Page 140 of Contempt

Diego nodded once—firm and sure. “I won’t lose ‘em, Ren.”

All too soon, Rose had tugged a happy Diego out of the room. Sometimes, it still stuck Renzo silent how he blinked, and his little brother went from four years old to ten, edging closer to eleven with every passing day. It felt like a blink in time even though he knew it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t because he was, at the same time, all too aware of the years that he had missed out on where his brother was concerned. That, like so many other things, were still ever present in his mind.

Like something else Rose had said, too.

Aware that his sister hadn’t entirely closed the door to the room, Renzo didn’t bother to cross the space and shut it. Instead, he turned to face the mirror fully. His entire reflection stared back. And like usual when he stared at himself in the mirror, he found himself once again comparing the then with the now.

What he used to be …

What he now was.

The tattoo that peeked out from under the sleeve of his tux on the back of his hand—the intricate black design that brought him peace whenever he remembered the hours sitting in the chair to get that sleeve perfect. The good twenty pounds of lean muscle he’d packed on from constant training at The League. The hard lines of his face hadn’t changed, but the dimness that was ever-present in his eyes was finally gone.

Before, years ago … he’d stare in a mirror and see things he didn’t want and thought he could never change. A man with no future, who came from discarded trash, and would never be more than he already was. Now, that person had been replaced by this man.

“I didn’t take you as the vain type, Renzo,” came a smooth, dark voice from the doorway.

Renzo spun around in just enough time to watch Lucian Marcello slip into the room. The man closed the door behind him—something Rose should have done, so then Renzo’s last few private moments before his wedding wouldn’t have been interrupted. Or rather, so that he wasn’t caught staring at himself like a fool in the mirror.

Lucian shot him a grin. “Admiring your reflection?”

Renzo arched a brow. “No.”

“No?”

“Realizing it’s not the same, that’s all.”

Lucian nodded like he understood that, although, Renzo didn’t have the first clue how the man could possibly understand. Crossing the room, Lucian took a seat on one of two high-back leather chairs, crossed his right ankle over his left knee, and rested his hands in his lap as he appraised Renzo.

He still had a way to go with this man. There were still some things that needed to be said between them at the end of the day before they were going to be one-hundred percent good again. Thing was—Renzo didn’t mind putting in the effort. In a way, Lucian Marcello had been one of the only people to give a shit about Renzo. Sure, the man had a funny way of showing it by giving him to The League … the beginning had been a little rough for them.

That didn’t change how this all shook out for them, though. And Renzo knew that he and Lucian were going to have the time to do that now—all Lucian’s scans had come back clear. He was officially in remission from his cancer.

So, yeah, they were going to have to put in the effort together. He knew that. He was grateful for this man, too.

If not for Lucian, then Renzo wouldn’t be able to look at the man he now was in the mirror. That made all the difference, didn’t it? For him, it certainly did. Daily.

He was willing to mend those bridges because of it.

Lucian tipped his head to the side, and stared at Renzo’s reflection. “And what do you see when you stare into the mirror, hmm?”

Renzo arched a brow. “Are you here to shrink my head, or what?”

“Just curious, actually.”

Well, that told him everything, right?

“It’s not what I see, but rather, what I want to see,” Renzo muttered, turning back to the mirror again. In the background, Lucian’s reflection stared back at him, but he was able to ignore it for the time being. Maybe if he said all this crazy shit that constantly pecked at the back of his brain like an annoying bird that wouldn’t leave him alone, then he might be able to move on from it. “I’ve moved on from who I used to be, haven’t I? I’ve changed.”

Lucian nodded. “In a great many ways, sure.”

See, even this man could see it.

“Then why do I still see the other me looking back, too? Despite the fact I’m not him now. Even though I’m entirely different. Something better. Someone more. I can be Renzo Anybody. I can change my last name three times a month, if I want to. I don’t ever have to be Renzo Zulla, born and bred from the Bronx if I don’t want to be. But I still see him all the fucking time.”

There.

He said it.