Mafia Heir’s Broken Vows (Rosewood Hall Broken Vows)

25. Serafina

SERAFINA

T he rain has softened to an icy drizzle by the time we reach the gates of Alessandro's estate. The air inside the SUV is warm from the AC, but the tension inside is suffocating. I glance at Alessandro, slumped against the seat, his eyes half-lidded with fatigue and pain. Blood seeps through the makeshift bandage pressed to his side, and every shallow breath he takes makes my chest ache.

Leo is passed out from exhaustion, his small body limp against me, finally warm and safe inside the car. He doesn't stir, even when the vehicle comes to a stop. Alessandro, though—he's barely holding on. The man who stormed into Marco's fortress to save us now looks as fragile as glass.

The car stops, and Enzo swings the door open. Cold air rushes in, biting against my face. I shift Leo carefully, his small body heavy as I cradle him in my arms.

Enzo reaches in, his hands already moving to help Alessandro. "Boss, let's get you inside," he says firmly, draping Alessandro's arm over his shoulders.

Alessandro shakes his head stubbornly. "I'm fine."

But he isn't. His legs buckle slightly as he tries to step out, and Enzo adjusts quickly, taking more of his weight. "I've got him," Enzo reassures me, his voice steady.

I nod, tightening my hold on Leo as I step out of the SUV. The cold drizzle pricks my skin, but my focus stays on my son, making sure he's shielded from the rain.

We make it through the grand entrance. The doors close behind us, sealing us away from the rain and bloodshed. The warmth of the estate envelops us like a fragile barrier against everything we've just escaped.

Enzo eases Alessandro onto the sofa. I kneel beside him briefly, brushing wet strands of hair from his forehead. His skin is pale and clammy. His breath comes in uneven bursts. He exhales deeply, the tension in his muscles momentarily easing.

Leo stirs in my arms but doesn't wake. I tuck him gently onto the armchair nearby, wrapping him in a thick blanket. Then I turn back to Alessandro, and the sight of him—pale, bloodied, but alive—nearly brings me to my knees.

"The doctor is here," Enzo announces as he comes back into the room. He's followed by a short, round man with gray hair and thick black-rimmed glasses. He looks more like an old professor than a doctor, but the black medical bag he carries says otherwise. He starts unpacking his instruments on the coffee table: gauze, sutures, and a collection of unlabeled drugs.

"You need stitches," I murmur, kneeling before Alessandro. My hand hovers over the dark stain spreading across his shirt. "The doc is going to patch you up."

He catches my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. "Later. Just—stay."

"Don't be stubborn. Not later. Right fucking now," Enzo snaps. "You're getting blood on the good sofa."

The doctor doesn't wait for Alessandro's permission. He cuts his shirt open with a pair of scissors before cleaning away the blood still oozing from the wound.

"Not as bad as last time," the doctor mutters, inspecting the wound. "A few stitches, a shot of whiskey, two pills, and you'll be okay. Just don't do anything vigorous for a few days. You'll pop a stitch, and I haven't got time to come back here." His bedside manner is blunt, bordering on rude, but his hands are efficient as he pulls the wound closed with rough, uneven sutures. It'll leave a nasty scar, but at least Alessandro isn't bleeding any more.

While the doctor cleans and dresses the wounds, I take Leo up to bed. I tuck him in, pulling the blanket snugly around his small body. I hope he sleeps for a while—this ordeal is too much for a little boy. I don't want him to have nightmares like I used to.

I take a quick shower, the hot water stinging my bruises and my swollen eye. Once I'm clean, I change into a hoodie and leggings, needing to feel warm and comfortable. When I go back downstairs, Alessandro has been moved to his bedroom.

The fire burns fresh wood, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Shadows flicker on the walls, stretching and curling, lighting the darkness. He's on the bed, stitched up, but he still looks ragged and filthy from the fight. I slip into the bathroom and warm up some water. I return with a damp cloth and kneel beside Alessandro, carefully peeling his cut-open shirt away from his body, trying not to touch his wound. I clean the blood and mess from his skin, wiping the smaller grazes and bruises. He hisses through his teeth, but he doesn't stop me.

I rinse the cloth and come back to wipe his face. His lip is split, and a dark bruise blooms under his left eye. He's going to have a black eye to match mine for a few days.

Seeing him like this—vulnerable, almost human—terrifies me. He was always larger than life to me, even when I was young. This indestructible man who couldn't be touched.

"You shouldn't have come in there alone like that. You should have waited for Enzo," I whisper, pressing the cloth gently against the gash in his lip. "It was stupid."

His dark eyes lock onto mine, steady and unyielding. "I wasn't going to let him take you from me. Love makes you do stupid things," he mumbles against the cloth, trying to push it away with his hand. His knuckles are bloody and blue from punching Marco.

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. "You could have died. He wanted to kill you."

His hand moves slowly, brushing my cheek, his thumb catching a stray tear. "But I didn't. And now you're here."

"I'm here, and I will take care of you. But I can still tell you how stupid that was," I reply, trying to lighten the mood between us.

"I'll take care of you as soon as I heal," he jokes back. "The doc said nothing vigorous. He gets pissy if he has to come back." I can only imagine how he knows that. The old man even said, 'last time,' how many times has he patched him up?

The tenderness in his touch, the raw honesty in his voice, breaks something in me. I lean into his palm, closing my eyes for a breath, letting the warmth of him seep into me.

I move to sit on the bed next to him, my legs tucked under me. The tension between us is undeniable—it's the same as the first time he kissed me. Electric. A connection I can't resist.

"I can't lose you," he says, barely above a whisper.

My hand finds his, intertwining our fingers. "You won't."

He holds his breath, his gaze fixed on mine. And before I can think, his lips are on mine—soft, searching, yet filled with an urgency that sets my pulse racing.

The kiss is not soft—it's fierce, desperate, a clash of fear and relief, of love buried under years of pain. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling me impossibly closer, as though afraid I might vanish if he lets me go.

I trace my hands over his bare chest, fingers grazing over every scar, every mark. He flinches when I brush over his fresh wound, but he doesn't stop me. His lips move to my jaw, and my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"You're hurt," I gasp, trying to stop him and to catch my breath. "The doctor said no."

His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer. "I never listen to that old fossil." I do not need him bleeding out all over again, once in a day is enough. I push him back gently, straddling his lap, and meet his gaze. His pupils are wide with desire, he's devouring me with his eyes, and his hands grip my hips.

"I need you," he murmurs, his voice raw.

I lean in, brushing my lips against his. "I'm yours to take."

He lifts me effortlessly, despite being hurt, and peels off my leggings. Alessandro rolls me over and lays me down carefully, his body hovering above mine, his breath soft against my lips. His eyes search my face as if needing permission. He never needed my permission. I have always been his.

I cup his face, pulling him down into a slow, lingering kiss. "What are you waiting for?" I tease bucking my hips beneath him, my body suddenly alive with need.

His lips curl into the faintest smile. "I'm not waiting, just taking my time." He kisses the soft skin on my neck, and I shiver. His hands explore slowly, mapping every inch of me as though he needs to remember I'm real. I can feel the passion, the want, the heated desire—no matter how sore he is, his need for this is bigger.

He plays with my hard nipples, teasing, tugging, rolling them between his fingers, driving my whole body crazy. His hard cock rests against my soaking wet pussy, just brushing against me, I want more. I tilt my hips up, silently begging him to fill me up. I moan at the movement against my sensitive clit.

"Please." I breathe, begging him for more. He edges closer to coming, then pulls back—still not inside me. I am a soaking mess of desperation.

"Please fuck me," I moan, "I need you."

"Tell me again." He growls, the tip of his cock at the entrance of my pussy. "Tell me to fuck you." God his dirty talk makes me want him even more… Passion, need and hunger take over and he pushes into me before I can beg him again. He kisses and bites at my neck, going slowly at first, long deep, drawn-out strokes. "Fuck." He growls in my ear making my pussy squeeze tight around him. I grab him and forget he's hurt, but he doesn't stop; he just grabs my wrists and pins them above my head with one hand giving me every inch of him.

I love his weight on me, the sensation of being crushed under his gorgeous body. I want him—all of him. Alessandro moves slowly, but with force—I feel every stroke as it makes me shudder with the threat of my own release. It's like he's gone way beyond my pussy, so deep he's fucking my soul. He looks at me, and we come together pure—raw—bliss. My body is shaking, pussy clamped around his cock as he empties himself inside me.

He rolls off of me, collapsing on the bed, pulling my body beside his, not letting go, and passes out from the exhaustion— and injury—and sex. He sleeps for nearly two days. I check on him and Enzo has been by a few times. He needs to rest, to heal—the world can wait a few days.

Alessandro sits on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring at nothing. His hands are clasped so tightly I can see the white of his knuckles. I watch him for a moment, trying to gauge his mood, but there's something unreadable in his expression.

I shift beside him. "What's on your mind?"

His jaw tightens. He doesn't answer right away, and for a moment, I think he won't.

Then he exhales slowly. "I need to end this." My heart stops. Is he going to send us away again?

My stomach twists. "End what?"

"My family. The D'Angelos. I need to walk away from all of it." I'm relieved but terrified.

I blink. "Alessandro, that's not something you can just walk away from." The mafia won't let a man go, not unless he's in a body bag.

He turns his head slightly, meeting my eyes. "I know. But I'm done living by their rules. I'm done watching them put you and Leo in danger. I can't let it happen again." We both know it will happen again. There will always be another enemy.

I think back to his words when he first found us in the compound—'I'll kill every last one of them if that's what it takes.' Even then, there was something final in his tone, a hint of this decision already forming.

"You think your father will just let you go?" My voice is quieter now, cautious. I have had the displeasure of meeting his father. I can't see him allowing his eldest son to walk out on their family.

His mouth twists into a smirk, but there's no humor in it. "No. But I have to try. If I don't, my father… he'll keep using me. Using us." He will manipulate him by threatening me and Leo.

I reach out, placing my hand over his clenched fists. He is so tense, but he doesn't pull away. "So, what are you going to tell him?"

He swallows hard. "Tell him I'm out. For good."

My throat feels dry. "Alessandro, that could get you killed." If not by his father, then by others like him. They do not take kindly to anyone who is not loyal.

His eyes darken, as he holds my gaze. "I'm already dead to him. This way, at least I get to decide how I live."

"And what about Leo? About me? You think we can just disappear, and everything will be fine?" Marco had allies, men who would like to see us dead for his murder.

His face softens, and he turns his hands to cradle mine. "No. But if I don't do this, we'll never be safe. I need to cut ties completely. No more meetings, no more loyalty to people who would watch us burn. I'm done."

I search his face, looking for any hesitation. There's none.

"You're serious."

He nods slowly. "Dead serious."

A long silence stretches between us. I squeeze his hand, my heart pounding. "Then I'm with you. Whatever happens." We could all die.

His eyes close for a brief moment, and when they open again, he leans in, pressing his forehead to mine. "I don't deserve you."

I breathe him in, steadying myself. "You don't get to decide that. We're in this together. So, let's figure it out."

His grip tightens just slightly. "Tomorrow, I go see him. And after that… we're free."

"Free, or dead," I whisper, my chest tight. I can't shake the sense that this isn't just a goodbye to his father—it's a death sentence. The odds are stacked against us, but I don't let him see my fear.

I nod, though fear coils in my stomach. "No one is ever really free from all this." I manage my own expectations. Enzo knocks at the door, looking for Alessandro.

"Boss," he waits to be invited in, "You said you needed to see me." Alessandro nods.

"I'm going to see my father tomorrow. I thought you should know." He trusts Enzo. I think they might be friends in a fucked-up, we-killed-people-together sort of way. "I'm out—after I see him; we're leaving. I made you a promise that if I went, you could come too. That offer still stands. But you'll need to be ready. I don't know how he is going to take this."

Enzo's eyes narrow slightly, uncertainty flashing across his face before he masks it. "You think he'll just let you go?"

"He's going to pop his fucking clock and probably try to kill you if threatening you doesn't work." He knows the old man well. "I will be ready, and I'll make sure everything here is wrapped up before you see him tomorrow. Are we implementing your exit clause?" He asks, some kind of code between them.

"Yes."

"It's about fucking time," Enzo sighs after a pause, clearly resigning himself to the decision. "I need a few hours, then I'll be back with everything you need." Alessandro slaps him on the back, a sentimental gesture, and Enzo says goodbye. It's going to feel like a thousand years between now and tomorrow.