Work With Me -Bruno Buccellati x Reader-

14- Honesty

Your form appeared before Abbacchio's eyes. You looked near enough the same, except there was a hint of fear in your eyes. Abbacchio followed you around the villa, until you eventually stopped beside the phone in what he supposed was your bedroom. You were holding the receiver, hands almost shaking as you waited for someone to answer.

"Hello, Capo?" 

Abbacchio can't hear the person's reply. In the silence between your words there comes nothing but the fizzling radio noise that Moody Blues makes. He waits until you start to talk again,

"Yes, there's something I'd like to tell the Boss- it's important."

Again, there's no reply to be heard. Moody Blues' popping and fizzling is louder than usual in the empty villa. Abbacchio is on edge, desperate to hear every word- it's too important to miss.

"Its about my squadra, they're up to something. I don't know what exactly, but they're looking into the Boss's identity."

The pause is long and drawn out this time. Your expression is a look of anxiety and fear. Sweat grows on your brow, and you're chewing on your bottom lip. 

"Yes, yes, I tried to tell them that. They won't listen to me, I thought maybe it would be best if you told them..." You sighed, "I don't want anything bad to happen to them- they're not usually liken this."

From what Abbacchio could tell, the last part of that conversation wasn't heard. They had hung up a while ago, and you were left holding a dead receiver to your ear. Abbacchio paused the replay, but he didn't call back Moody Blues. 

It was you. All along, the person who had snitched to the Boss was you. Abbacchio didn't know what to say. Three years, you had pretended to believe it was Bruno, but really you knew who was responsible. Bruno would be furious if he knew, he would also surely be upset. Abbacchio didn't know what to do, but he decided he should try and learn more...

Moody Blues skipped forward to the fateful day. You were sitting in the living room with other people, Abbacchio guessed it was your team. Then, the door opened and he guessed someone had entered. It was hard to tell what exactly took place in that room, but he could see your cowering body, huddled in the corner. You were sobbing, begging whoever was there to stop. But you were also saying something else, something a lot quieter, but just as pained.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

It was a continuous plea, one Abbacchio could just bear to listen to. You were distraught, completely terrified, and he couldn't stand to see your pathetic grovelling as you begged and begged for the torture to end. He finally recalled his stand, and left the villa soon thereafter. 

He was shaken, but not by the sight of you crying. No, he was shaken by the idea that you had lied, carried this secret for so long. It was night time now, and Abbacchio walked underneath the moon, thinking about what he had seen. So your hatred for Buccellati, had it all been an act? Did you really pretend, all that time, just to keep people from discovering the truth? You had done well, to play such a role so convincingly, but now he had proof, and he wasn't going to hesitate to tell people.

Especially Bruno, he deserved to know the truth. It would hurt him, Abbacchio could tell he really did care for you. But that didn't matter now, you had lied to him, deceived him and made him out to be some cruel murderer when the real culprit was you all this time. He frowned to himself, taking out a cigarette, watching as the low glow of the embers illuminated the hand that held it. He would walk back to the station, he decided, get a train home and then- just then, would be call you to let you know that you had been found out.

~~~~~~~~

You were sitting on the sofa, legs curled up under you, listening to Bruno read. It was some book on Italy's history, and while it wasn't particularly interesting, you loved the way Bruno sounded. His voice was different when he pronounced the Italian words, his accent grew thicker with proper pronunciation and you relished in it. You imagined how he would sound in your ear, murmuring sweet things in Italian to you. It wouldn't matter if you could understand it or not, the sound of Bruno's voice could both lull you to sleep and awaken you from a coma. It was like some song, centuries old, carried only on the winds, sung only by the gods. 

Daringly, you shifted closer to him, wishing to feel the words on your skin as he continued to read, turning the pages and running his finger along the paper to keep track of the lines. He stopped for a moment, only to wrap an arm around you, drawing you in close. He held the book in both hands forcing the two of you together, your head resting on his shoulder. You breathed in his aroma, rich and smooth, you could almost picture it. It would be like a river, swirling and golden, and his words would join in the water, fluid and drawn out in a slow pace. You could bathe in that river forever, submerge yourself in it, drown in it and be perfectly happy doing so. He was perfect, and he was everything to you.

How fast you had fallen for him. Was this his affect on people? Was this how he managed to get so many people to like him? He was intoxicating in some odd way, and you couldn't quite place it. You weren't usually one to get so attached so easily, but Bruno made you feel nothing but loved. In turn, you loved him.

You were sure of that, if nothing else in this world. You loved Bruno Buccellati.

He shifted, and your head fell from his shoulder and into his lap. You shifted your legs, lying on your side. He put down the book, one hand stroking your hair lazily. The other rested on your waist, feeling at the flesh there, almost like had never felt something quite like it before. His hand travelled upwards, poking at your ribs almost playfully. You chuckled, and so did he,

"I've liked having you here." He said in a hushed voice. The hand poking at your ribs went back to your waist, and rested there- still at last.

"I've liked being here." 

"No, Y/N, I'm afraid it might be more than that." He stroked stroking your hair. The tension grew and your chest tightened, "I'm afraid I've done something I really shouldn't have done."

"And what would that be?" You couldn't stop the stupid smile spreading across your face as you looked up at him and met his gaze. His eyes were misty, and yet they were still beautiful. His cheeks were glowing with a red hue, growing from his cheeks and spreading to his nose.

The sight took your breath from you. 

"I'm afraid..." He leant down until his face was just a couple inches from yours, "I'm afraid I've fallen in love with you."

The sound of his confession was like the gates of heaven slamming open. In one movement, he lifted you up until you were sat straight again and enraptured your lips with his. It was if he were scared to hear your response, so he removed the possibility of speaking with his kiss. His lips were as warm and inviting as they had been on your cheek, and you were almost crying with joy. You couldn't help it, cupping his face in your hands, desperately holding his face to yours. You didn't want it to end, this was your oxygen now, this was your very life essence. 

It didn't end for a minute or so, neither of you could bear to pull away and break the seal you had created. But eventually, you had to, as Bruno dropped your face almost harshly,

"The phone upstairs is ringing, it's probably important." He got up, but then saw your saddened face, "I'm sorry, but I promise we'll continue this shortly." 

You grinned, allowing him to go upstairs on his own, anxiously awaiting his return. You couldn't wait.