De Vale's Savior

Shopping Carts and Tight Fits

The bright, buzzing fluorescent lights of Food City did absolutely nothing to calm Lyra’s nerves. She pushed a squeaky-wheeled shopping cart down the produce aisle, tossing in bags of carrots, heavy onions, potatoes, and a pack of fresh tomatoes. Next, she hit the meat section, grabbing enough chicken and beef to feed a small army—or, more accurately, one six-foot-three hidden crime lord who probably ate raw iron for breakfast.

After grabbing three extra boxes of medical bandages and a large bottle of antiseptic, Lyra wheeled her massive haul to the checkout. She paid, dragged the heavy grocery bags to her sedan, and shoved them into the back seat. But the worst part of her day was still ahead of her.

She drove over to a local men’s clothing boutique down the block. Stepping inside, she was immediately surrounded by racks of button-down shirts, jeans, and hoodies.

Lyra stood in the middle of the store, completely lost.

"Okay, let's think," she muttered to herself, tapping her chin with her finger. "He is absolutely huge. His shoulders are as wide as my kitchen doorway. He’s six-foot-three... so is he an XL? An XXL? Or do they make a size specifically for human brick walls?"

She casually walked through the aisles, picking up a couple of plain black t-shirts and gray sweatpants. She didn't know his exact size, so she just held the hangers up in the air, imagining Renzo’s massive frame, and guessed. She picked out the biggest sizes she could find, hoping they wouldn't look like doll clothes on him.

Then, she reached the underwear section.

Lyra froze. Her face instantly flushed a bright, burning red. She looked around the shop, suddenly wishing she could turn invisible. She had to buy underwear for a strange, dangerous man who was currently sleeping in her bed.

A young male salesman with a slick haircut and a nametag walked over, noticing her standing there like a statue. "Can I help you find something, miss? Looking for a gift for your boyfriend?"

Lyra swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice completely normal and casual. "Uh, yes. Just some basic boxer briefs, please. In... um... the biggest size you have. XXL. Maybe XXXL?"

The salesman’s eyebrows shot straight up. He let out a low whistle, turning around to call his coworker over. "Hey, Marcus! Bring over the max-size boxes from the back. The lady here needs the extra, extra large."

Marcus, a tall guy with a smirk, walked over with the boxes. He looked at the massive size, then looked at Lyra’s 5'6" frame, and chuckled. "Wow. XXL? Your boyfriend must be an absolute giant, miss. Or maybe you're just a very lucky girl."

The first salesman grinned, leaning against the counter. "Yeah, no kidding. That size is practically a parachute. You sure he can even fill that out, or are you just wishing?"

They started snickering, making quiet, dirty jokes and verifying the size with teasing winks. Lyra felt her ears burning with pure embarrassment. She wanted to yell at them, but she forced herself to keep a straight face. She just grabbed the box, handed over her cash, and snatched the shopping bag without saying a word.

By the time Lyra climbed the three flights of stairs back to her apartment, she was completely exhausted.

She dumped the heavy grocery bags and clothing items onto the kitchen floor. She tried to tell herself that the dirty jokes from the salesmen didn't matter, but the teasing comments still landed heavily in her heart. It wasn't just about being embarrassed in the shop; it made her realize how dangerous this situation actually was.

If a couple of random store clerks could make jokes just from looking at an underwear size, what would her neighbors do? If Mrs. Gable across the hall saw a massive, strange man walking into this apartment, the gossip would spread like wildfire. A single rumor could ruin her quiet life as a university lecturer. She looked toward her bedroom door, a deep wave of worry washing over her.

Lyra walked quietly to the bedroom and peeked inside.

Renzo was still lying on the bed, asleep. The curtains were drawn, casting dark shadows across his sharp, masculine face. Up close, Lyra could see a tight tension in his jaw. His brow was furrowed, and a faint sweat lined his forehead. Even in his sleep, he looked like he was in immense pain—pain that he refused to show when he was awake. For all his terrifying threats and arrogant blackmail, he was still a human being who had been shot and hit by a car.

Her phone vibrated sharply in her pocket. Lyra quickly stepped back into the hallway to answer it.

"Lyra! Is he alive? Did he try to choke you again?" Leo’s anxious voice blasted through the speaker.

"Hi, Leo. No, he's asleep right now," Lyra whispered, leaning against the wall. "He actually looks like he's in a lot of pain, even though he tries to act like a tough guy."

Leo sighed on the other end. "Of course he's in pain, I dug a piece of lead out of his ribs. Listen, his vitals were stable, but he needs to rest. I'll come over tomorrow morning before my shift to check the stitches and change the dressing on his wound. Just make sure he doesn't move too much. And Lyra... be careful."

"I will. Thanks, Leo," she said softly, hanging up.

Taking a deep, refreshing breath, Lyra decided she needed a reset. She marched into the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. As the warm water washed away the stress, the embarrassment from the shop, and the anxiety about the neighbors, her naturally playful, happy mood returned.

She got out, changed into a fresh pair of comfortable sweatpants, and walked into the kitchen. It was time to cook.

Lyra put on some upbeat, cozy music at a low volume and started chopping vegetables for a big stew. To keep her energy up, she grabbed a whole, raw carrot from the bag and started munching on it happily like a rabbit.

A shadow fell over the kitchen doorway.

Lyra turned around, still chewing on her carrot, and her black eyes instantly went wide.

Renzo was standing there. He had finally woken up and dragged his massive body out of bed. But Lyra couldn't even think about how dangerous he was, because her eyes locked directly onto his clothes.

He had clearly found the shopping bags she left on the floor. He had ignored the gray sweatpants and the loose t-shirts, and instead, he had pulled on a plain white ribbed tank top.

The problem? Lyra had severely miscalculated his size.

The XXL tank top was not an XXL. It was clearly a slim-fit design meant for a much smaller man. On Renzo’s massive, broad 6'3" frame, the fabric was stretched so incredibly tight that it looked like a skinny, white sports bra. His huge, muscular chest, ripped abdominal muscles, and heavily tattooed shoulders were bursting out of the tiny fabric. The hem of the shirt didn't even reach his belly button; it stopped abruptly right below his chest.

Lyra’s brain short-circuited.

A massive bubble of laughter trapped itself in her throat. She gasped, her eyes watering as she violently choked on the piece of carrot she was chewing.

"Cough! *Cough!* Oh my god," Lyra spluttered, pounding her fist against her chest as she tried to breathe. She leaned against the kitchen counter, her face turning red as she desperately tried to suppress a hysterical laugh.

Renzo stood in the doorway, his icy blue eyes fixed on her. His jaw was tight, and his arms were crossed over his massive, exposed midriff. He looked incredibly dangerous, but the tiny, tight crop-top tank top completely ruined his terrifying mafia aura.

"Is something amusing, *cara*?" Renzo rumbled, his deep, gravelly baritone sounding lower and angrier than usual.

Lyra covered her mouth with both hands, her shoulders shaking with silent giggles. "No! No, nothing at all. You just have to manage with those clothes for now. I guessed your size, so you'll just have to deal with it."

Renzo looked down at himself, his jagged eyebrow twitching with absolute annoyance. He tried to pull the hem of the white shirt down, but the elastic fabric snapped right back up under his chest like a rubber band. He let out a low, dark Italian curse that sounded completely ridiculous coming from a man wearing what looked like a sports bra.

"The sizing in this country is absurd," Renzo growled, stepping into the kitchen. Despite his irritation, his sharp blue eyes tracked her movements, a sudden spark of intense interest hiding behind his cold gaze as he watched her struggle to contain her laughter. He liked that she wasn't cowering in fear.

"Hey, don't blame the country! Just manage with what you've got," Lyra said, finally catching her breath. She wiped a tear of laughter from her eye and pointed a carrot stick at him. "You need to go sit back down. My friend Leo called, and he’s coming tomorrow morning to change your bandages. You shouldn't be walking around stretching those stitches."

Renzo paused, his eyes narrowing. "The doctor is returning?"

"Yes, so don't choke him this time. He's doing us a favor," Lyra said, her playful attitude returning in full force. She walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a fresh carton of milk. She poured a large glass and set it on the counter, pushing it toward him. "Here. Drink this. It’s good for your bones, and it might help cool down your massive mafia temper. I'm going out for a quick bit, so stay put."

With an amused grin, she turned around, grabbed her keys, and walked out of the apartment, locking the door behind her.

Inside the apartment, the silence returned. Renzo stood by the counter for a moment, his side throbbing with a sharp, burning ache. He ignored the pain, his formidable willpower forcing his muscles to move as he walked slowly toward the living room window.

He field-tested his weight against his injury, pulling the lace curtain back slightly. His sharp blue eyes looked down at the street below.

A moment later, Lyra emerged from the building, her long, curly hair bouncing as she hurried toward her car. She hopped into the driver's seat of her sleek, dark sedan, started the engine, and smoothly pulled away from the curb into the afternoon traffic.

Renzo’s eyes narrowed into tiny, calculating slits as he watched the vehicle disappear down the road.

A strange, familiar pattern clicked in his hyper-observant brain. He looked at the exact shape of the rear bumper, the distinct curve of the car’s hood, and the precise color of the paint under the sunlight. His mind flashed back to the dark side street, the blinding headlights, and the sudden, violent impact that had sent him rolling over a car hood right after the shootout.

Renzo's jaw tightened, a cold, dangerous realization settling deep in his chest.

*That car...* Renzo thought, his icy blue eyes flashing with a sudden, dark thrill of discovery. *That is the exact same vehicle that struck me in the dark.*