Page 69 of Hard Lessons

“Mmm, this honey is great.” Serena crunched into a slice of whole-meal toast, crumbs scattering onto her plate.

“Is it?” He smiled at her and took the pot. “I’ll try it.”

“You used to like honey on bread still warm from the oven.” She smiled as though a memory of her own was stealing her thoughts.

“I still do.” He rested his hand over hers. “And I hope I’ll have that again.”

“Me too.”

“You do?” He set about spreading his toast.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So why the plan to leave me for America?”

She set down her breakfast and reached for her black coffee. “Do we have to talk about that now?”

“Si.” He held in a sigh. It was part pain and part frustration. He couldn’t deny that it hurt a deep down part of his soul that she’d been about to run into the sunset, as far away from him as she could. He’d have found her though. He had no doubts about that.

Luca Morretti was not someone who could be escaped from.

“I’m waiting,” he said, then bit into his toast. The honey was delicious.

Serena rubbed her right temple then set her attention on his face. “A new life... again.”

“Away from me.” He’d spoken quietly but the words were heavy.

“It wasn’t you I wanted to leave, Luca. It was Cosa Nostra.”

Well, that’s something.

“I needed to get away from violence,” she went on, “from the uncertainty of what was going to happen next.”

“Like what?” He really did want her to explain.

“I wanted to be the kind of person I’d tried being for a while. Have the life I’d seen others lead.”

He was silent, hoping she’d elaborate.

“I want to lock the door at the end of the day and sleep without a weapon under the pillow, know that morning would come without misadventure.”

“I’ve never slept with the gun under the pillow, it’s on the bedside table.”

She sighed as though weary. “I know, but why the need for a gun anyway? It’s not normal.”

He laughed. “You knew I wasn’t normal when we started dating. And let’s face it, Serena, you’re not the type of girl to settle for normal.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

He sat forward and caught her chin between his thumb and fingers. “I know you to the depths of your soul, the very fibers of your being. I know what makes you scream with pleasure, flush with arousal, beg for more.”

“I don’t deny that.” She was a little breathless.

He liked that.

“But I’m talking about life beyond our bedroom, Luca. I’m talking about a life in a home like this, with children having a perfect childhood, a garden full of vegetables, fruit, a few chickens. Neighbors as friends, a place where a calling card is a bottle of warm milk or a box of eggs left on the doorstep, not a severed finger...”

Her words trailed off. She’d never quite gotten over finding a finger in his letterbox back in Rome. Some warning from a neighboring gang about a bad debt his cousin owed and to which Luca had promised to settle.

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