Chapter 19
It took me three days to get up the courage to try on all the clothes Dorian had bought.
Part of the trouble was that I’d never been all that into fashion. It simply wasn’t something that I thought about.
Back in the ER, I’d spent my days covered in plain cotton scrubs. And it wasn’t as if I’d been any more fashionable back in med school. With every penny going to tuition, books, or housing, I’d never cared that my wardrobe came from the clearance racks of big box stores.
It was intimidating for a jeans and T-shirt girl like me to be surrounded by labels like Prada and Valentino, so I started slowly.
That first day, I only dared to try on a handful of outfits—simple ones, like the button-up white poplin shirt and a black A-line skirt.
By the second day, my bravery had grown, and I slipped into some of the more daring pieces—first an unbelievably sleek red dress, then a black mini-skirt set.
By Friday, when I checked my fit in the mirror, I didn’t just feel confident; I felt good.
The bruises from Carlo’s attack had finally faded away, and I looked like myself again.
My real self.
After just a few days of living with Dorian, I was back to being Kiera again.
Some changes, like the new clothes, were purely cosmetic. Not having to work all day, every day meant I could wear my hair down instead of pulled back into the severe ponytail that I’d had for the past year and a half.
But other changes were more profound.
Without the constant worry of being recognized by the cops, I kept my head up. I smiled more. I laughed. I sang.
But surprisingly, what I enjoyed most of all were the quiet moments curled up next to Dorian. Simply feeling his strong, quiet presence beside me brought a sense of peace and security I never dared to hope for.
Those three days were like a dream.
An unbelievably beautiful dream. One I was incredibly grateful for.
And while I knew there was no way I could ever begin to repay Dorian for his generosity, I could show my appreciation. As I walked away from the mirror, an idea came into my head about how to do just that.
I poked my head out of the closet and heard the shower running. I didn’t know how long Dorian would stay in there, so I didn’t waste any time getting to work.
I rushed to the linen closet and found a thick, durable blanket. Next, I headed for the kitchen.
I couldn’t imagine Dorian owning a basket, but I did remember seeing a cooler bag among his pots and pans once when I was cleaning. I pulled it out and started filling it with snacks from the fridge.
Prosciutto, mortadella, crusty bread, fresh mozzarella, pecorino, cherry tomatoes, and olives—it all went into the bag, along with a bottle of wine. I was just laying a couple of stemless glasses on top when Dorian came out of the bedroom, his hair still damp.
“What’s this?” he asked as I zipped up the cooler.
“It’s my way of saying thank you for giving me a safe place to hide out, for the clothes, for…everything.”
His eyes slid over to the blanket on the counter. “You want to have a picnic?”
Was that a hopeful note I heard in his voice? I liked the sound of it.
“I thought it might be nice,” I said. “It’s a beautiful day, and since you promised I don’t have to worry about Carlo, I figured a couple of hours in the park wouldn’t be too risky. The chances of the FBI having that grassy spot between the trees you pointed out under constant surveillance is pretty low.”
Even though my tone had been light-hearted, the look he gave me was dead serious.
“I’ve already told you that as long as you’re with me, no one will ever touch you again.”
After everything I’d been through, I doubted I’d ever get tired of hearing that certainty in his voice. It didn’t matter that no one could keep a promise like that. Not even Dorian. It still warmed me down to my bones.
“So, do you want to go?” I asked with a smile.
He nodded. “More than anything.”
Less than twenty minutes later, I was spreading the blanket out on the grass. I arranged the simple lunch between us before opening the bottle of wine. Then I leisurely stretched out, propping myself up on bent elbows, and let my head fall back to feel the sun on my face.
Damn, it felt good.
Better than good—it felt normal.
So many months had passed since I’d done anything other than work. Every moment that I didn’t spend cleaning some criminal’s house was wasted either keeping my head down and my face hidden on the subway or locked behind the door of my shitty single room.
Before Dorian came into my life, I had simply survived, but this finally felt like living again.
The sounds of New York didn’t magically disappear in the park. There was still the shriek of distant car horns and the constant hum of life that was impossible to completely escape from in this city. But surrounded by greenery, birdsong, and the gentle rustle of leaves overhead, it was far more peaceful than anything for miles.
“I can see why your parents liked this spot so much,” I said, grabbing a chunk of bread and cheese. “How often do you come here?”
He hesitated, and for the first time since we’d arrived, I noticed he was sitting stiffly instead of spreading out and relaxing. “This is the first time I’ve been back since my father died.”
Since he was nine?
“I’m sorry,” I rushed to say. “I just assumed you came here all the time.”
“I look at it every day, sure. Sometimes for so long that I lose track of time,” he said, sounding far away. “But I never crossed the street and came here.”
“Why not?”
He hesitated before answering. “Too many memories. Too many of them painful.”
“Oh God. I’m so sorry.” Suddenly, I realized how thoughtless I’d been bringing him here. I’d wanted to show my gratitude, to bring him just a sliver of the joy he’d brought me the last few days, but instead, I’d done the opposite. “We don’t have to stay. I’ll pack up, and we can go back to your?—“
“Kiera.” He reached out and took my hand, stilling me instantly. “I don’t want to go.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I don’t want you to be miserable.”
“I could never be miserable while I’m with you.” He sounded like he meant it. “You’re the only person I can imagine coming here with.”
My cheeks started to heat up, so I covered my blush by dipping my face down to grab some prosciutto. “Tell me about your dad.”
“Which one?”
“Both, I guess,” I answered before popping the thin slice of ham in my mouth along with a shard of pecorino.
Dorian picked up his glass, his gaze focusing on the wine as he softly swirled it.
“My biological father was a street soldier for the D’Angelo family,” he said. “I don’t know how he first got involved. He knew better than to talk about it, not even to my mother and me. Growing up, all I knew was that, while he always wore a suit, he didn’t work in an office.”
“How did he die?” I asked.
“The way most made men do,” he said. “He was shot.”
“Oh God, Dorian.” I reached out and cupped my hand over his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
He tilted his head down, resting his cheek against the back of my hand. It was a small gesture but a surprisingly intimate one.
“Twenty years ago, there was a war between the Costa and the D’Angelo families,” he said. “They put a hit out on Gabriel and Matteo’s father, Giuseppe. My father was there the night the Costas showed up to take him out. He managed to push Giuseppe out of the way but ended up taking the bullets meant for his boss.”
My mouth fell open, but no words came out. I had no idea what to say to a story like that. Nothing could make it better.
So, instead, I simply moved across the blanket to be closer to him.
“And that’s how Giuseppe became my second father,” he said.
Finally relaxing, he laid down on the blanket, resting his head on my lap. I didn’t think twice before brushing my fingers through his hair. It was a surprisingly sweet moment and one at odds with the terribly dark tone of the story he told.
“I don’t understand how that follows,” I admitted.
“When Giuseppe discovered that the man who saved his life had left behind an orphan, he knew the only right thing to do was to bring me into his family. So he legally adopted me.”
“But you didn’t take his family name?”
“It didn’t seem right,” Dorian said. “And Giuseppe agreed. He didn’t want to erase my past but help me build my future. He understood that keeping my father’s name was an easy way for me to honor him and keep his memory alive.”
“That’s sweet,” I said, my fingers still twirling and playing in his short hair.
“And Giuseppe’s way to honor my father was to have his soldiers kidnap the bastard who killed him. Then he cut off the man’s ears and nose and left him choking on his own blood for hours before finally slitting his throat.”
My hand stilled.
Yeah, that was significantly less sweet.
But not surprising. After all, it wasn’t as if Giuseppe D’Angelo had become a world-famous gangster by rescuing kitties.
Not wanting to kill the lovely mood of the picnic, I quickly refilled my wine glass and tried to shift the conversation toward something more pleasant.
“And how did Gabriel and Matteo take getting a new brother?”
“Surprisingly well,” he said. “Their uncle Sal, on the other hand, was another story.”
“He didn’t like you?”
“Still doesn’t, as far as I can tell,” he answered. “Or maybe he’s just afraid of me. It can be hard to tell the difference sometimes.”
“I can’t imagine anyone who knows you being afraid of you,” I said before popping an olive in my mouth.
Dorian turned his head in my lap to look up at me. “You’re kidding, right?”
I shook my head.
“Don’t get me wrong. At first glance, you can be very…” I searched for the right word. “…intimidating. But after spending a little time with you, it’s easy to see past that tough guy facade to who you really are.”
His brows arched as he smiled. His eyes filled up with humor and joy.
“Oh yeah? And who am I…really?” he asked jokingly.
“A big softy.”
“Is that right?” he chuckled—a sound I thought I’d never hear—and pushed up from my lap.
“Absolutely.”
A heartbeat later, I was the one laughing as Dorian playfully tackled me, rolling us both onto the grass. When we came to a stop, I was lying on top of him, and he wrapped his arms around me tight to keep me there.
His blue eyes sparkled as he looked up at me.
“And exactly which part of me is soft?” he teased.
I pressed my hand against his breastbone, flattening my palm so I could fully feel the thundering thumping of his heartbeat underneath.
“Right here,” I said.
Then he rolled me over and kissed me with such passion that I never wanted him to stop.