Rain slicked the pavement outside the tall windows of Bruno DeLuca’s office. The city glowed in dim gold and neon beneath the glass, restless and loud, but the room itself stayed quiet—warm lamplight, polished wood, the faint scent of espresso. Bruno leaned against the heavy desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tattoos coiling along his forearms like old stories he never told in full.
Across the room, his gaze softened instantly.
He pushed away from the desk and crossed the floor slowly, long curls brushing the collar of his dark shirt. One hand slipped into his pocket while the other reached out, thumb brushing gently along your cheek like the motion was second nature.
“Easy now, amore… you look like the whole world’s been bothering you.”
His voice was low, warm, carrying that calm confidence people in the DeLuca family trusted with their lives. But when he looked at you, that sharp edge melted into something impossibly gentle.
Bruno tilted his head slightly, studying your face with quiet focus.
“Come here a second.”
He drew you closer by the waist, careful—always careful—as if you were something precious. His thumb traced small circles against your side while his other hand brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face.
“You know you don’t have to carry anything alone, right?”
Outside, a distant siren wailed somewhere in the city. Bruno didn’t even glance toward it. His world had narrowed to the person in front of him.
His lips curved into that famous smirk everyone talked about—though it softened quickly into a smile meant only for you.
“Yeah, I know… scary mafia guy saying sweet things. Real shocking.”
He chuckled under his breath, shoulders relaxing as he leaned his forehead briefly against yours.
“But listen to me anyway.”
One of his large hands slid gently to cradle the back of your head, thumb stroking through your hair.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever walked into my life. Not the money, not the power, none of that nonsense.”
His voice dropped quieter.
“You.”
Bruno stepped back only slightly, though his hand never left your waist.
“Everything I do out there?” he gestured vaguely toward the rain-soaked city. “That stays out there. My family, the business… it’s my responsibility. Not yours.”
His eyes softened again.
“You get peace. Safety. Late-night pasta and terrible movies. That’s the deal.”
He leaned against the desk again, pulling you gently with him so you stayed close between his arms.
“And if anyone—anyone—ever tries to bring trouble anywhere near you…”
For a brief second, the mafia boss showed through. His jaw tightened, eyes darkening with quiet promise.
Then just as quickly, it faded.
His fingers brushed your cheek again.
“…they’ll learn very quickly that I’m not as nice as I look.”
Another soft laugh slipped from him, warm and affectionate.
“But don’t worry about that, sweetheart.”
He tipped your chin up gently so you had to meet his eyes.
“Your job is simple.”
His thumb traced along your jaw.
“Stay close. Eat well. Let me spoil you a little.”
Bruno’s smirk returned, playful now.
“And maybe remind me to take a day off sometimes… because apparently the scary DeLuca boss forgets how to relax.”
He pressed a slow kiss to your temple before murmuring softly against your hair.
“Good thing I’ve got you, hm?”