I want to tell her everything. Every damn secret. But the words choke me.

 I’m afraid she’ll back away. The thought of it feels like an iron claw gripping my chest.

“Thank you.” Jennifer breaks the silence first.

 “For what?”

 “For… everything.” Her cheeks flush red as she steals the cup from my hand and looks away, taking a sip. “For helping me out of my head.”

 “You don’t have to thank me,” I say quietly. “I’d do anything for you.”

She gives me a small smile, and the faint light of dawn reflects on her pale skin, making her glow.

 “I mean it,” I confess. “I find it really hard to say no to you.”

My heart sinks. I don’t know if I’m making the right decision.

 I grew up being trained to be my father’s successor, every instinct shaped for control and survival.

 After avenging my mother’s death, I tore myself from the family and kept moving, one day after another, with no purpose left to hold on to.

 When Jace showed up, I found a kind of peace in taking care of him. It gave me a reason to keep breathing, to stay sharp.

 But now he’s grown. He doesn’t need me the way he used to.

Still, I can’t help being selfish.

 After thirty years of living for others, I want something for myself. I desperately want her.

 When I imagine going back to my life before her, it feels like a dull place to return to, as if I were trapped in a muffled world stripped of every color and sound.

 She brings all of that back, every shade, every pulse, every feeling.

“Is it because I’m a sweetheart?” Her teasing voice pulls me back from my thoughts.

 “I think you mispronounced maddening.”

 She laughs softly, the sound a caress to my ears.

 “That’s a compliment,” she mutters.

 “Yes, it is,” I confirm.

She grows quiet again, swaying slightly to the rhythm of some song playing in her head.

 To gather courage, I clear my throat. I should start from the beginning.

 “Jennifer,” I ask, “where were you ten years ago?”

She turns to me, her face growing sober, her brow furrowing. After a long pause, she answers,

 “It was a weird time. I was eighteen and had just left my house.” Her tone is calm and flat.

 “You rented a place?”

 She lets out a small, sad laugh. My stomach twists in response because I already know I won’t like her answer.

 “I couldn’t afford one. I was living in my car.” Her eyes drift, getting lost in the past. “I couldn’t stand being in that house anymore,” she murmurs absently.

I softly take a lock of her silky hair between my fingers to bring her back. I slide it all the way down but don’t let go.

 “How did that work? Logistically, how can someone live in a car?” I ask carefully, still playing with her hair.

 “With too many blankets… I ate food from convenience stores and used the bathrooms at my jobs. I showered on the days I went home to see my brothers.” She pauses, takes a deep breath, staring at her lap. “I worked too much. I was exhausted all the time. And on my free days, if I wasn’t with Inés or my brothers, I was probably drowning in a bar. Until I met Gus.”

“How long did you live like that?” I breathe out.

 “Just a year.”

Just a year.

 I feel the pulse at my temple. It never crossed my mind that she could have been sleeping in a car. She feels cold even in summer, for fuck’s sake.

I can almost see her there, curled up in a narrow seat under those blankets, trying to stay warm.

 She needed someone back then, and I didn’t take her hand.

“Why do you look so tortured?” She places her cold hand over mine. “Why are you asking me this?” She frowns.

 “We met ten years ago,” I confess. Her eyes widen, and I continue.

 “I went to a bar to get one last drink. A strange, very wasted girl told me it would be a shame if I died. I guess even then you were perceptive.” Green eyes stare at me, wide and processing.

 “I was never the kind of man who believed in destiny,” I admit. “But you showed up on my mother’s death anniversary, the day I decided to end it all. So I took it as a sign. Like my mother sent you, to give life another chance.” I glance at her. “A few days later, I found Jace. He stuck with me and gave me a new purpose.”

She stays quiet, taking in everything I’ve never shared with anyone else.

 “So that’s why you seemed familiar the first time I saw you at your house,” she says.

 “You were pretty wasted,” I smirk. “Still don’t understand how you managed to stand up and disappear so quickly.”

 “Probably I parked my car near the bar and passed out there.” She shrugs, a wicked smile creeping onto her face.

 “So you fell for a drunk eighteen-year-old girl?” Her tone is playful, flirtatious.

 “I found you interesting,” I reply. “You offered to be my friend, and I took too long to answer. You probably took it as a no and left.”

 “Probably.” She raises an eyebrow. “Now you’ll be my friend?”

 “Jennifer, if you think I’d be satisfied being your friend, you’re so fucking wrong.”

I squeeze her hand slightly.

 “My wooer, then?” she teases.

 “Wooer…” I chuckle. “I’m not a wooer if I’m your only option.”

 “And why do you think you’re the only option?” she asks, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

 “Because I’ll make sure of it.” My tone drops low as I lift her hand and press a kiss to her skin, a silent vow before I let go.

I light a cigar and take a slow drag, watching the smoke twist between us.

 She hesitates for a second before climbing into my lap.

 It’s not a bold move. It’s quiet, deliberate. The kind of closeness she doesn’t offer easily.

 Her body is tense at first, cautious, like she’s waiting for me to flinch or pull away.

 I don’t. I don’t think I’m capable of refusing her.

“You need to rest,” she says softly, her right hand sliding down my tie with steady fingers.

 I exhale the smoke through a low laugh. “Hard to think about resting when you’re in my lap.”

The warmth of her body seeps through my clothes, her sweet scent reaches me. 

 With my free hand, I pull her closer. She shifts slightly, the friction sending heat straight through my body. Fuck. I need to focus.

 “We need to talk.” My voice comes out rough. I need her to know who I am before she makes any decision.

 “Okay… tell me, where did you go last night?” she asks again, this time softer.

 “Feeling lonely?”

 “Lonely isn’t the word I’d use.” Her voice drops, as she grinds gently against me. “Needy sounds closer.”

 “Jenny, stop doing that before we end up putting on a show right here.”

I slide my hand down the side of her neck, tracing with my fingers the marks I left last night. They look so damn good. Satisfaction and heat run through me.

 “Then stop avoiding and answer me,” she says, tugging my tie just enough to make her point. The small pull tightens the knot against my throat, a reminder of how easily she could undo me with a single move.

 I hesitate, then take a slow breath. 

“You have nightmares, and there was no chance for me to sleep,” I admit. She keeps staring, silently pushing me to continue. “Since you told me your real last name, I kept myself busy trying to find out who provoked them.”

She blinks a few times, then narrows her eyes, posture going rigid.

 “Why would you do that? What did you find out?” she blurts.

 “ I don’t know the details about your past, just assumptions. Gus didn’t tell me anything, and I don’t want to know unless you’re ready to tell me. I only wanted the names, but I hit a dead end.”

 She exhales slowly, the tension easing just a little from her shoulders.

 “Why would you even want their names?” The edge in her voice softens, replaced by disbelief.

 “Before I answer that, there’s something you should know.” She nods slowly.

 “Russo.” The word escapes like it’s been caged inside my chest. “It was my last name, before I changed it.”

I wait for surprise to cross her face, but it never comes. Instead, she smiles, knowing, calm.

 “I figured,” she says plainly.

 I frown, confused. Her smile widens, her gaze steady and cutting through me.

 “How?”

 “Seriously? You were really trying to hide it?” Her tone is light.

 “How?” I repeat, trying to sound commanding, but she only tilts her head.

 “The first clue was your ring. It’s the same one Gino wears, with the family crest.”

 My chest tightens. Of course she noticed.

 “And in his house,” she continues, “there’s a photo of Sal and another man. They look like brothers. Same posture. Same stare. Same ring. And that man… he had your features.”

 My heart skips a beat. My father. “And the way Sal talks to you, how he looks at you… like you’re his blood.” She shrugs. “It’s not exactly subtle.”

I didn’t think she’d figure it out. The way she says it so calmly leaves me wordless.

 “If you’re not part of the family business,” she asks, “what do you do exactly for a living?”

 “I kill people for a living.”

 “Innocent people?” she asks quietly.

 I shake my head. “Every one of them deserved it.” I take a final drag from the cigar, the taste bitter on my tongue. “That’s not a deal breaker for you?” I ask, uneasy.

 “Why should it be?” she says after a beat. “I knew the risks the day you stepped into my house. And I’m willing to take them.” She looks at me, steady, unwavering. “I want to be with you, Enzo.”

My chest swells, warm, her words sinking roots deep into my heart and soul.

 “But… there are two deal breakers,” she says.

 “Tell me.”

 “It’ll end if you ever cheat—”

 My hands tighten on her thighs, cutting her off.

 “That’s never going to happen.” My voice is edged with irritation that it is the first thing out of her mouth. “Next?”

 She hesitates. Her eyes shift, avoiding mine. It’s rare to see her nervous, and I find it… disarming.

 “I know it’s too soon, but it’s something…” She bites her lip. “…it’s decisive.”

 “Jennifer, just tell me.”

I tilt her chin up gently, forcing her to meet my gaze.

 She inhales slowly, bracing herself. “I… I want… a family.”

 Her words catch me off guard, shaking the ground under me. I had never even considered it. It never felt like something meant for me.

 “I’m not saying now,” she adds quickly, her voice trembling. “But someday. And if that’s not something you want, then I can’t—”

 I grab her gently but firmly by the neck, cutting her off.

 “My turn now.” I look straight into her eyes.

“First: I want you too, and I’ve realized I’m incredibly possessive.” My voice drops, rougher now. “And to answer your earlier question, I can’t tolerate someone who harms you walking around alive. If someone dares to touch you inappropriately, they’ll lose a hand and I won’t feel any remorse.” 

“I can take care of myself,” she says, 

 “I know. But I’ll do it anyway. Just for the satisfaction.”

For a moment, the air between us turns heavy, charged. Her pulse beats fast under my thumb.

I pull her closer, my lips brushing her ear.

 “Second,” I murmur, “you won’t need anyone else. I’ve already said that I’ll do anything for you.”

 She opens her mouth to speak, but I tighten my hold slightly.

 “I’m not done,” my voice low, steady. “I never thought about having a family. It never felt like something life would allow me.” I pause, the words heavier than I expected.

 “Now…” I glance down at her, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “You really need to stop suggesting you’ll look for someone else. Because if you want to piss me off, you’re about to.”

She just smiles, that bright, defiant smile that makes me forget the rest of the world exists.

 And right then, I know I’d burn down heaven or hell to keep her smiling like that… for me.

 “It’s a deal then,” she whispers with calm certainty, like a dawn that doesn’t ask permission to rise.

 Those words, so soft, so full of future, hit me with the weight of a past I hadn’t dared to touch in years.

 A family.

This time I stay silent, taking it all in. At some point, she rests her head against my chest. The faint chill of morning fades away. My right hand slides up her back in slow, steady strokes until she lets out a small, contented sound.

 The envelope starts to burn inside the pocket of my jacket.

 “Jennifer,” I say softly. “Can I ask you a favor?”

 “Yes.” Her voice is drowsy, relaxed, the morning sun warming her back.

 “Can you… take the envelope from my inner pocket?”

 I don’t know if I’ll ever dare to open it myself.

Without hesitation, she slides her hand under my jacket slowly, deliberately, and my muscles tense, instinctively reacting to her touch.

 She takes it, studying it with curiosity.

 “This one?”

 “Yes. open it.”

She looks at me for a moment, then quietly unfolds it.

 A warm breeze passes as she retrieves the photograph and studies it.

 “Enzo… is this you with your mom?”

She looks at me, asking silently. I nod.

 My pulse quickens, my head aches from the pressure building behind my eyes. Jennifer’s gaze finds mine again, filled with a silent question. I nod once more, and she turns the picture.

And then, the faint fragments of memory I had left finally recover their face, her face.

 Light brown hair.

 A shining, warm, gentle smile.

 Big gray eyes.

 She’s seated on a garden chair, her arms wrapped around my waist. A few months before her death.

“She was beautiful,” Jennifer says softly.

 I close my eyes and take a deep, trembling breath. A few tears escape before I can stop them.

 Jennifer leans closer and wraps her arms around me, quiet and steady.

 I let her hold me.

 For the first time in years, I allow the memory to hurt.

 “Yes,” I whisper against her hair. “She was

Thank you so much for reading!

I’ve just reached 500 views, and I’m so excited about it that I wanted to celebrate!

Some of you might have already seen Jace’s sketches I shared earlier, here’s how it’s going! You’ll be seeing Jennifer and Enzo soon too.

I had to sell a lot of bookmarks to make this happen, so I really hope you like it, guys. 💛