The orange afternoon sun is on my back when I bring my car to a stop about a block away from the well-to-do little store on the corner of the street. When I turn my ignition off, I lean back and just stare at it, letting out a deep breath.

How long has it been?

The light playing off the glass window panes make it impossible to see inside the shop, but the sign outside is clear as ever: Bathing Beauty. I feel a smile on my face. As many mixed memories as it stirs up in me, there’s something comforting about knowing it’s still there, unchanged as ever. Maybe even a little nicer.

All thanks to her.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the car mirror. I’ve changed so much over the years. It feels like a lifetime ago that I was just a teenager, freshly landed in America. I kept my hair cut short back then, and my face was clean-shaven. I run a hand through the long locks that hang nearly to my shoulders now. It’s grown out thick and wavy. Even I have to admit it’s unkempt, and the short, coarse black beard on my face matches.

My voice sounds different, too. I think back to the thick accent I had in those years that I was still learning English, fresh from the old country. I’m so used to it now that English almost sounds as natural as my native Italian on my tongue. I might as well be a different person.

Better that way, I think. When I look into that mirror, I’m not sure I even see myself anymore. What I do see is the face of a man who’s done terrible things. A “made man,” they call us in this country. Mafioso.

What are you really doing here, Bruno?

My mind flashes back to her face, that gorgeous face that’s kept me going all this time. A bright candle in the darkness.

That face doesn’t need to know fear ever again. It doesn’t need to know me.

So why am I here, coming to risk dragging the past back? I don’t dare turn the ignition and drive off. I’ve made my decision, and I’m a man of my word.

After all, I remind myself, I’m not here just to see her, to remind myself that she’s alive and living happily, that what I did for her was all worth it. I’m here to make sure she’s safe.

The Cleaners.

Their name makes my lip curl. They are a gang that sprung up almost overnight, and they’ve gone from being a nuisance to a threat in just as little time.

A few years ago, they were nobodies in East Harlem. But times changed, East Harlem started to get cleaned up, and that meant the gangs had to move around. Soon, the Bronx found itself with new faces hitting warehouses on the south side. And goddamn, they’re vicious.

The Cleaners fight like men who have nothing to lose. I learned that the first week they hit our streets, and hit it hard.

I hit back, harder.

Those days left me with scars and them with worse ones, but the Cleaners have dug their heels in. They’ve been shaking down business left and right, and one of my boss’s associates gave us a tip that some of them might be skulking around here, Morris Park.

This is a nicer part of the Bronx. Places like Bathing Beauty can do pretty well for themselves, if they play their cards right. It would be a gamble to go after businesses this deep into our territory.

But if experience has taught me anything, it’s that the Cleaners are gambling men.

I pop on a pair of aviators in case there could be any chance of her still recognizing me—well, that, and a good pair of aviators can do a man some favors—and I step out of the car and cross the street. It’s a walk I’ve thought about taking a long time, but I never wanted to make her see this face again.

I’ve never wanted Serena to go through that pain again.

But I won’t stand by and let a rival gang get to her, either. My associates know that this store in particular is off-limits.

If Serena knew the reason why, it would kill her. All the more reason I must stay a stranger to her.

And the fact that we can’t touch Bathing Beauty makes it a prime target for the Cleaners. That’s something I can’t tolerate.

I reach the simple door and push it open.

There’s a rush of fragrant air from inside as a little bell jingles. I nearly have to stoop to step inside. If I felt out of place just being in the nicer side of town, I feel really out of place in this quaint little shop. But even so, the place so clearly has her personal touch to it that I can’t keep the faintest smile off my bearded face.

At least, until my eyes fall to the floor.

There’s broken glass all over, freshly fallen from some of the shelves and ornate displays lined up all around the shop. Expensive liquid soaps pool on the floor in puddles, some of the sparkling colors swirling together and changing color as they mix. In one corner, one of those fancy chalky balls you throw into a bath has fallen over, and it fizzes and pops in the liquid soap spill.

There’s something almost beautiful to the big mess, I have to admit.

I can see brightly-colored footprints leading back and forth from the door to the back of the shop. The space near the checkout counter seems to have been recently cleaned up.

And no sooner has the front door closed behind me than the back door swings open, and the afternoon light filtering in behind me falls on her.

Serena.

I have to keep my jaw from dropping.

Her dark blonde hair shines like gold in the sunlight, playing against her shoulders as if she were posing for a painting. It’s grown out a little since we were younger, and it suits her beautifully. Her hazel eyes could be jewels, gazing at me, taking in my form in that first split-second. Her olive-toned skin gives away the Italian blood running strong in her. And as the years passed and the sun kissed her skin, time has been very, very good to her. The Serena I knew as a teenager was a beautiful work-in-progress, and what I’m looking at now is a masterpiece that takes my breath away.

But then I see fear flash through her eyes. An old, familiar fear I’d hoped never to see again. Does she recognize me?

I then realize the sun is behind me, half-blinding her. I must look like little more than a 6’2” silhouette, clad in jeans, a tight-fitting white shirt, and a worn leather jacket that’s seen better days.

“Are you...closed?” I say slowly, trying to keep my Italian accent buried.

“Oh, oh no,” she says, and I can see the worry melting away from her face. An anxious smile replaces it, and she brushes a strand of hair from her face. I notice she’s carrying a large bucket of cleaning supplies in her other arm, and she sets it down on the counter. “Just, um, taking care of a little mess, nothing to close early for!”

“What happened?” my deep voice rumbles as I carefully step into the shop, trying not to step in the bright blue and violet rivers of moisturizer creeping along the tile.

“Well, you know,” she laughs nervously, tearing off a few paper towels to gingerly step over to the colorful chalk-ball and pick up the remnants of it. “It’s kind of a messy business!”

“I...see.” I arch an eyebrow, watching her drop the fizzy thing into a garbage bag. “There are worse things to spill everywhere.”

“Yes,” she says, as much to herself as to me, visibly trying to keep calm as she looks around at the damage surrounding her. “Yes, there definitely is. Yeah. I’ve got this. No problem.” As if remembering she has a customer, her eyes flutter back toward me, and she bites her lip apologetically. “I’m so sorry, just give me a minute or two and I’ll have all this cleaned up!”

She starts to dig through her bucket, but I’ve already made my way across the shop to the mop leaning against the wall and picked it up. A look of horror crosses her face when she sees me start to drag the thing through the mess.

“Oh- no, you don’t have to do that! Really, it won’t be long.”

I want to glance up at her and silence her with a wink, but I keep my head down as I get some of the fragrant slop pushed into a more manageable puddle. “I came in here to try some soap, didn’t I? This can be a test run. What’s this one called?” I ask as I dip the mop into a puddle of bright blue.

She’s stunned to silence for a few moments, but she finally says absently, “...that’s Blue-bury the Hatchet.”

“Good one,” I say, suppressing a grin on my face, and I can feel hers from across the room.

“Thanks.”

Not even a minute with her, and I already feel like we’ve never been apart. But I can’t let her feel too comfortable around her. I’m a stranger, after all. I have to play the part.

“Don’t you have any other help around here?” I ask, glancing at the back. “It can’t be just you running this place alone.”

“Just me,” she says, emptying the bucket of supplies onto the counter and carrying the bucket to a sink to fill with water. “I’ve usually got a handle on everything—I promise I’m not that much of a mess,” she laughs off, and as her back is turned, I can’t help but look up at her.

Her ass looks even better than I remember. I feel myself thickening between my legs, and I look back down to the mess as she brings the bucket over to set next to me.

“Usually isn’t this bad, I just...had a really bad spill this time,” she says, raising her eyebrows as she hesitates. I know what she looks like when she’s holding something back. She always was a proud girl, and now she’s a proud woman.

The years haven’t taken her spirit. Nothing could do that.

I dip the tip of my mop into the water and wring it out. I feel her watching me, and it makes me want to work all the harder. But I didn’t come here just to clean up.

“Just think of it as free advertising,” I say as my strong forearms work the handle. “People will be smelling this from a block away.”

I hear her gentle laugh, so full of life and quick wit, and it makes my heart just a little lighter to be able to draw that out of her so easily.

“It certainly helps draw in burly strangers to work for free,” she quips, and I grin as she breaks out some paper towels and spray to start scrubbing the floors in detail where I’ve already passed by. But I still have my suspicions to chase down.

“From the looks of this place, I’d say burly strangers are the last thing this shop needs—let me guess, did a football team come through here and get a little rowdy?” I’m probing to see how much she’s willing to tell me about what happened, because I have a feeling this isn’t the kind of mess that happens on accident.

“No, no,” she says with that slight flippant scoff that tells me she’s lying. Even after all these years, I can read her like a book. Thankfully my new look, the bright light and the rough voice cigarettes gave me keep her from recognizing me. “Just...you know, someone bumps into one of the displays, things start falling, and it’s one big chain reaction.”

“This is a big chain reaction,” I say, glancing at the various bits of broken glass across the shop.

“Tell me about it,” she says under her breath.

I’m not convinced for a second, but I let it go as we work together. It goes fast, both of us working as a team—it happened almost wordlessly, but it feels so natural. She still works quickly, thinking I’m a new customer and not wanting to embarrass herself, but I take my time to make sure the job is done well.

“Oh my god,” she says as she checks the clock when I stand up from detailing the floors, wiping my hands on a towel, “we’ve been at this for half an hour!”

“Making good time,” I say, looking around the shop proudly. It’s cleaned up pretty nicely.

“No, I mean, you spent all this time!” she says, letting out an incredulous laugh as she washes her hands off and dries them.

“Don’t mention it,” I say, setting the mop against the wall where I’d found it.

“I think I should,” she says, hands on her hips as she smiles at me. “Seriously, though, I really appreciate it. After everything that’s happened today, I never expected a stranger to take that kind of time.”

“What’s happened today?” I ask, quirking a brow, and I see her cheeks tinge with a bit of color.

“Wh- oh, nothing. The guy who caused the accident just kind of ran off, is all,” she lies, averting her eyes to the setting sun outside.

“Dirty move,” I say, crossing my arms. “Good thing you run a soap store.”

She just stares at me in disbelief for a beat before she bursts into a laugh at my awful pun, covering her face for a moment. “Oh...wow,” she says, starting to take a few steps toward me. “Who are you?”

“Someone who can tell you’ve had too much on your plate for one day,” I say. Every muscle in my body wants to take a step toward her as well, to play the game between us that she’s slipping into already. I want to flirt with her, charm her all over again, even as a stranger, take her out for a good time. If I’m really honest, I want to bend her over that counter and take her right here and now.

But for her safety, I have to keep my distance. I’m just checking in to make sure she’s okay, and then I can disappear from her life all over again. With any luck, she’ll never even realize I was back into it.

“Oh, who am I kidding,” she says, running a hand through her hair and looking out the door. “You’re right. Today’s been a nightmare.” She looks back to me, eyes flitting up and down my form. “Thank you, though. Really. God, I feel so silly, you didn’t come here to--”

“Get some rest,” I say, her name on the tip of my tongue before I reel it back in. “I’ll come back by tomorrow. Maybe I can take care of any other messes that come up,” I say, a boyish smile on my face.

I see the color flush into her cheeks, and she loses her words for a moment before she says, “I’ll be here!”

She was a spoiled brat when I knew her, but even then, it was the easiest thing in the world to get her off her guard and swooning. But I liked that about her. She didn’t feel shame for her feelings. She felt everything intensely. It was good to see that hadn’t changed.

There’s so much more I want to say, but I step out into the cool air without another word to her as I hear her voice calling, “Wait, I didn’t get your name!”

I pretend not to hear.

Seeing how happy she is now, I can’t let our tangled past flood into her life and upset everything she has. She’s running her own business, for God’s sake.

How would she feel about me if she knew I was an enforcer for the mafia?

I don’t even know how I feel about myself.

No, the boy she once knew is gone. And now, there’s just me.

I shake that thought off me as I start to walk away from the building. I have to keep my mind clear and focused for business. In truth, I had no plans to leave her for the night. A wrecked shop and a nervous business owner are telltale signs of extortionists coming through. Have the Cleaners gotten to her already? Whatever the case, I was planning to post up in my car and stake the place out for a night until I could watch Serena leave the shop and get to her car without incident. I’d even tail her home to make sure she gets there safely. I’m good enough at this kind of thing that I don’t worry about getting caught by her. Hell, I’m good enough at it that I make myself uneasy.

And my fears are validated as I approach my car in time to see a black sedan roll down the street.

I slow my pace, eyes watching it, and I can feel eyes inside it watching me. My hand itches to go to the gun under my jacket. But just after what feels like an eternity, the car picks up speed again and takes off. My lip curls into a grimace.

Serena’s being watched.