Page 14 of Bruno
“You said you would accept my decision.”
“I also said I wouldn’t stop pushing. Because one day, that barrier will shatter and break—”
“You want to break me?”
“Yes. God, yes. I want to break you open. I want our bodies on fire, my mouth on your thighs, tasting and taking you. I want your heart in my hands. And after you’ve fallen apart, I want to put you back together again.”
Her breathing becomes uneven, and she licks her lips at my words. I step closer, but then she shakes her head and turns away. “You can’t say things like that to me. This situation is temporary. We’re here until the threat is over, and then—”
“And then, what? You think I’ll just let you go? That I’ll be stupid enough to give you up again?”
“You…” she cuts me off, flipping her palm up before I can argue. It’s the first breakthrough I’ve had in a few days, and I want to keep pushing, but she stops me. “Is a gun really the best solution?”
I nod. “I hope he never has to use it, ever. I didn’t just buy it for protection. I also purchased targets and other equipment to help him learn gun safety. If he’s around my family. And he will be around my family. He needs to have a proper understanding of how guns work and the rules of gun safety. He’ll have more respect for the weapon if he’s familiar with it. This is just a precautionary measure. I’m not training him for warfare. But he may not always be able to avoid it because the Falcones are at war, and whether he likes it or not… he’s a Falcone.”
* * *
When we arrive at the target practice field, Chris practically sprints with excitement as he takes in the range. Attia and I exchange a glance, knowing this is necessary but also potentially dangerous.
“Alright, kiddo,” I say, leading him over to the firing line. “This is where you learn how to handle a gun safely.”
Attia stands behind us, arms crossed, watching Chris’s every move. Her face is drawn, and her shoulders are stiff. She still doesn’t fully trust me to keep our son safe. I try not to let it bother me. She’ll come around, and hopefully, so will he. I take my time showing Chris how to load the gun, aim properly, and, most importantly, unload it and secure it when we’re done.
“Remember,” I tell him firmly. “A gun is not a toy. It’s a tool that demands respect. You don’t play with it or wave it around. You don’t show it off to your friends. You only use it to save your life or to protect your family.”
Chris nods, wide-eyed and attentive. His brows furrow as he processes the seriousness of the situation. I’m proud that he’s taking this seriously and understanding the importance of what we’re doing here.
“Okay,” I say, stepping back to give him some space. “Take your shot.”
Chris takes a deep breath, raises the gun, and squeezes the trigger. The shot rings out, echoing through the woods, and Chris’s face lights up.
“Did I hit it?” He asks with eyes brighter than stars.
I glance at the target and nod. “You did. Nice shot, kid.” I almost reach out to pull him into a hug. I’m so fucking proud. I’ve been proud of him since the moment we met. But this moment feels different. It feels like he’s not just Attia’s son; he’s also mine. The weight of all the moments I missed bears down on me, almost making my knees buckle. But before I embarrass us both, I drop my hand and hold back. Attia catches a glimpse of my awkward gesture, though. Her expression softens. She’s worried about the danger of involving our son in the mafia, but her eyes hold an emotion I can’t decipher. Or maybe I do understand it but am too afraid to believe it’s hope—hope that maybe, just maybe, we can make this work.
As Chris continues to practice, I show him how to reload and fire again, how to adjust his aim, and control his breathing. He’s a quick learner, picking up these skills easily and showing a natural aptitude that makes me proud to be his father. Attia watches us, her arms still crossed, but her expression is more relaxed now. She trusts me with our son, and that means everything to me.
When we’re finished, I take Chris aside and show him how to clean and store the gun. Now it’s Attia’s turn. I’m more nervous than a kid asking their crush to a school dance. I hold out my hand and wait. She bites her lip and gives Chris a quick side glance. Our son watches this interaction, captivated as I am, waiting for her response. She gives him a half-smile and places her hand in mine. If I could fly, I’d soar through the sky right now. Instead, I lead her over to the same stand where I showed Chris how to clean, load, and handle his gun.
I take my time guiding her through the process and making sure she feels comfortable with the gun. Just like Chris, she’s a quick learner. “I never thought I’d be doing this,” she says with another half-smile. “But I have to admit, it’s kind of empowering.”
Her smile warms my chest, filling a void I hadn’t even realized existed. “That’s the idea. A gun is a powerful tool, but only if you know how to use it properly.” I stand behind her, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. “Let’s try again. This time, let’s see if you can hit the target.”
Her laughter is like sunshine breaking through gray clouds. But it doesn’t disarm me as much as her tilting her head up—a natural gesture we used to share a long time ago. My hands move instinctively before my mind catches up — a knee-jerk reaction to the woman I want more than anything in life. My mouth meets hers in a kiss.
Attia tastes like cinnamon and honey. No, even better. I cup her face, deepening the kiss as she responds. The tension between us melts away, replaced by a different kind of heat. We break apart, both of us breathing heavily. Our eyes lock, and I see a fire in hers that wasn’t there before. She steps closer, her hands resting on my chest. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, the angry voice of our son interrupts.
She breaks free from my grasp, guilt written all over her face.
Then I look at him—Chris shouts. “Mom, what the hell?” I stand between the two of them, feeling like a knife is piercing me from both sides. His voice is filled with anger and rage, but his face… his face shows hurt and confusion. “That’s all this was. You didn’t want me. All you wanted was another chance to be with her. I can’t believe I fell for your father-son act.” He shoves his hands into his pockets.
I step forward, but Attia’s hand on my arm stops me. Chris’s eyes widen at her gesture. Then his brows furrow, and he glares at both of us. “I can’t believe you,” he spits at Attia. “After everything he did to you. Leaving you alone… with his son. He never even called. And yet you still want to be with him? You know he didn’t care about you or us. And you still…”
Guilt mutes my voice, but I force the words out. “Chris, it’s not like that. I never meant to hurt you.”
But he doesn’t wait to hear it. He shakes his head and walks away. I start after him, but Attia stops me. Her eyes shimmer with tears, “Give him some space,” she says firmly. “He needs time.”
Time. Fucking time? How much moretimeam I supposed to sacrifice? I have spent far too muchtimetrying to do the right thing. I don’t know if I have any moretimeleft to spare.
