22. Lucas
CHAPTER 22
Lucas
I was a fool to think that simply breathing the same air as her would be enough, but I never anticipated the pain I would feel watching her prepare to walk down the aisle toward another man.
It doesn't help that I've had to fucking babysit her for the past week. Forced to watch every excruciating moment of their fast-paced engagement, from picking out their extravagant rings to choosing a cake that cost more than my yearly salary at the boxing gym. It's like rubbing salt in the wound, a constant reminder of what could have been between us.
But I still wouldn't take any of it back.
Today, I sit alone at a table in the corner of a bustling restaurant, surrounded by the chatter of other diners and the clinking of glasses - watching over them as they enjoy a meal together. Despite the lively atmosphere around me, my attention is solely on Serafina and Luciano across the room. His hand rests possessively on hers as he leans in close, whispering something that makes her lips curl into a secret smile that only I can see.
Ella es mía, no de el. She's mine, not his. The thought sears through me, igniting a fury in my veins and breaking something inside me all at once. I clench my fists beneath the table, fighting the urge to march over there and rip her away from him.
But even as my anger surges, a bitter truth settles in my gut. I can never have her. Not really. She is a Mancini, born into a world of power and privilege that I can never be a part of. Daughter to my new boss and explicitly off-limits. And I am just a boxer turned hitman tasked with keeping her safe until her wedding.
Being this close to her, seeing the candlelight dance across her face, it's a special kind of torture. I ache to reach out and brush my fingers along her cheek, to pull her into my arms and never let go.
But I can't. So I just sit here, watching as Luciano monopolizes her attention. Watching as she laughs and smiles for him in a way she never will for me.
It's fucking killing me. Slowly, painfully, with every breath I take. Because no matter how much I might want her, she can never be mine.
I tear my gaze away, my jaw clenched so tight it hurts. I need to get out of here before I do something stupid. Before I let this jealousy consume me whole.
Without a word, I abruptly stand up from the table and approach the exit. As I leave, I mutter to my partner Josh to keep an eye on her for me. Desperate to escape the suffocating ache in my chest, I don't bother looking for Serafina, or anyone else, for that matter.
The cool night air hits me like a slap as I burst through the doors. I welcome the sting, letting it wash over me as I fight to regain control.
Control over my anger, my jealousy, my foolish, hopeless heart. Because at the end of the day, that's all I have left. The cold comfort of knowing that no matter how much it hurts, I will never stop loving her.
That's right, I fucking love her. And she'll never know.
I walk aimlessly for a while, no real destination in mind. Just needing to move, to try and outrun the pain. But it clings to me like a shadow, an ever-present reminder of what I can never have.
Eventually, I find myself outside a familiar tattoo shop. The neon sign flickers and buzzes, casting an eerie red glow on the sidewalk. I stare at it for a long moment, an idea slowly taking shape in my mind.
I push open the door before I can talk myself out of it. The bell jangles harshly, announcing my presence.
"Got time for one more, boss?" I call out, spotting Jonah, the owner, hunched over a sketchpad behind the counter.
He glances up, eyebrows raising in surprise. "Lucas. Back for another so soon?"
I wordlessly nod at him and shrug off my black leather jacket, throwing it carelessly to the side.
Jonah studies me for a moment, then nods slowly. "What did you have in mind?"
I describe what I want, watching as he quickly sketches out the design. Two beautifully detailed angel wings, intertwined and extending outwards. And in the center, her initials – S.M.
"That's it." My hand trembles slightly as I reach out to take the sketch from him. It's perfect. "On my chest, over my heart."
Jonah raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment. He simply gestures toward the chair in front of his workstation.
I do as he says, removing my shirt and settling myself into the chair with an anxious exhale. It's not my first tattoo; I've lost count of how many I have now. But this one feels different somehow. Like it holds more weight than all the others put together.
The buzz of the tattoo gun fills the air as he begins to trace over his design. The sensation is familiar; almost comforting in its own way. But as he works his way closer to her initials, I can feel the tension building within me.
Because with each pass of the gun, each drop of ink embedded into my skin, I'm claiming her as mine. Even if it's only in my own mind. No one can take this from me. This small, secret piece of her that I will carry with me always. Close to my heart, where she will always belong.