Chapter thirty-six
"Vincenzo Lombardo, if you don't move right now, I'm going to have to find a way to get out of this," I say, trying to wriggle free from his hold.
"I don't know," he smirks, as my ass brushes against something long and hard, "I kind of like this position."
At that, I freeze, and just as I'm about to say something, someone clears their throat nearby. I immediately push Vince away from me. An employee stands near my trolley, his brows raised in quiet surprise. My face turns bright red, and I whack Vince's chest lightly, embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," I say quickly, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. "My friend doesn't always respect personal space."
Vince rolls his eyes and glances at the employee with an unreadable expression. The boy shifts uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor.
"You're free to go now," Vince says, dismissing him with an air of authority, his accent thick as he speaks.
"Non essere scortese, testa di cazzo, sta solo facendo il suo lavoro" I snap, whilst the employee glances betwen us with a startled look before nodding quickly, taking his leave. I exhale a little, but the embarrassment still lingers.
"Ha fatto il suo lavoro, ora può andare" Vince shrugs and I slap his chest again.
"chiedi scusa" I demand angrily as I grab a handful of milk chocolate bars. How dare he do that to me? I can't believe he followed me into the shop, how did he even get out?
As I move toward the wine aisle, I glance at Vince, expecting some form of protest or a teasing comment. But he remains silent, not even shifting his posture. There's a stillness about him, almost as if he's lost in thought.
I continue, placing three bottles of wine into the cart, each one heavy with promise of the evening to come.
The smooth glass gleams under the store's fluorescent lights.
Once the bottles are securely nestled among the groceries, I make my way to the checkout.
The beeping of the register is the only sound as I swipe my card, the anticipation of getting out of here bubbling inside me.
By the time I finish paying, Vince is already leaning casually against the side of my white Range Rover, his arms crossed over his chest. His stance is relaxed, but there's something focused in the way he stands, like he's waiting for me.
He moves without a word, opening the trunk and unloading the bags with practiced ease. I slip into the driver's seat, the familiar scent of leather filling my nose. I settle in, the bottle of red wine resting gently in my lap, a small moment of indulgence before the drive home.
The engine hums to life, and I can hear Vince's footsteps as he loads the last of the bags, but I don't look up—just grip the wheel a little tighter, savouring the quiet before we head back.
I sluggishly bring the bottle to my lips, the familiar burn of the wine sliding down my throat.
The sensation is both soothing and numbing, a temporary escape from everything around me.
I tip the bottle back a little too far, and some of the deep red liquid spills over, dribbling down my chin.
I wipe it away absently, not caring that it stains my skin for a moment.
The wine's warmth settles in, and for a brief second, I feel some kind of peace.
But then, the loud bang of the trunk slamming shut cuts through the air like a cold splash of water.
I snap back into reality, blinking a little too quickly to hide my haze.
Vince stands there, frowning deeply as he notices the bottle in my hand.
His eyes narrow, his expression shifting into something sharp—disappointment, maybe, or concern, hard to tell.
"Seriously, Alexa?" His voice is a low grumble, a mix of frustration and something else I can't quite place. "It's clear one thing hasn't changed."
I don't need his judgment. I know what he's thinking.
"Shut up!" I snap, the words spilling out before I can stop them.
"Don't act like you know me now. You forgot about me! I'm just some woman, remember?" I spit his words back at him, the ones he'd thrown at me in the sterile, white halls of the hospital. The ones that still sting like salt in an old wound.
His face softens, guilt flashing in his eyes, but it's fleeting. He quickly masks it with a resigned sigh, like he's done this dance with me too many times to count.
"Alexa..." he murmurs, and this time, when he reaches for the bottle, there's no anger in his hands.
Just a strange tenderness, as if he's trying to hold onto me without making me feel like I'm slipping.
His fingers brush the neck of the bottle gently, but I pull it back, almost instinctively, not wanting to let go of this small comfort, this fleeting escape.
"No, don't do that," I whisper, my voice trembling, the words slipping out before I can stop them. My throat tightens as tears well up in my eyes, blurring everything around me. I try to hold it together, but it's impossible.
"You're not allowed to do that," I add, the weight of the years pressing down on me. The rawness of it all is overwhelming. I feel exposed, vulnerable, but I can't stop myself.
"I waited for you for weeks after you were injured," I continue, the words coming in a broken rush, like I've been holding this in for far too long, "I was kicked out of our house.
.. and your friend moved into my room. Your father hurt me, countless times, but despite it all, I stayed by your side. I kept waiting for you, for this—"
My chest constricts, and a sob catches in my throat. I can't breathe, can't stop the ache that spreads through my chest.
His gaze flickers to me, a mixture of guilt and confusion clouding his features. He opens his mouth to say something, but it's not what I need. I push forward anyway, desperate to say what I've been carrying all this time.
"Why?" he asks softly, the question hanging between us, loaded with an emotion I can't quite place.
I choke on my breath, barely holding it together as I finally let the truth spill out, "Because I loved you."
The words are heavy, the confession more painful than I ever thought it would be, "God, I still love you. You mean everything to me."
My voice cracks at the end, the weight of everything we've been through crashing over me all at once. I've never said it like this, not with the raw honesty of what's inside. And now that it's out, it feels like the world is crumbling beneath me.
His eyes flicker with something dark, something that feels like regret, and then he shakes his head with a sigh that carries the weight of years of torment.
"That's pretty stupid of you," he says, his voice low and bitter, like he's trying to convince himself as much as me. "I'm not worth it. I am a monster, Alexa. I ruin everything I touch. I won't ruin you. I won't give myself the chance to ruin you."
The words strike me like a physical blow, each one carrying the weight of everything we've been through—the distance, the pain, the abandonment. I stare at him, disbelief flashing through me. My heart aches with the knowledge that he still doesn't see himself for what he truly is to me.
"Don't you understand?" I whisper, my voice raw, desperate, as I reach out for him, "Ruin me, Vince. Shatter my heart and destroy my soul. I would rather that than live without you."
The words are a desperate plea, the truth of them pouring out in a flood of emotion. His eyes widen, and I can see the conflict raging in him. But all I can feel is the empty space between us, the chasm that never seems to close, no matter how much I try to bridge it.
And in that moment, I know—no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much he pushes me away, I'll never stop loving him. I'll never stop hoping. Even if it's the one thing that could break me completely.
"I won't do that to you, Alexa. You deserve the world, not some fucked up barbarian" he argues, resting his forehead on mine.
Our eyes lock in a silent battle, both of us struggling to hold back everything we're feeling.
But the dam breaks, and tears begin to rise, unspoken emotions flowing freely between us.
Slowly, we both find ourselves crying, the weight of everything we've been through breaking the barriers we'd built around our hearts.
Without thinking, I close the distance between us, pressing my lips desperately against his.
The kiss is raw, filled with the taste of salty tears and the desperate need to be close.
His lips are warm against mine, and for a moment, the world fades away—only this, only him, matters.
In that fragile moment, I know deep down that this isn't the end for us.
It's the beginning of something new, something we need to rebuild.
We both know we can't rush back into the way things were.
Trust has to be earned again, piece by fragile piece.
But the tenderness of this kiss, the vulnerability we're sharing, tells me we can get there.
We just have to take it slow this time, carefully.
My body melts into his embrace, a sense of calm washing over me as I lose myself in him, in the feel of his warmth, the familiar scent of him.
My worries, my fears, they all dissolve as his tongue gently explores the crevices of my mouth.
I'm consumed by him, by the rawness of the connection we're finally letting ourselves have.
We pull away slowly, both of us breathless, and open our eyes to see the tears still shimmering in them, like remnants of everything we've just shared. We don't look away, just stare at each other, deep into each other's souls, trying to communicate everything we can't put into words.
Vince reaches up, his thumb gently brushing away the tears on my cheek, his touch so familiar, so tender. I lean into his hand, finding comfort in the warmth and steadiness of him. For a moment, I feel like maybe we'll be okay. Maybe we can rebuild what was broken.
"Let's go back," he mutters, his voice rough, reluctant. His hand falls from my face, and he pulls away, creating a space between us that feels a little too empty for my liking.
I nod slightly, the gesture small but full of meaning, and pass him my keys.
Climbing over the console, I settle into the passenger seat, the cold leather of the seat brushing against my skin.
Vince slides effortlessly into the driver's seat, his movements smooth and practiced as he starts the engine.
The familiar hum of the car fills the silence between us.
The drive back is quiet, both of us lost in our thoughts.
There's so much to process—what just happened, what we're about to face when we get back.
I can't stop thinking about our two friends, knowing that they're probably furious with me.
Especially Jax. He was hired to protect me, to keep me safe, to keep me from falling into dangerous situations.
But I threw all that away by letting myself get lost in this.
I know he's going to be pissed. And part of me understands why.
I can already imagine his disappointment, his frustration, and the anger that will come with it.
He was paid to protect me with his life, and here I am, making reckless decisions.
But all I can focus on now is Vince, on the delicate, fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, we can figure out how to rebuild what we've lost.
— — —
Hey guys,