I hesitate, looking nervously at the little boat. It’s not that I don’t trust Bruno’s craftsmanship, I’ve just always been kind of wary of large bodies of water. I mean, I have spent most of my life living in New York City. It’s not like I’ve encountered all that many opportunities to ride in a boat. Even when I used to go swimming and fishing with my dad here growing up, it would always take about half an hour of coaxing and reassurance before I would get over my fear. And that was with a professionally-made fiberglass boat rental, not a little wooden canoe made by an admittedly talented guy who usually builds house frames, not boats.
“Come on, I even packed us a picnic,” Bruno urges me, pointing to a little woven basket sitting at one end of the boat.
“This is so cute,” I laugh. “You’re so prepared.”
“Always,” he says, grinning. “I promise it’ll be fine. I won’t let you fall out of the boat or anything. I’ve got you.”
“I know you do,” I tell him, nodding. I heave a sigh. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it. But only because you worked your ass off to make this beautiful little boat. Plus, I’m starving.”
Bruno helps me settle into one end of the canoe, then takes the oars and pushes us off from the shore, sitting at the other end of the boat. I can feel my stomach turning a little as I look back and see the banks of the pond drifting back away from us as we move out into the open water. It’s a small enough pond that you can see shore from all points, but just big enough to be passable for fishing and swimming.
“What are you thinking about right now?” Bruno asks. I giggle.
“Just remembering how my mom used to get so angry when Dad and I came back to the cabin dripping wet and muddy after hanging out at the pond all day. She’s always been such a clean freak, but back in the city we had a maid when I was growing up. Here at the cabin she had to do her own cleaning, though, and we definitely didn’t make it any easier on her,” I explain.
“A maid?” Bruno repeats incredulously, raising his eyebrows. I nod, blushing.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know. It’s embarrassing now. My mom didn’t have a job or anything except for occasionally checking in at Bathing Beauty, but she still refused to do housework or cooking most of the time. It’s how she grew up. The Gasparis always had house staff, too, so I guess she just never learned to do any of that stuff on her own,” I go on, shrugging.
“Wow. Your childhood and mine couldn’t have possibly been more different,” he says.
Shivering in the cold air combined with wind across the water, I answer, “I know. So weird that fate brought us together from such different worlds.”
“Are you cold?” he asks. I nod.
“A little bit. I should’ve put on leggings under these jeans.”
Bruno opens the picnic basket and hands me a bottle of Campari. “This will help you warm up, if you’re interested. I swear there’s actual food in there, too.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s five o’clock somewhere,” I say, gladly taking a swig of the bottle and blanching a little at the bitterness. “And what about you? Are you going to drink and row? What if some pond cop pulls you over?”
Bruno laughs. “I’m not too worried about that. Besides, I know how to hold my booze.”
I take out the neat little prosciutto-and-mozzarella sandwiches and freshly-chopped pineapple out of the basket, distributing the food between us. Bruno stops rowing, letting the boat float freely out in the middle of the pond while we have our little picnic. We laugh and joke about our respective childhoods, sharing memories, learning more and more about each other. I want to know everything there is to know about Bruno: the good, the bad, and the dangerous. Even the ugly parts are beautiful, all part of the magnificent package that is the man I love.
Out here on the pond, surrounded by the stillness and silence of open water, Bruno looks so happy. Those teeny-tiny little crinkles at the corners of his eyes appear when he laughs, when he smiles big. The cool air has whipped his face, making his cheeks ruddy and his hair ruffled. I can see that this is what he needs: a quiet place to unravel and forget about the horrors of his former life as a hitman and his current life as a fugitive. Underneath those awful labels, he’s just a handsome man with a huge heart, the carpenter from southern Italy who came to this country to find a better, safer way to live.
I want to give him everything, fulfill that hope he had coming here.
As much as I try to get him to talk about his past, he still manages to steer the conversation back to me. As always. “So, Bathing Beauty. What are we going to do about it?” he asks.
“I’ve been thinking over it, trying to figure out how to keep it afloat with this massive setback. I need to get those cops off my back and reopen. I won’t just roll over and let them take everything from me,” I say vehemently, feeling warm and buzzed from the Campari.
“Well, I’ll fight with you, tooth and nail. We’re going to get the shop back open and running, I promise. I don’t know how, but we’ll make it happen,” Bruno promises.
“Sometimes I just look around this place and wonder what it would be like if I had a different life. Somewhere far away from the hectic environment of the city. It gets so tiring, fighting off attacks from every angle. I wonder if any of the towns outside of the forest here would welcome a shop like Bathing Beauty. Artisan goods. Humble craftsmanship,” I muse aloud. “And not too far from a city, with Ithaca just an hour down the road.”
“You really love this place, don’t you?” Bruno says. “I would’ve assumed you were the never-leave-the-city type back when we first met.”
“Oh, back then I was just doing what all my high-society friends were doing. They were all obsessed with city life and looked down on anyone who didn’t live in the five boroughs. Hell, when one of my friends moved to Staten Island, even that wasn’t good enough. So I guess it had to be one of the four boroughs. Competition was steep and everybody was so neurotic and over-concerned with what everybody else was doing and thinking. My mom got caught up in that kind of style, always pushing for the next big status symbol. It’s a vicious cycle,” I explain.
“We are having a good time out here in the middle of nowhere,” Bruno agrees. Then, he adds wryly, “Way more fun than you would expect from two people hiding from the authorities.”
I grin.
“Yeah, I mean, under normal circumstances this would be hell. But anything with you is heaven. I can’t imagine being anywhere else, even with all the trouble following us.”
Bruno leans forward and kisses me, and I can taste Campari on his lips. The kiss deepens as his hands move down my body, sliding down to cup my breasts through the thick fabric of my sweater. I can feel my body responding warmly to his touch, the thrill of a buzz heightening all my senses. Bruno gazes into my eyes, something like fire flickering in his eyes.
“What do you say we bring this boat to shore?” he murmurs, and I think I know exactly what he’s getting at. I nod, biting my lip.
“Yes, please.”
Bruno’s powerful arms get to work, rowing us to the muddy banks off to one side of the pond quickly. He helps me out and carries me across the shore to the dry earth, leaves crunching under his boots. He sets me down and we kiss, his arms folding around me. Just as I’m melting into his embrace, we hear the distinctive sound of a twig snapping somewhere nearby. We break apart and freeze, both of us glancing around nervously.
Suddenly we hear a man’s voice.
“Hey, you there.”
A man dressed in what looks like a forest ranger’s uniform comes out of the woods holding a clipboard and walking stick. He’s an older guy, probably in his fifties, and he has a very suspicious look on his face. My heart races. I never expected to run into someone way out here. The cabin, the pond... it all feels so isolated, but I guess not!
“You kids doin’ okay out here? Pretty far off the trail,” the ranger says.
Bruno smiles, jumping into character. “Yeah, just doing a little exploring.”
�
��That your boat?” the ranger asks, pointing to the canoe.
“Yes, sir. We’ve been itching to take it out for a spin,” Bruno explains.
“It’s a little cold out, but the sun is shining so we thought today would be a good opportunity to hit the water before the snow starts up again,” I pipe up.
The ranger nods and smiles. “No worries. Just be careful out here, alright? Cell service isn’t so good in the forest and I wouldn’t want ya gettin’ hurt.”
“We’ll be careful. Good to meet you,” Bruno says. The ranger tips his hat and carries on his way, leaving us standing there silently. Once the ranger is out of sight, I look up at Bruno worriedly and he gives me a light squeeze.
“We’ll be okay. But that was a close one,” he whispers, but his face says everything his words don’t: we need to leave. Soon.
SERENA
Snow falls softly on the windshield as I drive the big black sedan back down the curving woodsy roads to the cabin. I’m on my way back from a quick shopping trip in Ithaca, getting some groceries we desperately needed. It’s nice to be out in the middle of nowhere — feels a lot safer than being in the middle of a crowd, especially with my fugitive Mafioso boyfriend — but it’s not the most convenient situation. Still, I don’t mind it very much, having to make solo trips to Ithaca. I love driving on the lonely country back roads, as long as the weather isn’t too terrible. I would much rather be making these little trips with Bruno, but we’ve recently gotten more nervous about his being out in public. I’m always worried that someone will recognize him somehow, even way out here upstate, and turn him in.
Today I was especially glad he stayed behind at the cabin, because it’s Christmas Eve, and the crowds were out in full force today in Ithaca. The grocery store was packed with families buying gigantic turkeys and tins of holiday cookies, parents racing down the toy aisles to buy last-minute gifts for their kids. I went in with a simple list of groceries, planning to have a low-key Christmas with Bruno, hand-making pasta and antipasti tomorrow. It was difficult to resist going down the street to the cluster of specialty shops to look for a Christmas present to give him, but he made me promise not to get him anything. A low-key Christmas. No gifts, no fuss. Just quietly spending time together by the fire.
I mean, I can’t complain. I love the holidays, but for so many years it’s been just my mom and me, so I’ve gotten accustomed to not going all out for Christmas. I do miss my mom, and I worry about her being all alone for the holidays. Cell service is still virtually impossible out in the sticks, but on my drives into Ithaca I usually give her a call once I’m in range.
I’m worried one of these days she’s going to swallow her pride and plead with me to come back, or worse, start asking questions I know I can’t truthfully answer. But she’s promised that she is doing just fine on her own, and even hinted that she might be spending the holiday with “someone special.” I know how secretive she is about that kind of thing — I’ve never spent much time with any of her social circle — so I didn’t press her for more information. Besides, if my mom has finally joined this decade and made herself a Tinder account or something, I definitely do not need to know about it.
On my own end, romance is truly in the air, floating around our little cabin hideaway just like the soft flurries of pure white snow. It’s hard to believe that just months ago I was alone in the city, fully expecting to never see him again, and worrying that even if I did get to see him, he would be irrevocably changed by his time in the clink. And he has changed, of course. I see the faint worry lines on his face, the hint of sadness in those beautiful green eyes, the way he sometimes grinds his teeth at night when he’s sleeping. It’s a tension I hope someday he’ll be able to release, but for now it’s perfectly understandable.
Especially since he’s now dealing with being on the run. Anyone would be tense and a little paranoid in this predicament. But apart from that edge, he’s the same man. Maybe even more of a man than he was before. Granted, it makes sense that he’s changed over time. After all, he was only a teenager when we first met. And so was I. It seems like both of us have changed, becoming both tougher and softer at the same time. The world has hardened us, but when we’re alone together we’re soft.
I think we’re good for each other. In fact, I know we are.
I pull the car down the gravel road up to the cabin and park. Just as I’m turning off the engine, my stomach twists and I feel a little nauseous. I clap a hand over my mouth and catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. I look slightly green. I don’t know why this keeps happening, but I must have caught some kind of icky bug. I’m not too surprised, since I’m notorious for getting sick over the holidays. My body just doesn’t love cold weather.
I walk around to the back of the car and pop the trunk open, but before I can even pick anything up, I hear the front door of the cabin click open and in a few quick strides Bruno is beside me. “You’re back,” he says, grinning as he easily loads up his arms with all the grocery bags.
“Yep,” I answer. “You’re awfully smiley. What’s going on?”
Carrying what has to be at least twenty pounds of groceries, he gives me a wink. “What? I can’t just be excited to see the love of my life returning safely home after her harrowing drive through a blizzard?”
I burst out laughing as I follow him up to the cabin. “A blizzard? Bruno, it’s barely snowing.” As I step through the doorway, my eyes adjust to the dimmer light and I realize that the entire place is strung up with twinkling Christmas lights, white candles flickering on every surface, and there’s a pervasive sweet smell in the air. Is it… eggnog?
“Oh my god,” I breathe, looking around in awe. Bruno sets all the groceries down in the kitchen and starts putting things away, looking over at me happily.
“I know we said ‘low-key’ Christmas, but I felt like the place needed a little bit of holiday ambiance. I was going to put on some music, but the guy who owns the cabin must have the worst taste in Christmas music imaginable. All I could find was an old Feliz Navidad record. You’d think someone with that much Frank Sinatra in their collection would have better taste, but apparently not,” Bruno laughs.
“Again, when did you possibly have the chance to buy all this stuff?” I ask, shaking my head. Bruno saunters over and puts his arms around me, giving me a rather smug smile.
“Like I’ve said before, you aren’t very observant. As soon as you set foot in the snack aisles I know your attention is completely taken up trying to choose between chocolate chip cookies or chocolate graham crackers, so I just quickly sneak away to electronics. You really have yourself to thank for this. You’re very easy to surprise,” he explains.
“Okay, okay, I get it, I’m oblivious,” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “But in my defense, chocolate is very distracting.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining. All the sneakiness is worth it just to see the look on your face when I get to surprise you with something,” he says, kissing me on the forehead. “Plus, I do have an ulterior motive here. The fairy lights might be for Christmas cheer, but the candles are supposed to set a different kind of mood, if you get my drift.”
I smile and lean in to kiss him, standing on my tiptoes. “Oh, you don’t need to light a bunch of candles to get me in the mood for that.”
Bruno scoops me up in his arms and carries me down the hall to the bedroom, gently tossing me onto the gigantic bed. I can tell the sheets have been freshly washed and dried — another surprise he took care of while I was out — and there are more candles lit up around the room. I lie back and stretch out, watching greedily as Bruno strips off his long-sleeved Henley and jeans, then his boxers. It’s a delicious sight, his muscles rippling in the flickering candlelight as he climbs onto the bed beside me. He leans down to kiss me, his hands sliding down to grope my breasts as I feel warmth spreading between my thighs. Even his simplest touch sets me on fire, my body waking up instantly. He reaches down to pull my thick blue sweater up over my head, peelin
g away my undershirt, bra, jeans, and panties quickly. I can tell he’s eager for it, his patience limited.
I love it when he’s like this, when I can tell just how difficult it is for him to take his time with me. Slow and sensual is good, too, but there’s just something so satisfying about seeing him unable to resist me for another second that really turns me on and makes me feel special. He bends to pull one of my nipples into his warm mouth, his tongue playing over the stiffened point. I groan and arch my back to meet his lips as his hand slips down between my legs to stroke my clit.
“Already so wet for me, dolcezza,” he murmurs, moving to my other breast.
“You make me wet just by looking at me,” I answer breathlessly, my eyes rolling back in my head as he expertly circles my clit with his forefinger, giving me spikes of pleasure. Then he moves his hand down, sliding two fingers inside my slick hole to stroke my g-spot slowly and teasingly. He backs down between my legs, leaning in to enclose my folds in his mouth, his tongue flicking over my clit while his fingers thrust into me faster and harder.
“Oh fuck,” I murmur, rolling my hips to meet his touch. I reach out and grasp at the bed sheets with both hands, feeling my pleasure mounting higher and higher. “So—so good.”
“Come for me, Serena,” he says softly, his fingers curling ever so slightly to push harder against that heavenly spot deep inside me. He sucks at my clit, sending spirals of warmth and tingles up through my body and I clench at the sheets as I climax with a whimper.
My body goes limp as he quickly slides off the bed and picks me up so that I’m straddling him, my legs around his waist. With my pussy still shuddering with the after waves of my orgasm, he walks me over to pin me against the wall and slams his cock inside of me with one fluid shove. I cry out, immediately coming again. I can feel my honey gushing over his cock as he rears back and thrusts into me again and again, fucking me hard against the wall. He has one arm holding me up and the other holding my wrists together above my head as he fucks me, spearing me with his thick, hard cock.
Bound to the Mafia (Bound to the Bad Boy Book 2) Page 19
