Bound in Love

by Alexis Abbott

  “Is there anything else you’d like? Fruit? Cheese?” she asks.

  “Hard cheeses only, Mama!” Domenica interjects meaningfully. She looks back at me, blushing. “I’m studying to be a doctor. I take online classes.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” I tell her. She looks positively joyful.

  “Domenica has always been the smart one, even when she was little,” Bruno says.

  “Both my children are brilliant,” boasts Mrs. Lomaglio, getting up to get me some hard cheese and fruit from the kitchen. “Coffee, Bruno?” she adds.

  “Si, Mama. Grazie.”

  “I cannot believe it,” says Mr. Lomaglio in his gruff, deep voice. I can tell he’s a man of few words, keeping his thoughts to himself while his wife and daughter chatter away. “My son, come back to me after all this time.”

  “Of course, Papa. I couldn’t stay away forever,” Bruno answers gently. “I would have come back sooner if I could. You know that.”

  His father nods very slowly, his jaw tightening as though he’s trying desperately to keep from showing too much emotion. “What a fantastic surprise to see you again.”

  Mrs. Lomaglio comes back with a little silver tray of olives, grapes, diced pears, and what looks like long, triangular slices of either parmigiano or asiago. She sets the tray down on the little coffee table in front of Bruno and me, and as much as I want to be a courteous, dainty houseguest, my pregnant stomach growls impatiently. I quickly start eating, munching happily while Bruno catches up with his family. All the while, Mrs. Lomaglio glances at me with approval, like it gives her immense joy to watch me stuff my face.

  “I’m surprised you remembered me so quickly,” Bruno says to his little sister, who is sitting with her hands folded in her lap. She shrugs and smiles.

  “I may have been a little girl when you left, but I could never forget my big brother,” she says warmly. “I cried so much when you went away. Once I stopped feeling so sad, I started feeling angry. I know now it wasn’t your fault, but I was so mad at you for leaving.”

  “I never would have gone if I’d had any other choice,” Bruno answers, a note of intense sorrow in his voice. I pause my pig-out session to take his hand and give it a squeeze.

  Mr. Lomaglio sighs. “It was never your fault, my son. Sending you away was the most difficult thing we have ever had to do. Like tearing out your heart and sending it on an airplane across the ocean. We never wanted to see you go, Bruno.”

  “Domenica wasn’t the only one who cried for you,” Mrs. Lomaglio speaks up, those gorgeous green eyes so similar to Bruno’s shimmering with tears.

  “You were born at the wrong time, in the wrong place,” her husband continues. “We had no idea that the mafia was closing in on our little neighborhood. We were not wealthy, and we were not well-known, but we had everything we needed to get by. A house, a garden, and lots of love. We were just happy to have our children—our strong, handsome son, and our sweet, beautiful daughter. If not for the mafia, we would have stayed happy. And we would have stayed together, all in one place, like a family should be.”

  “We shielded you from those bad men for as long as we could, my love,” Bruno’s mother takes over. “All the years of your childhood, we tried to keep you safe from those who might exploit your strength and bravery, take advantage of your good heart. We wanted you to stay young, carefree, be a child for as long as you could before the world could pick you up and spin you around. But you grew so tall and strong, and the mafia took notice.”

  “They were always looking for young men to recruit for their grunt work,” Mr. Lomaglio says, his face darkening. “Always on the hunt for another good soul to corrupt. They would offer the young boys money, fame, glamorous cars, beautiful women—anything to convince them to join the mafia. Bruno, they were circling in on you. We saw them, following you home from school in their big black cars. Watching you play soccer with your friends.”

  “Do you remember your childhood friend, Alessandro?” Mrs. Lomaglio asks suddenly.

  Bruno nods. “Yes, of course. We used to climb trees together and go to the park.”

  “Do you remember when he stopped coming by? When he disappeared?”

  Bruno looks down at his hands, sadness creeping into his expression.

  “Yes.”

  “They took him. Recruited him right off the street. I can still recall his mother weeping on my shoulder, begging me to help her get him back,” she laments. “But there was nothing to be done about it. Once the mafia got its claws on someone, they were forever lost. And after what happened to Alessandro, your father and I had to make a very difficult decision.”

  “You sent me to live with Uncle Carlo in New York,” Bruno says softly.

  Mr. Lomaglio looks so exhausted. “Yes. We gave you up when you were a teenager. We thought, we hoped, that if you could just stay out of the mafia’s reach, they wouldn’t be able to catch you. We knew that if you stayed here, they would snatch you up.”

  “They were threatening us already. Watching our house. Following us to the grocery store. We thought we were giving you a better chance of escaping.”

  “I know. I don’t blame you for what you did,” Bruno assures them both. “I probably would have done the same thing.”

  “And then you went away, and I lost my guardian. My playmate,” Domenica says, tears tracking down her cheeks. “I missed you so much, Bruno. I couldn’t understand why you left.”

  “It was very hard for everyone at first. The house felt so empty without you in it,” Mrs. Lomaglio explains, wiping at her eyes. “But we made ourselves go back to our old routines. We had to keep living, because of Domenica.”

  “And then,” Mr. Lomaglio says gravely, “she became so ill. Suddenly. Our joyful little girl was sick all the time, getting weaker by the day. We took her to the doctor again and again, and they could not find out the cause of her illness.”

  “I don’t remember much from those days,” Domenica says softly.

  “You were fragile. We didn’t know what to do. Finally, we got a diagnosis: it was multiple sclerosis. That was devastating to hear. We had already lost our son, and now we were afraid that we might lose our daughter, too,” says Mrs. Lomaglio. “We decided that we would do whatever was necessary to help her. No matter the risk.”

  “The medicine, the equipment, the wheelchair, the private doctors—it was all so expensive. We fought and fought for the government to help us, but it was hard. Nothing was ever enough. One day, things got so bad that I did something I had sworn never to do: I went to the mafia to ask for help,” Mr. Lomaglio admits, and I can tell this is his deepest shame.

  “No,” Bruno breathes.

  “Yes. We had to. We needed money, and there was nowhere else to turn. They did help us, once I begged them not to let Domenica fade away. And for a while, everything got a little better. Easier, at least. But then, as we feared, the mafia came to collect their debts,” says Bruno’s mother.

  “But we could not pay. The money simply was not there. And so they took what they could from me—my labor. They forced me to do work for them. Grueling, backbreaking work. But that was fine. It was bearable. Until they decided that was not enough. They wanted to make me truly suffer. And so they forced me to be involved in illegal activities. Driving stolen cars. Cleaning crime scenes to throw off the authorities. Working as a guard. I was so exhausted, Bruno, between working at the factory, caring for Domenica, and doing this work for the mafia. They were breaking my body, stealing my strength. Finally, they pushed me to take part in the murder of a local baker, an innocent man who refused to pay protection fees to the mafia.”

  “Papa,” Bruno says, getting worked up. “Please tell me that isn’t true.”

  Mr. Lomaglio’s face is stony, even as the tears fall from his gray eyes.

  “I am afraid it is the truth, my son. It is an atrocity I cannot be forgiven for. They told me if I did not take part, they would kill your mother and Domenica. I could not take the risk.
But after it was done, I could no longer look at myself in the mirror. I wanted out, by whatever means necessary. I threatened to go to the police if they did not release me from contract. And by that point, I was already weakened. They had sapped my strength until there was almost nothing left. I was becoming useless to the mafia—more of a liability than an asset.”

  He pauses and sighs, staring down at the glossy tile floor.

  “And so they shifted the debt I owed them. They knew I could never pay them back. I had no money, no power, no strength left in me. But they knew about you. Away in New York, working for your uncle, getting stronger and more impressive every day. They passed the debt from father to son, and suddenly, the terrible fate we worked so hard to keep you from came true. They had found a way to claim you, even after all that time, all that work, all our careful planning.”

  “And that’s why I disappeared, Serena,” Bruno says, turning to me. “That’s why I had to leave when we were teenagers. My life changed. I was no longer living freely.” He looks back at his parents, then launches into an explanation of the past decade of his life. He leaves out some of the grittier details, I notice, but he gives them the essentials. Working for the mafia. Being framed. Prison. Escaping. The explosion. The long road to reunite with me.

  “I am so sorry, son,” Mr. Lomaglio says, cradling his face in his hands. “I can never forgive myself for what my actions have done to my family.”

  Bruno stands up to walk over and crouch down between his parents’ chairs, putting an arm around each of them.

  “It isn’t your fault. There might have been a time when I blamed you. But not anymore. I know you didn’t mean for any of this to happen. It was out of your control, Papa. I don’t blame you.”

  “No,” Domenica says suddenly, her pretty face flushed with emotion. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t gotten sick, none of that would have happened.”

  I interject suddenly, “You can’t blame yourself. You were just a child, and you didn’t choose to fall ill. It’s just the way things are sometimes.”

  Domenica gives me a weak smile.

  “Thank you. I feel so guilty when I think about these things. I just wish it had all gone so differently.”

  “Oh, my sweet sister. If I had known how you were suffering, I would have come back. I would have found a way to help,” Bruno says sadly.

  “Well, now we’re all back together,” Mrs. Lomaglio says, standing up and putting her hands on her hips. “And I’m going to make the most of it. But for now, I’m sure Serena and Bruno would like to rest, after traveling all night to get here.”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you,” I tell her.

  “Thank you, Mama,” Bruno says, kissing her on the cheek.

  “I look forward to dinner tonight with my family all together again,” Mr. Lomaglio says proudly as his wife leads us out of the room. She takes us out of the main house and across the property to a smaller building, what looks to be a guest house.

  “Your father built this by hand,” she explains. “We hope that Domenica will live here soon, to give her a little taste of independence before she takes the plunge and moves out on her own. If it were up to me, we could keep her here with us forever, to take care of her. But what she lacks in physical strength, she makes up for in spirit. Your sister is determined to make it on her own and live independently, even in her wheelchair.”

  “I have no doubt that she will. She’s inherited her mother’s stubbornness,” Bruno says, giving his mother a wink and a hug. She laughs.

  “Settle in and relax, my loves. Tonight I will make dinner and we can talk some more, but I know you must be so tired,” she says.

  And with another hug for Bruno and for me, she heads back to the main building, leaving Bruno and I alone in this adorable, rustic guest house with a gorgeous view of the Apulian hillsides, dotted with olive trees. Bruno turns to me and says, “Well, here it is: the place that made me who I am.”

  “It’s just as impressive as you are,” I tell him, grinning.

  He leans in to kiss me, and instantly any idea of ‘relaxing’ goes straight out the window.

  11

  Bruno

  Everything about her, the way she feels, smells, looks, it makes my heart warm, and I want the kiss to last forever. For one stupid, boyish moment, I feel like I can make it last forever, just me and her, away from everything. But finally, the kiss has to break, and even the sound of our lips moving apart makes my heart beat harder for her.

  “No matter what light I see you in,” I say, my voice thick and husky, “it always seems to come from inside you.”

  I watch Serena’s soft lips smile slowly, and her eyes rove over my body with hunger in them. In this little room, I can feel that energy building again between us, an energy that neither of us can contain once we realize that we have a moment of privacy together. Even in public, I feel like I can hardly keep my hands off her, but now, there’s nothing holding us back.

  When she puts her hands on my broad chest and I grip her hips with my powerful, gentle grip, I feel that very feeling welling up inside me. But now, we have a moment to breathe. We can enjoy each other’s presence, revel in the tense energy between us for a few moments. It’s like drinking a fine wine slowly.

  I kept the Costa’s happy, and no one will ever breathe the location of my family home. Not that many know where that was in the first place. The Cleaners will never find us here, and I feel even safer than being in a safehouse. Here, I can protect all those I love.

  But in this beautiful, perfect moment, I’m with my fiancé. Safe. In love.

  And with several months to make up for.

  I look into her eyes, and I see the beauty written in those nearly glowing irises that grow and shrink to focus on me. The light in the room is dim, but I can see every part of her clearly. It’s so familiar, but so new. Her brow, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her lips, all of her is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever looked at. I could stay here forever, just gazing at her, feeling like a teenager all over again.

  They say you settle down as you get older, but with Serena, I’ve felt nothing but growing energy, more love for her, and more lust for her body.

  “Every day we’ve been apart, I’ve wanted to ravage you,” I whisper as her fingers tighten around my shirt, a soft, silent plea for me to take it off. “I’ve wanted to feel this. To feel you in my hands, carissima.”

  “I know,” she says, her voice a harp’s note to my ears. “Bruno, I’ve dreamed about you so many times. I’ve woken up in the middle of the night so many times thinking you’d be right there beside me.” My grip slides around to the small of her back, and I bring her into my embrace as she slides her hands around my torso and rests her head against my chest, listening to the strong, steady sound of my heartbeat.

  I rest my chin on her head. “A life without you is not one worth living, Serena,” I say. “For that time, I was dead.” She looks up at me, and I smile down at her. “But you give me life.”

  I bring my lips down to hers, and I can feel her sigh with need into the kiss. It starts slow, thoughtful. It’s different than it was when we first reunited in that old safehouse, and I let Serena take her time in enjoying my body.

  Tonight has meant so much. I feel more filled with love for Serena than ever before, and it’s helped to ground us together in something that we can share besides struggle. Struggle has been so much of our relationship. We’ve fought together. We’ve run together. We’ve had to hide together.

  So having a moment to step back and enjoy a moment of reality, a reality that’s good and whole...it’s a drink of cool water in the desert.

  “I want to have more nights like tonight with you, Bruno,” she says after the kiss breaks and she grinds herself against me, hands roving up and down my body while her front presses into me. Her leg wraps around mine, and her hands go into my back pockets so she can look up at me with lidded eyes. “I want something stable. Family. Our family. I want it to grow
and be something to be proud of.”

  “I want to give you all that and more,” I say, “and I want every night filled with this.”

  I walk her back to the bed, and she climbs back onto it, sitting on folded legs and looking up at me. She reaches up and gives my shirt a tug, and I smile. The fact that she gets so much pleasure out of my body never stops giving me pride. It’s all the more motivation to keep my body as fit as I can, even when all this rough and tumble living settles down. I want to make myself perfect for those soft eyes every day.

  She sits there like an angel, a single lamp’s light behind her lighting the room, making her look like a true angel with a crown of golden hair spilling down her shoulders. In contrast, I loom over her with my broad shoulders and imposing, dark form, like a shadow.

  I reach down to my shirt and pull it up over my body, drawing the move out slowly so she can take in every inch of my torso, every ripple, every muscle. She puts her slender hands to my stomach and brings her face to it to kiss it softly, nearly worshipping my body. Her hands run up my sides, and she turns her face to let her cheek rub up against my abs, feeling their warmth, nails tracing along my sides.

  “Let me taste you,” she begs me in a pleading tone I can’t resist, “there’s so much of you I want to feel inside me again.”

  “You can have it,” I say, reaching down and running my hand through her golden hair, feeling how soft and thick her locks are, resisting the urge to take a fistful of it tight and fuck her senseless right then and there without hesitation, without restraint. “But I want to see you first.”

  She starts to take her shirt off hurriedly, but I kneel down onto the bed with her to stop her. My hands push hers aside, and I take hold of the soft fabric to lift it off. I let my warm hands brush against her skin as they go, and we move as if we’re in a dream together, exploring each other’s bodies like we have all the time in the world.