“So sorry, Bruno,” I say, keeping my voice calm but not hiding my hatred for him. “Your invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.”
“Actually, I’m Lusia De Laurentis’s plus-one,” he says, tilting his head to the side with a cocky smile. “Might’ve gotten lost getting here without her help. She and her daughter say hello.”
My mouth twists into a grimace.
A hundred thoughts go through my head at once, and then they all settle. Everything feels still, except for a singular hatred in my heart for the man in the doorway and everything he’s done to my beautiful empire. I’m still looking at him through the mirror, and I don’t know if I could tear my eyes away if I tried.
“Not a bad play,” I admit at last. “You made yourself a legend, snuffed out my lineage, got yourself fucking a fertile piece of old mafia royalty, and got me in the one place where the Abruzzi family will never recover from. Shit, what are you, thirty? Not even that old? You don’t even know who half the fuckers downstairs are, do you?”
A sick laugh comes from my chest.
“You might not have finesse, but I know skill when I see it. You’ll do well as don of your own family, Bruno Lomaglio.”
His face goes hard, and he narrows his eyes.
“Really? That’s what you think this is about? You think I’m here to take your place and keep running this shitshow?” He shakes his head slowly. “I was raised by a carpenter. I grew up between one of the poorest towns in Italy and the poorest neighborhoods in NYC. I don’t make contacts, Abruzzi, I make friends. I’ve made bonds that last. And we’re all sick of this bullshit you’re running. But most of all, you hurt the people I love, and you’ve hurt a lot more than that.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I laugh, turning around to face Bruno. “Am I really about to get killed by someone who thinks he’s doing good for the world? This isn’t how we do things, you fucking boyscout. We do this because those of us who are better than the rest know how to handle ourselves. That could be you, but you’re too fucking dense to see it. You think you’re some kind of saint?”
“No,” he says, cracking a smile, and he raises his pistol to my head. “A saint would let you live.”
20
BRUNO
Boom!
The cork of the champagne bottle shoots up toward the ceiling, and Giovanni swears as he runs across the room to catch it, not spilling a drop of the bubbly liquid he just opened. Well, unless the foam gushing out the top counts.
“Accidenti, Giovanni, can’t save it for the reception?” I shout at Giovanni in Italian as he catches the cork triumphantly, holding it up for the other groomsmen to see. “If you don’t keep steady during the vows, I’ll kick your ass.”
We laugh, but honestly, I couldn’t care less if he was trashed—this is the happiest day of my life, and nothing could change that.
I’m wearing a jet-black fitted tuxedo, minus the coat, and all the men are helping me get ready. Nico, my best man, is helping me with the bowtie in front of a large mirror.
“It’s not for me,” says Giovanni, “I’ve got a few bottles I’m gonna give out in glasses to the guests when they get here. Real fancy, I saw someone do it on TV.”
Nico and I exchange a grin, and I catch sight of my dad chuckling behind me in the mirror.
“Well, what’s one bottle among a few groomsmen? None for the groom, though—I’ve got a bottle of your mother’s limoncello we’re going to get into at the reception,” he says, wagging a finger, and I grin at him.
My own wedding. I never thought I’d see this day in a million years, and I’m even more stunned that my parents are able to see it. My mom is off with Luisa fussing over Serena and helping her get ready.
The past few months have been a storm, though, and this may technically be the calm after the storm, the energy definitely hasn’t settled down.
I killed Don Abruzzi that night. He wasn’t the only monster in that household I dealt with that night, either. The whole of the Bronx’s underworld took a massive hit thanks to me, and since then, the remnants of the Cleaners and their allies have been broken, weak, and driven into hiding.
Finally, definitively, the Cleaners are finished, and the last nail is in the Abruzzi coffin.
Abruzzi was right, too—if I wanted to, I could step into this power vacuum and become the most feared man in this side of New York.
But that’s not me. It never has been, and it never will be. I’ve gotten a taste of what it means to have family, to risk losing it, the joy of building it. It won’t be too long before I’ll know what it’s like to raise one with Serena.
The thought makes my heart swell.
“Careful, Dad, these Americans might not have as much restraint as you,” I say as Nico finishes with my bowtie and pats me on the shoulder.
“Damn, Bruno, you clean up alright,” Nico admits, admiring the outfit as I do the same.
“Yeah yeah, you had your chance with me,” I joke with him, ribbing him in the side while he play-punches at me like we’re a couple of boys fighting in the yard again.
My phone buzzes, and while I check it, my dad glances around at all the assembled men, some of them still getting their outfits ready while others like Giovanni...well, wander around making trouble.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Almost,” I answer my dad after looking at my phone, grinning broadly. “Last one just showed up.”
“Oh, another one of your friends?” he asks, and I nod for him to follow me.
“Someone you’ll want to meet,” I say, leading him to the door of the chapel. He follows me with a happy but confused face until I push the door open. When he looks down the steps of the chapel, he looks like he’s about to faint.
Uncle Carlo climbs out of a cab, leaning on a cane and giving a mile-wide grin up to my father.
“...Carlo,” my father breathes, his voice weak. “Carlo!” Hurrying as much as an older man can, he hobbles down the stairs as my uncle’s grin breaks into warm laughter, and as soon as the two men are together, they throw their arms around each other in a warm hug, their voices breaking as they laugh.
“Mio fratello!” Carlo nearly sobs into his brother’s arms, and the two begin talking to each other in rapid Italian in low tones, their eyes as full of tears as of emotions.
News of Carlo’s recovery had been a huge relief to all of us, but when I heard my parents could make it, I wanted to make sure the reunion was worthwhile and I managed to avoid the subject of Carlo and keep the surprise.
I was a little worried the surprise would give my dad a heart attack, but the two of them are more hardy than I was worried. They almost look young again.
Nico appears at my side. “Damn, you don’t see the resemblance until they’re together again, huh?”
“I know. They’ve lived worlds apart for a long time. They’ll have...a great deal to catch up on,” I say, putting it lightly and flashing Nico a smile. “Come on, let’s leave them to it. We’ve got a wedding to finish setting up.”
Even though it’s barely a couple hours later, it feels like an eternity of waiting, but at last, everyone is gathered together and ready for the ceremony as the music starts.
All across the room, faces are glowing with anticipation. The sides could hardly look more different, too. On the one side are Serena’s family and friends. Of course, because of everything that happened with her father, it’s only her mother’s family that’s represented, but they’re all there and looking beautiful. Dark skin and light hair seems to run in the family, and they could practically be cousins to the other side of the family. My southern Italian family is on the swarthy side, and good god, are there a lot of them.
There are cousins and second cousins and third cousins, many with their families, thanks to me being able to help some of them over. Turns out I even have a few distant relatives already in America who immigrated separately. The whole chapel is as Italian-American as it could be.
Then t
he doors open, and I’m genuinely struck dumb as the music starts.
Serena looks downright angelic. Her dress is a lovingly intricate pattern of lace at the top, and from the hips down the center of her legs, the pure-white fabric is smooth as fresh snow on a mountainside with two tresses of fluffier fabric down the sides of her legs like wispy clouds. Her beauty is ethereal, and the long golden hair curling down her shoulders is like a crown to it all.
But her face is what draws my attention. I’ve seen Serena’s face through good times and bad times, lying beside her in bed and running from life-threatening danger. I’ve seen it weeping bitter tears, and I’ve seen it beaming with real, true happiness.
But when I look at it now, I see all that glowing bright in that one expression, bound up together. Of course, I can’t help the stupid grin that crosses my face, and as she sees me, her face does the same.
Rafaela is her maid of honor, watching her approach proudly, and Nico on my side is nearly in tears. Luisa stands nearby, holding our newborn baby son, healthy and strong, who’ll one day have the strength of his father and the courage and heart of his mother. Luisa’s tears flow much more freely down her beaming smile.
I’ve heard some people say that watching your bride come down the aisle toward you is like seeing a new person, starting a new life with them as a new pair of people, building something from the ground up together.
With Serena coming toward me, I feel nothing like that.
I see the girl I fell in love with on that old construction site. I see the woman I reconnected with after what felt like a lifetime. I see the face that greeted me when I broke out of prison and endured so much without me. I see my lover, who fought to make it through a world that’s been lined up against both of us since we were teenagers.
Soon, Serena is standing in front of me, her eyes wet with tears, and when I blink, I realize mine are too.
The minister doesn’t even have to start speaking for us to know that we’re already in this together forever—we always have been, through the good times and the easy times, and with all the worry and danger behind us at long last, nothing can shake that ever again.
We’ll always be bound for life.
21
EPILOGUE - SERENA
TWO YEARS LATER
“ V oglio giocare all’esterno,” I say very slowly, sitting on the porch with my two-year-old standing wobbly on my lap. I’ve been trying to teach him Italian alongside English, to surprise Bruno’s family when they come to visit in the summer.
“Voglio… gio… Daddy!” Matteo sounds out, exploding into giggles at the end of his ‘sentence’ when Bruno comes walking up the driveway, returning from delivering one of his latest carpentry creations. Matteo starts bouncing and wiggling, waving his arms excitedly as he always does when Bruno comes home.
My husband looks exhausted but happy, his muscles showing through his white T-shirt, smudges of oil and grime on his clothing.
He’s been working as a carpenter from home, building custom cabinets, armoires, sheds, even taking on jobs working on houses like he used to as a teenager. It’s the kind of work he was made for—solitary, precise, intense. He knows how to take a customer’s list of wants and needs and transform their dream into reality.
Bruno is amazing at his job, getting customers from far and wide to drive all the way out to our teeny tiny little town on the outskirts of Ithaca, New York, not too far from the cabin where we once hid out together. It seems so long ago that our lives were that way—scary, uncertain, always changing.
Nowadays, things are simple. We work with our hands—Bruno builds things, I’ve turned Bathing Beauty into a lucrative online bath goods shop, shipping my luxurious creations all over the country. We grow things in our garden, using knowledge I picked up during my time at the women’s shelter in Italy. Bruno even built our house, almost entirely by himself, by hand.
Shortly before the baby was born, the house was finished, and we moved in just in time.
A week later, before all our boxes were even fully unpacked, Matteo was born healthy and huge. On the phone, Bruno’s mother did warn me that Bruno was a heavy baby, but I guess I just never expected Matteo to turn out to be as big and strong as his father.
I’m grateful, though.
Matteo has his father’s size and his beautiful green eyes, and he has my dark-blond hair and button nose. He’s in his terrible twos right now, but if I’m being perfectly honest, he’s about as far from terrible as it gets. He’s a little rowdy sometimes, but when I think about how Bruno apparently was as a young kid, it’s no surprise that he would inherit those genes. I’m ready for it, though. All of it.
“How is my beautiful wife this afternoon?” Bruno asks as he walks up and bends down to kiss me. Matteo blows raspberries, shaking his head at how gross his parents are.
“I’m wonderful. What did we do while you were gone… oh, yeah. We picked some tomatoes and we read a couple of books, didn’t we, Matteo?”
Our son nods and reaches for Bruno, who scoops him up and swings him around, making him laugh.
“Sounds like a great time,” Bruno says, kissing Matteo on the cheek.
“How did the delivery go? Did they love their new coffee table?” I ask, getting up to follow Bruno into the house. He sets Matteo down in the living room and immediately the two-year-old goes running off down the hallway, yelling about how he’s going to show us his favorite toy car. Never mind the fact that he’s shown us this car every day for the past week.
Bruno grins.
“They loved it. Mrs. Harris, you know the older lady who ordered it, she actually cried when she saw it. Can you believe that?”
“Well, you’re very good.”
“It’s a coffee table,” he says, laughing. “But as long as they’re happy tears, I’m fine.”
Just then, my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to read a message from Rafaela. I grin and type out a response.
“That Rafaela?” Bruno asks.
“Yep. She said she switched some shifts around and got her patients covered, so she is for sure going to be available the whole week to come up and watch Matteo for us,” I announce happily.
“Phew. Crisis averted. I doubt your mom would survive a week up here in the woods to watch him,” Bruno jokes. And he’s right. I mean, she would suck it up and deal with it, but my mother is absolutely not the outdoorsy type. She’d be missing her bi-weekly manicure and constant French cuisine delivery very quickly.
“Aunt Raf?” Matteo chirps, suddenly toddling back into the kitchen.
I stifle a giggle. Matteo is honestly a little obsessed with his Aunt Raf. At first I was a little worried when Bruno and I started planning this road trip across America, thinking Matteo would feel left out. But I know once Rafaela gets here, he’ll be so distracted playing with her and Nico that he’ll hardly even notice we’re gone.
And with all the hectic life changes of the past couple years—getting married, moving up to Ithaca, having Matteo, settling into our new jobs—we haven’t had a chance to have a real romantic getaway, just the two of us. The timing is perfect, landing right around our anniversary, and even though it will be difficult being away from Matteo for a whole week, we’re looking forward to it.
Besides, Rafaela has been begging us to let her babysit for longer than a day or two. She and Nico are trying to get pregnant, and they could use all the childcare practice they can get.
“Did you get the confirmation for our reservation at that fancy hotel in San Francisco?” I ask Bruno, scooping Matteo up into my arms and booping him on the nose.
“Yes. They want to know what time we’ll be checking in, but I’ll email them with the details later,” Bruno says, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of wine. “So, what are we thinking for dinner? You feel like cooking or do you want me to pick up some pizza?”
“Hmm. I’ll cook if you want to keep Matteo busy,” I tell him, eyeing the bottle of wine. “Oh! I almost forgo
t: you’ll never guess who I heard from today.”
“Who?”
“Francesca!” I exclaim, still giddy with the news. “She said she’s been doing really well. She finally moved out of that awful apartment and got a place down by the beach.”
“Whoa, e fantastico,” he says, genuinely impressed. Francesca’s had some rough times trying to get settled, balancing being a single mother to her daughter, Luciana, and finding full-time work. But recently, she met a guy who’s been treating her very well. I’m so happy for her.
“Yeah, she’s still helping out with the shelter, of course. She said everyone there is doing well, too, but they miss me,” I add.
“Well, as soon as Matteo is big enough to handle such a major trip, we’ll go visit. My parents are dying to have us stay with them again. I think they really just want my opinion on the new guy Domenica’s been seeing, though,” Bruno says, chuckling. “One of these days, they’ll understand that whatever Domenica wants, Domenica gets. She’s just as stubborn as I am.”
“Yeah, there’s a lot of that going on in this family,” I remark cheekily.
“Hmm. I’ll never get tired of hearing that,” he says.
“What?” I ask, reaching for the bottle to pour myself a glass of wine.
“Family. Sometimes I still can’t believe how lucky I am,” Bruno explains. I set Matteo back down and walk over. Bruno folds me in his arms and kisses me. Softly, but with passion.
“Me neither. It feels like a dream,” I tell him, grinning.
“But better than a dream,” he says. “Because it’s real.”
TRANSLATIONS
Italian
Passerotta mia – my sparrow (term of endearment)
biglietto – ticket
volo – fly
prezzo – price
dolcezza – sweetie
accidenti – damn
salute – cheers
vendetta – revenge
Bound in Love (Bound to the Bad Boy Book 3) Page 18
