What Remains Of Us

chapter 5

Viviana – POV

I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the food hit the table. Garlic, herbs, something buttery and warm—it smelled like home and safety and everything I hadn’t let myself want in a long time. My stomach practically answered for me before I could say thank you.

Tommaso didn’t say much while I ate, but he didn’t look away either. His eyes stayed on me—not possessive, not pushy. Just… observant. Patient.

It was maddening.

He'd changed. His presence filled a room now without him saying a word. The same boy who used to sneak me late-night pizza on his Vespa had become a man people feared. But tonight, there was still a little softness under the steel. The way he remembered I liked my pasta with extra cheese. How he waited until I was done before getting up to clean up the mess.

I caught myself watching him more than I should’ve. The way his shirt hugged his shoulders when he stood, the way he smelled like expensive cologne and something familiar—something like him. I tried not to care. I tried not to want.

But it was getting harder to pretend.

When he handed me my jacket, our fingers brushed. Just a second too long. His eyes met mine, and the air between us changed. My breath caught in my throat, heat spreading low and slow. He stepped closer like he felt it too.

I could feel the pull—the weight of everything unsaid pressing against my skin.

“Viviana,” he said, my name low and rough on his tongue. Like he wasn’t just saying it—he was remembering it. Reclaiming it.

I swallowed hard and looked up at him. “Tommaso…”

The tension between us sparked like a live wire. My body leaned toward him before my mind could catch up. I wanted to say something smart, something to kill the heat crawling under my skin.

But he leaned closer, brushing a loose curl from my cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“You always were the only one who didn’t look at me like I was dangerous.”

“I was young,” I murmured, “and maybe a little stupid.”

He laughed under his breath. “You weren’t stupid. You were the only one who saw me.”

I didn’t say it, but I saw him now too—and it was confusing as hell. Part of me wanted to lean into the warmth of his touch, to believe in who he was beneath the title.

But the other part? The one that had learned how to survive?

That part knew better.

As he opened the door to walk me to my car, I hesitated.

“There’s something I should say,” I said, voice tight.

He paused. “Okay.”

“I’m not quitting the club.”

The words were out before I could soften them.

His eyes flickered, the corner of his jaw tightening. “You don’t need that job anymore.”

“I know. But I want it. I’m good at it. It gives me freedom.”

“Freedom?” he echoed, a sharp edge creeping in. “Working for one of my fronts?”

I crossed my arms. “I didn’t know it was yours. And even if I had—I’d still dance.”

His expression darkened, slow and measured. “I don’t like it.”

I squared my shoulders, lifting my chin. “I didn’t ask you to.”

The moment cracked between us, hot and sharp. The space that had just felt intimate now felt tense—charged in a different way.

“I’m not yours to control, Tommaso.”

His silence said more than his words ever could.

And yet, something in his eyes—something deeper—told me this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

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Tommaso – POV

I saw red.

The second she said it—“I’d still dance”—it was like someone had taken a match to dry grass. I knew she had fire in her. That defiant glint in her eye, the way she stood her ground even when everything in her world was crumbling—that’s what drew me to her years ago. But this wasn’t the same girl. This was a woman. A woman who knew the effect she had on men. Who knew exactly how many eyes followed her every sway, every step, and didn’t care if it made my blood boil.

I clenched my jaw and looked away before I said something I’d regret.

Because the truth was, I did want to control it. Not her—but the danger. The attention. The fact that every single night, some drunk bastard looked at her like she was nothing but something to buy, to grope, to whisper filthy things to.

And she let them—because it was a job.

But she didn’t get it. Not fully.

Not yet.

I shoved my hands in my pockets, biting back the heat rising in my chest. She thought I was angry because of ego—because I didn’t get my way. Maybe that was a small part of it. But the bigger part? It was fear. Cold and jagged and buried under all the years I thought she was gone. Dead.

And now she was here again, inches from me, smelling like sweat and soap and cinnamon, challenging me with that chin up, eyes blazing—and telling me she’d go back into the lion’s den like it was nothing.

I wanted to yell. I wanted to pull her close and curse her for being so damn stubborn. I wanted to kiss her just to make her stop talking.

Instead, I exhaled slowly, grounding myself.

“You think I’m trying to control you,” I finally said, voice low.

“Aren’t you?” she shot back.

I took a step forward, watching her freeze, just slightly. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection. I’ve been protecting myself for years.”

“Yeah? And you think you can keep that up now that people know you’re alive?”

She blinked.

Silence stretched, tense and heavy.

I leaned in, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.

“They think you’re dead, Vivi. You show your face too often in the wrong circles and that illusion crumbles. I can’t have you out in the open like that—not now. Not when there are still pieces of my father’s old crew loyal to his way of doing things. He wanted you gone once. You think he’s the only one?”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t respond.

Good. She needed to hear it.

“I’m not your enemy,” I added, softer now. “But I can’t pretend this is fine.”

She broke eye contact then, jaw tight. I knew I pushed too hard. But hell—this wasn’t a game. This was survival. And the woman I’d spent years trying to forget had walked back into my life in six-inch heels and declared she was just fine being bait in a den of wolves.

I didn’t know whether to be impressed or furious.

Maybe both.

I didn’t reach for her again. Not yet.

But as I watched her cross her arms and look out into the dark street, I knew one thing for certain—

She wasn’t walking away from me again.

Not without a fight.