Chapter 151 STREET KID.
\~~~VIKTOR.
I stood at the stove in Alessia's kitchen, the sizzle of onions and garlic filling the air with that warm, comforting smell I knew she liked.
My bare waist felt the soft press of her arm wrapping around it from behind, her body molding against mine like she belonged there. A soft smile tugged at my lips as I lifted the pan, shaking it gently to mix the ingredients. Her touch always did this to me. It always made the world feel smaller, and safer, even if just for a moment.
“You said you are hungry,” I murmured, keeping my voice light, glancing over my shoulder at her.
“And I said we could order, but you decided to play the chef,” she hissed playfully, her breath warm against my skin.
‘'I love cooking for you. You seem to stomach it more than ordered food,” I said, turning the heat down a notch on the burner.
“Oh, you know me so well, don't you?” She squeezed my side gently, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare skin. I was shirtless, just in my jeans, comfortable in her space like I had been here a hundred times which I had, just a few times these past few weeks.
I turned around slowly, careful not to spill anything, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. Her skin was soft, smelling faintly of the lavender lotion she used after showers.
“I know you too well,” I whispered, pulling her closer for a second.
She tilted her head up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Then... hmmm, what is my favorite color?’'
I wrapped one arm around her back, pulling her flush against me, while my other hand slid down to rub her butt through the thin fabric of her shorts.
She fit perfectly in my hold, her curves pressing into me just right. “And if that isn't a trick question. You don't have a favorite color, my lady,” I said confidently, meeting her gaze.
I was certain of that. I'd known Alessia for years, watched her from afar at first, then closer as Luciano's sister, always the strong one holding things together. She would never pick a color. She had once said the world had too many to choose from. It was one of those quirky things about her that made her real, not just the boss's sister.
“Oops, you are right,” she scoffed, but there was a smile in her voice. I chuckled, the sound low and easy, vibrating between us.
I leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips, tasting the faint sweetness of her chapstick.
“Go get your seat, beautiful. Food is almost ready.’' She lingered for a second, her hand sliding up my chest, before she pulled away with a nod.
I turned back to the stove, finishing up the pasta. Cooking for her had become my ritual, a way to show I cared without words.
Once it was done, I plated it up, steam rising in curls, and carried both to the small dining table. Alessia was already sitting, her legs tucked under her, looking relaxed in her oversized t-shirt that hung off one shoulder. I settled in front of her, watching as she twirled a forkful and took a tentative bite.
Her eyes lit up, and she squealed, “This tastes so nice!” The sound was pure joy, making my own smile widen.
Only then did I start eating, savoring the flavors I'd put together. We ate in comfortable silence for a bit, the clink of forks the only sound. But I could feel the shift coming, the way her posture changed slightly, and her bites slowing.
“We have been together for almost a month now. It will be a month next week,” she said midway through her meal, her voice casual but pointed. I nodded, keeping my eyes on my plate, though my stomach twisted a little.
I knew exactly where she was heading. That conversation we'd danced around since the beginning. The one about making this real, and about telling people, especially Luciano.
“I like this little peace we have, okay? I just don't... like how we sneak around my brother,” Her words hung in the air, heavy with the truth of it.
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I sat up straighter, reaching for my glass of water and taking a long sip. The cool liquid did nothing to ease the knot in my throat.
Facing her brother, my boss, the man who'd become family, was like heading into a war without weapons.
Luciano could have my head on a platter if he wanted. He was protective, fierce about Alessia, and I'd seen what he did to threats.
This? Us? It felt like the biggest threat of all.
We were so opposite in ways that stacked the odds against us.
She was five years older, and more refined with that quiet elegance from growing up in the family world.
Me? I was the street kid turned soldier, rough around the edges, and more muscle than polish. Socially, we didn't match. She dresses in elegant dresses at gatherings, while me in suits that still felt like a costume.
“We will do so at the right time,” I finally said, nodding my head, trying to sound sure.
“And when will that be?” Her eyes searched mine, a mix of hope and frustration.
The last few weeks have been the best moments of my entire life. Waking up tangled in her sheets, her head on my chest, the way she laughed at my non funny jokes over coffee.
This was the first time I'd ever wanted someone so bad it hurt. It felt like a physical ache when I was away, counting hours until I could be back here. I spent most of my free time and nights at her place, slipping in after shifts, leaving before dawn sometimes to keep it hidden. It was as though I was made for this life, coming home to her, and building something real. But…