7. Diana

7

DIANA

I watch from my car as Lazaro and Lana embrace, their silhouettes illuminated by the glow of the porch light. My chest tightens with a mix of emotions I can't quite untangle. There's relief at seeing Lazaro back where he belongs, with people who love him. But there's something else too, a bittersweet ache. A wish to belong to a family, to have even a single person who would think of me, who’d miss or worry about me if I vanished.

I'd notice… If you left.

Lazaro’s words come back to me. It was nice of him to say, but I know it doesn’t mean anything. If I drove off now and never returned, he might notice for a day or two, but after that, his life would go on.

I watch Lazaro and Lana a moment longer. It’s clear to me that while he doesn’t have memories of her, there is a connection between them.

Feeling a bit like an intruder on this private moment, I put my car in gear and head down the driveway toward the road. I tell myself I’m happy for Lazaro finally finding his family. And I am happy. But it highlights my own lack of family. My loneliness.

I drive to my tiny studio apartment, fumbling with the key to open the front door. I step inside and hang my purse on the renter safe wall hook I put on the wall. My stomach growls, sending me to the kitchenette to find something to eat. I rummage through my fridge, pulling out ingredients. On a whim, I decide to try a new recipe—a hearty sandwich I think Lazaro might enjoy.

As I chop vegetables and layer meats and cheeses, my mind wanders back to the scene I witnessed. The way Lana clung to Lazaro, the relief evident in every line of her body. The tenderness in Lazaro's embrace, despite his usual gruff demeanor.

I spread a tangy herb aioli on crusty bread, thinking about how different my life is from theirs. The D'Amatos have their issues, sure, but beneath it all is a foundation of love and belonging.

I assemble my sandwich, adding a final sprinkle of oregano, and carry it to the tiny table and single chair I found discarded on the side of the road. After a cleaning, they serve me well for the time I’m here.

I take a bite of the sandwich, the flavors bursting on my tongue. I definitely want to make this for Lazaro. Thinking of him has me imagining the D'Amato family gathered around their grand dining table, passing dishes and trading barbs. Elio looking lovingly at his wife and daughter. Matteo cracking jokes. Lana squabbling with Lazaro.

I've always prided myself on my independence, on finding adventure wherever the wind takes me. But tonight, in this quiet apartment, I let myself imagine what it might be like to put down roots. To build the kind of bonds I see between Lazaro and Lana. I do want to find a place to call home. To have friends and family. To belong.

As I glance around my little home, it’s difficult to hold on to the belief that I will find my place. Because I move around, I don’t own much. In each new city, I find furnished rooms or studio apartments to rent. If I have to get furniture, I use freecycle apps to find what I need. I have a bed that doubles as a couch. A small dresser that even with only three drawers offers more room than I need for the few clothes I own.

There are no photos on the walls, no knick-knacks collecting dust. Just a few dog-eared paperbacks stacked on a small coffee table that doubles as a nightstand. I used to have a plant that traveled with me, but it died back in San Antonio. I suppose my sparse home seems a bit sad, but what’s the point of gathering stuff when I don’t know how long I’ll be in a place?

With a fading appetite, I wrap up the remaining half of my sandwich and tuck it in the fridge. I can have it for dinner tomorrow. I pour myself a glass of cheap wine and grab the paperback I picked up from a free library stand and go to my bed/couch to read.

This book is a romance, which I usually avoid. Not that I don’t like or believe in love, because I do. But romances remind me of how alone I am. Plus, they’re so far-fetched. But I suppose all books are. I mean, in all my travels, I’ve never met a wizard or a dragon or a vampire.

I read until my eyes start to droop. I put on my shorts and tank top I sleep in, brush my teeth and wash my face in my cramped bathroom, and then climb into bed. I’m on the edge of sleep when a thunderous pounding on my door jolts me awake. My heart races as I bolt upright. For a split second, I wonder if I imagined it. Then it comes again, more insistent this time.

I hesitate, my mind spinning through possibilities. Who could be at my door at this hour? I don’t know anyone except the D’Amatos and my work colleagues. None of them would show up in the middle of the night, would they?

Curiosity wins out over caution. I slip out of bed, padding barefoot across the floor. My hand trembles slightly as I reach for the doorknob. I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and pull it open.

Lazaro D'Amato looms in my doorway, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame. His eyes are dark and intense, his jaw clenched tight. He looks dangerous, every inch the man people whisper about in fear.

But I feel no fear. My heart races, yes, but not from fright. It's something else entirely.

"Lazaro? What are you?—"

He doesn't wait for an invitation, brushing past me into my tiny apartment. His presence fills every corner of the room, making the space feel even smaller. I'm acutely aware of him—the scent of motor oil still clinging to his skin, the way his muscles shift beneath his shirt as he moves.

I close the door, turning to face him. "Is everything okay? Did something happen with your family?"

Lazaro's gaze roams the sparse room before settling on me. The intensity in his eyes makes me shiver. Tension radiates off him in waves. Whatever drove him here, it's clear he's struggling with something intense.

"What's going on? Are you okay?"

He starts pacing, and I wait, giving him space to gather his thoughts, thinking he’s come because he needs to talk. As I watch, I get the sense that he wants to say something and at the same time is a second away from bolting out the door.

Knowing that food often calms him when he comes to the kitchen, I decide to offer him the sandwich I’d made earlier. “I don’t have cookies, but I made a sandwich I think you’ll like. Would you like me to get it for you?”

He stops pacing, his intense gaze settling on me again, making my breath catch. The air between us grows heavy, charged with electricity. My heart races as Lazaro takes a step toward me, then another, his presence looming large over me. I back up until I hit the wall. I’m not afraid, per se. Just unsure. I tilt my head back to meet his gaze. Those hazel eyes are dark, stormy with emotions I can't decipher.

I should be scared. This man has a reputation for violence, for unpredictability. I swallow hard, acutely aware of how close he is, of the heat radiating from his body. The air between us crackles with an intensity that both thrills and terrifies me.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he says, his voice low and rough. "Since the moment I laid eyes on you, you’ve been lodged in my head.”

Uh… I’m not sure how to respond to that. I can’t tell if it’s a good thing or bad. Am I like an annoying song constantly replaying?

“When I'm with you, everything feels… easier. Like I can breathe again."

That doesn’t sound like I’m annoying. “I’m glad I put you at ease. Is that why you’re here? You need to talk?—”

“You fucking drove off,” he snaps.

I flinch. “What?”

“You just drove away after dropping me off. Disappeared. Vanished.” His tone is bitter, but I see vulnerability in his eyes.

“You were home. With Lana. I didn’t want to intrude.”

He shakes his head like I'm missing the point. "You wouldn't have been intruding. You're the only one who makes me feel like myself. Not who I used to be or who they want me to be. Just… me."

Warmth fills my chest. This brusque man is opening up to me, and in doing so is making me feel a connection to him.

His gaze drifts down to my mouth, and my breath catches as I wonder if he’s going to kiss me. He leans in, and my heart hammers in my chest at the anticipation. The moment draws out until my mind is screaming, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me .

Without warning, Lazaro's eyes darken and he takes a step back. The loss of his warmth leaves me cold.

"No," he growls, running a hand through his hair. "This is wrong. You need to stay away from me."

His words sting, but confusion quickly overtakes the hurt. "What? You're mad that I left and now you're telling me to stay away. Which, by the way, this is my place. You came here?—”

He lets out a growl. “Fuck! You need to stay away.”

“From your home or just you?”

His face contorts into frustration. “Both… fuck… neither.” He turns away and starts pacing again. “I'm trying to protect you."

"From you? I'm not afraid of you, Lazaro."

His gaze snaps to mine, fierce and intense. "You should be. You don't know what I'm capable of."

I meet his stare unflinchingly. “Everyone is capable of bad things.”

“Jesus.” He shakes his head. “Do you know my family? Me?”

“Yes.”

“No, you don’t know me. I don’t even know me, except that I’m capable of more than just bad things. Things I’m not in control of. Mad dog. That’s what they call me.”

"That's the kind of man you were. You're different now. I see it."

He lets out another frustrated growl. "You don't know that. I could snap at any moment. I could hurt you."

"But you won't.” It’s odd how sure I am of that even though I have no reason to feel so sure. I reach out to take his hand. He flinches but doesn't pull away.

"You won't hurt me," I insist, stepping closer. "I trust you, Lazaro."

He shakes his head. "You shouldn't. I don't even trust myself."

I reach up, cupping his cheek in my palm. He leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When they open again, the intensity in his gaze steals my breath. The air between us feels electric, charged with longing.

"Tell me to stay away," he whispers. "Tell me to leave, and I will. I'll walk out that door and never bother you again."

The world narrows down to just the two of us. Everything else fades away. All that matters is this moment, this choice.

"And if I don't want you to stay away?"

Lazaro's eyes darken, his grip on my hand tightening. "Then I intend to have you here and now because I want you so badly I'm going out of my mind."