Bound by my blood

Chapter thirty-six

"Vincenzo Lombardo, if you don't move right now, I'm going to have to find a way to get out of this," I say, trying to wriggle free from his hold.

"I don't know," he smirks, as my ass brushes against something long and hard, "I kind of like this position."

At that, I freeze, and just as I'm about to say something, someone clears their throat nearby. I immediately push Vince away from me. An employee stands near my trolley, his brows raised in quiet surprise. My face turns bright red, and I whack Vince's chest lightly, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. "My friend doesn't always respect personal space."

Vince rolls his eyes and glances at the employee with an unreadable expression. The boy shifts uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"You're free to go now," Vince says, dismissing him with an air of authority, his accent thick as he speaks.

"Non essere scortese, testa di cazzo, sta solo facendo il suo lavoro" I snap, whilst the employee glances betwen us with a startled look before nodding quickly, taking his leave. I exhale a little, but the embarrassment still lingers.

"Ha fatto il suo lavoro, ora può andare" Vince shrugs and I slap his chest again.

"chiedi scusa" I demand angrily as I grab a handful of milk chocolate bars. How dare he do that to me? I can't believe he followed me into the shop, how did he even get out?

As I move toward the wine aisle, I glance at Vince, expecting some form of protest or a teasing comment. But he remains silent, not even shifting his posture. There's a stillness about him, almost as if he's lost in thought.

I continue, placing three bottles of wine into the cart, each one heavy with promise of the evening to come. The smooth glass gleams under the store's fluorescent lights. Once the bottles are securely nestled among the groceries, I make my way to the checkout. The beeping of the register is the only sound as I swipe my card, the anticipation of getting out of here bubbling inside me.

By the time I finish paying, Vince is already leaning casually against the side of my white Range Rover, his arms crossed over his chest. His stance is relaxed, but there's something focused in the way he stands, like he's waiting for me.

He moves without a word, opening the trunk and unloading the bags with practiced ease. I slip into the driver's seat, the familiar scent of leather filling my nose. I settle in, the bottle of red wine resting gently in my lap, a small moment of indulgence before the drive home.

The engine hums to life, and I can hear Vince's footsteps as he loads the last of the bags, but I don't look up—just grip the wheel a little tighter, savouring the quiet before we head back.

I sluggishly bring the bottle to my lips, the familiar burn of the wine sliding down my throat. The sensation is both soothing and numbing, a temporary escape from everything around me. I tip the bottle back a little too far, and some of the deep red liquid spills over, dribbling down my chin. I wipe it away absently, not caring that it stains my skin for a moment. The wine's warmth settles in, and for a brief second, I feel some kind of peace.

But then, the loud bang of the trunk slamming shut cuts through the air like a cold splash of water. I snap back into reality, blinking a little too quickly to hide my haze. Vince stands there, frowning deeply as he notices the bottle in my hand. His eyes narrow, his expression shifting into something sharp—disappointment, maybe, or concern, hard to tell.

"Seriously, Alexa?" His voice is a low grumble, a mix of frustration and something else I can't quite place. "It's clear one thing hasn't changed."

I don't need his judgment. I know what he's thinking.