Chapter Five #2
“It’s snowing,” I whisper, tipping my head back to watch the flakes spiral down.
“So it is.”
When I look back at him, he’s not watching the snow. He’s watching me, his expression soft in a way I’ve never seen before.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re beautiful.” He reaches up and brushes a snowflake from my eyelash. “You’re standing here in the snow with a stuffed penguin tucked under your arm, covered in hot chocolate and smiling like this is the best night of your life, and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
My breath catches. “Alessandro—”
“I’m going to kiss you now.” His voice is low, intimate. “If that’s okay.”
“More than okay,” I breathe.
He leans down slowly, giving me time to pull away if I want to. But I don’t want to. I rise up on my toes to meet him halfway, my free hand curling into his coat.
When his lips meet mine, the entire world narrows to this moment. This man. This kiss.
It’s nothing like the desperate, hurried kiss in my apartment.
This is slow, deep and thorough, as though he’s memorizing the taste of me.
His hand slides into my hair, tilting my head to deepen the angle.
I make a small sound in the back of my throat, and he responds by pulling me impossibly closer.
Someone whistles nearby, and I vaguely register we’re making a scene. But I don’t care. Nothing exists except Alessandro’s mouth on mine, his hand in my hair, the solid warmth of his body against mine.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Snowflakes have collected in his dark hair, and his lips are slightly swollen from kissing me.
“Wow,” I whisper.
“Wow,” he agrees.
The guitarist has moved on to “White Christmas,” and the world has resumed spinning. But something has shifted between us. Something permanent and important and terrifying in the best way.
“Elena,” he starts, his voice rough with emotion.
The crack of a gunshot shatters the moment.
Everything happens in a rush. Alessandro’s body slams into mine, taking me down to the cold ground. His weight crushes me, protective and immovable. Around us, people are screaming, running, chaos erupting like a bomb went off.
“Stay down,” Alessandro growls in my ear. “Don’t move.”
My mind can’t process what’s happening. One second, we were kissing under fairy lights. Now we’re on the ground, Alessandro covering me completely, and people are running and screaming and—
Another shot. Closer this time.
Alessandro shifts, his hand going to his jacket. When it comes back, he’s holding a gun.
He has a gun. At the Christmas market. He brought a gun to our date.
“Alessandro—”
“Not now.” His voice is steel. His eyes scan the crowd, the rooftops, looking for something I can’t see. “Paulo, where are you?”
He must have an earpiece. Of course, he has an earpiece. Of course, he brought security to the Christmas market because he’s a mafia boss who can’t even take his girlfriend on a normal date without someone trying to kill him.
Girlfriend. Am I his girlfriend? Is now really the time to be thinking about labels?
“Shooter on the north roof,” Alessandro says, his voice calm despite the chaos. “Red building. Do you have visual?”
A pause.
“Take the shot.”
My stomach drops. He’s ordering someone to shoot another person. To kill them. While lying on top of me at a Christmas market where five seconds ago we were kissing under the snow.
“We need to move,” Alessandro says to me, his voice gentler now. “Can you move?”
“I—yes. I think so.”
“Good. When I say go, we’re going to run to that booth.” He nods toward a sturdy wooden structure selling Christmas trees. “Stay low, stay behind me, and don’t stop moving. Understand?”
“Alessandro, what’s happening—”
“Elena.” His eyes lock on mine, and I see fear there. Real, raw fear. “I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”
Can I? Can I trust this man who brought a gun to our date, who’s currently calling in hits while pinning me to the snowy ground of Pike Place Market?
But when I look into his eyes, I see the truth. He’s terrified. Not for himself, but for me.
“I trust you,” I whisper.
“Good. On three. One... two... three—go!”
We move. Alessandro hauls me up and pushes me forward, his body between me and wherever that shooter is. We run, awkward, crouched, my boots slipping on the snow-slicked ground. The Christmas tree booth is maybe twenty feet away, but it feels like miles.
Another shot rings out. The wooden post next to my head explodes in splinters.
Alessandro makes a sound—pain or anger, I can’t tell—and then we’re diving behind the booth, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.
“You okay?” He’s immediately checking me over, hands running over my arms, my ribs, looking for injuries. “Did you get hit? Elena, talk to me.”
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” The words come out shaky. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
But when I look down, there’s blood on his coat. Not a lot, but enough.
“You’re bleeding!”
“It’s nothing. Only a graze.”
“You got shot!”
“Barely shot. It doesn’t count.”
“Barely shot! Alessandro, there’s no such thing as barely shot!” My voice is rising, hysteria creeping in at the edges. “You got shot because of me. Because we were standing there kissing and someone shot at you and—”
“Hey.” He cups my face, forcing me to look at him. “Breathe. You’re okay. We’re okay.”
“Someone tried to kill you.”
“Yes.”
“At a Christmas market.”
“Yes.”
“While we were dancing.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He brushes snow from my hair with surprising gentleness. “I should have known better. Should have had more men positioned. Should have—”
“Should have what? Not taken me out? Not tried to have one normal evening?” Tears are burning behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not now. “This is my fault. I pushed for this. I wanted normal, and someone almost killed you because of it.”
“This is not your fault.” His voice is fierce.
“None of this is your fault. This is Greco. The Russo family. My world bleeding into yours. But Elena, you need to understand, this will keep happening. As long as we’re together, you’ll be in danger.
They’ll keep coming after me, and anyone close to me becomes a target. ”
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning.
He’s giving me an out. A chance to walk away before things get worse.
I should take it. Should run as far away from Alessandro De Luca as possible. Should go back to my safe, quiet life making flower arrangements and drinking coffee in my little apartment where nobody shoots at me.
But when I look at him with snow in his hair, blood on his coat, fear and hope warring in his dark eyes, I know I can’t walk away.
“Then I guess we’ll need to be more careful,” I say.
“Elena—”
“No. I’m not leaving. I’m not running. I’m...” I take a shaky breath. “I’m terrified, and I’m probably going to need therapy after this, and I’m definitely going to have nightmares. But I’m not leaving you.”
“You should.”
“Probably. But I’m stubborn, remember? When I want something, I don’t give up easily.” I touch his face, feeling the tension in his jaw. “I want you, Alessandro. Even with the guns and the danger and the people trying to kill you at Christmas markets. I want you.”
He closes his eyes like I’ve hurt him. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Let’s hope not literally.”
A choked sound escapes him, half laugh, half sob. When he opens his eyes again, there’s something fierce and possessive there that sends heat racing through me despite the cold and the fear and the chaos.
“Boss, area’s clear.” A voice crackles, in his earpiece. “Shooter’s down. We have an exit route.”
“Copy.” Alessandro stands, pulling me with him. His coat swings open, and I catch a glimpse of the shoulder holster, the gun now tucked away. “We need to go. Police will be here soon, and we don’t want to answer their questions.”
“But people saw—”
“No one got a clear look at us. Paulo made sure of it.” He’s already moving, his hand firm around mine. “Come on.”
We slip away from the Christmas market through a back alley, leaving behind the screaming and the lights and the shattered remnants of our almost-normal date. A car is waiting, not the Mercedes, something smaller and less conspicuous with Paulo at the wheel.
“Hospital?” Paulo asks as we climb in.
“No. It’s barely a scratch. Take us to Elena’s.”
The drive is silent. Alessandro keeps his arm around me, and I let myself lean into him, suddenly exhausted. My stuffed penguin is somehow still clutched in my other hand, a ridiculous reminder of what this evening was supposed to be.
When we arrive at my apartment, Alessandro walks me upstairs despite my protests about his injury. Inside, he immediately checks the windows, the locks, and the sight lines, He’s back to the dangerous man I met in my shop, not the one who danced with me in the snow.
“Alessandro.” I catch his hand. “Let me see.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Let. Me. See.”
He sighs but shrugs off his coat. The blood has soaked through his henley at the shoulder, and when he pulls it aside, I see the wound—a deep graze that’s still bleeding sluggishly.
“First aid kit,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “Bathroom, under the sink.”
He starts to protest, but I’m already moving. When I return, he’s sitting on my couch, looking tired, dangerous and heartbreakingly human.
“This is going to hurt,” I warn as I clean the wound with antiseptic.
“I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
I work in silence, cleaning and bandaging with hands that only shake a little. When I’m finished, Alessandro catches my wrist, pulling me down to sit beside him.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
“For what? You’re the one who got shot protecting me.”
“For not running. For staying. For...” He trails off, then tries again. “For seeing me. Not the monster. Not the boss. Just... me.”
The raw honesty in his voice breaks something open in my chest.
“Alessandro De Luca.” I frame his face with my hands. “You are the most infuriating, complicated, dangerous man I’ve ever met. And I’m completely falling for you.”
His eyes go dark. “Elena—”
“I know. It’s crazy. It’s probably going to end badly. But I don’t care.” I lean my forehead against his. “What do we do now?”
“Now?” His arms come around me, pulling me close. “Now we figure out how to keep you safe while I fall completely for you too.”
“You’re falling for me?”
“Tesoro,” he murmurs, the Italian endearment soft against my ear. “I’ve been falling since the moment you smiled at me in your flower shop.”
And despite everything, the shooting, the blood, the danger, I smile.
Because this terrifying, beautiful, impossible thing between us?
It’s worth fighting for.