Not to me.”

My heart clenches.

He leans close, cradling my face. “I want all of you. Not just your body. Not just your nightmares. You.”

Tears sting, but I blink them back. I kiss him, pouring everything I can’t say into that touch.

He strokes my cheek. “We’re in this,” he says. “You and me. No backing out.”

I nod. He knows I’m his.

He smiles—real, raw as he pulls me into his arms. And for the first time, I’m not running from anything. I’m running toward something.

Something terrifying. Something beautiful. Something real.

Us.