8. Gianna
Chapter 8
Gianna
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until the moment my name echoes across Nico’s empty dining room.
“Gianna, dear,” my father says, waving me forward with thinly veiled pride. “Come. Meet your future husband.”
My lungs squeeze, forcing me to exhale shakily as my patent leather heels click against the hardwood floor. All morning, I’ve steeled myself for this moment—being trotted out in a pastel-pink dress my father chose, hair smoothed into soft waves, makeup carefully neutral and understated. I’m meant to look pure, docile, and impossibly young, like a sacrificial lamb dressed in my Sunday best. My hands tremble slightly, and I press them against the folds of my skirt to still them.
My father’s guard flanks me as though I might bolt if they don’t keep watch. But they don’t need to worry; I know better than to run. My father’s wrath would be swift and brutal if I tried to escape—especially today.
My gaze flickers across the room. Saverio Castiglione sits at the head of the table while men I don’t recognize sit on either side of him. My father stands near them, arms crossed, posture as rigid as ever. But it’s the last one I set eyes on who commands my full attention because it’s him .
The world tilts sideways, my pulse thrumming loud enough to drown out the blood roaring in my ears. There’s no mistaking the broad shoulders, the intense glare, the shape of his mouth twisted into a near snarl. Luca. Only, I know now that’s not his name. Luciano Terlizzi. My fiancé.
Oh God.
Nausea churns in my stomach, but I clamp down on it. My father is watching me with hawklike intensity, and if I let a single tremor of unease show, he’ll demand answers I can’t give. Instead, I do what I’ve been taught since I was old enough to understand his expectations: I lower my chin to the perfect angle of submission, smooth out my expression into a carefully crafted mask of demure obedience, and step closer—just as he commanded.
I can practically feel everyone’s eyes burning my skin. Or maybe it’s just his eyes. Every nerve ending I possess crackles under the force of his gaze. Because behind his shock, there’s unmistakable fury.
My father clears his throat, basking in this moment like he’s orchestrated the perfect show. “Luciano, this is my youngest daughter, Gianna. I have kept her protected for so long, but now she’s ready to do her duty for the family.”
Duty . My vision blurs, and a strange, hollow laughter echoes in my mind, but I choke it down. This can’t be real. I snuck out to ruin my father’s plans, to ensure no man would want the perfect virgin bride he’d groomed me to be. My entire plan hinged on anonymity, on never seeing the man again. And now he stands before me, the future I was so desperate to avoid.
Luciano’s hand slams down on the table with a crack that jolts me, rattling plates and glassware. The men around the table tense, hands inching toward their holsters. My father bristles, eyes narrowing, but he doesn’t immediately intervene.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Luciano hisses loud enough to make me flinch.
That one sentence is enough to snap the room back into motion. One of the unknown men half rises, Saverio mutters something about caution, and my father’s men go on high alert. My father himself looks like he might step forward and demand an explanation, but before he can, Luciano turns, and my heart gives a painful lurch.
One second, I’m rooted to the spot, frozen like a deer in headlights. The next, his hand latches onto my arm, fingers gripping tight enough to dimple my skin. It isn’t gentle, but it doesn’t quite hurt either. Regardless, the force behind it sends a wave of panic surging through my chest. I’ve had men handle me roughly before, but never with such obvious fury. Yet I force myself to remain calm, to keep my breathing steady—even as he drags me away from the party of men.
“Luciano!” Someone snaps, but there’s no real power behind it. Saverio’s voice carries a warning as well, but it’s overshadowed by my father’s ominous silence. He’s letting this play out, maybe because he thinks I can handle the situation. Or worse, maybe he wants me to fail. Maybe he wants Luciano to kill me with his bare hands. My father has always been impossible to read, but right now, his silence speaks volumes.
Luciano tugs me through the door into Nico’s kitchen, ignoring the shocked faces of the cooks still working. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce hangs in the air, a bizarre contrast to the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
“Get the fuck out,” he barks at them. They’re so rattled by his tone that they scatter, leaving ladles and half-chopped vegetables behind. The moment the metal door swings shut, we’re alone.
His grip on my arm tightens, and I hiss in a breath, forcing myself to meet his eyes. They’re feral with rage, and something inside me curls defensively. He might intimidate me, but I’ve faced men more dangerous than him—men who wield violence like a second language. My father, for instance.
“What the fuck is this?” he demands.
His anger vibrates in the air like an electric current, making the hair on my arms stand on end, but I don’t let him see how it affects me. Instead, I square my shoulders and lift my chin, drawing on years of practice at masking fear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, my tone carefully even.
Luciano’s expression contorts, disbelief mingling with anger. “Don’t give me that.” He releases my arm abruptly, gesturing furiously at me. “You’re Giovanni Lucatello’s daughter? And you just happened to sneak out, pretend to be someone else, and fucked me , of all people? You’re telling me it was a fucking coincidence ?”
I swallow, heat staining my cheeks. “I didn’t know who you were,” I say, mustering every ounce of calm I don’t feel. “I swear, I had no clue.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I’m not buying that.”
“It’s the truth.” My voice shakes just a little. Calm, I remind myself. Stay calm. “I left my father’s house without permission because I wanted to—” My words falter, cheeks burning hotter. “I wanted to ruin myself so he couldn’t marry me off. I didn’t plan on running into the person he was marrying me to.”
His upper lip curls, baring his teeth. “So you mean to tell me this was just a cruel prank by the universe?”
A shaky exhale escapes my lips. “Yes.” I fold my arms over my chest, more for self-protection than defiance. “And now here we are.”
“Yeah,” he spits. “Here we fucking are.”
Luciano paces a few steps away. I catch a glimpse of the same tension I saw that night in the bar—like he’s constantly on the edge of exploding, a lit fuse burning shorter by the second. He mumbles under his breath, but I can’t make out the words.
The scar I saw on his chest in the hotel room suddenly makes sense. I’ve heard the whispered rumors passed between my father’s men: how Giovanni branded Luciano Terlizzi like cattle and left him to die in some abandoned alley. I didn’t realize I’d ever meet the man my father tried to kill. That’s when a chilling second thought occurs: the Terlizzi family retaliated by nearly beating Giovanni to death alongside my uncle, Marco. Blood for blood, violence for violence—the mafia way.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a pang of sympathy for the situation Luciano finds himself in. This is a man who hates my family with every fiber of his being, who’s nursed that hatred for years. What will he do to me to get his revenge? How far will he go to make my father suffer?
He spins to face me, his battle with himself over. “You owe me,” he glares, stepping close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. “You’re my soon-to-be wife, and I know damn well you aren’t a virgin. I’m the one that popped your fucking cherry.”
A surge of humiliation spears my chest. The way he says it like I’m used goods stings worse than I expected. But I know that’s what I wanted; that was the reason I let him inside me that night. Except now, the same man who took my virginity is the man who’s supposed to publicly claim me. The irony isn’t lost on me.
“Dante got out of a marriage with a girl who had a reputation . I can do it, too,” Luciano mumbles.
My breath catches at the cruelty in his tone. He wants to get rid of me? Shame wars with relief in my gut. This is what I planned, wasn’t it? For someone to reject me once they knew I was no longer pure?
But the plan hinged on that someone not being the man I’d marry. With my father’s rage waiting at home, I can’t escape this so easily. If Luciano calls off the wedding, Giovanni will want to know why. And if he discovers I’m no longer the perfect virgin bride he assumed me to be… God help me. Fear clenches my stomach. He might drag me back to the estate and lock me in a room for the rest of my life—or worse.
“If you want to back out, fine. Do it.” My voice is quieter than I intended but steady. “Tell everyone you can’t marry me for whatever reason. I won’t stop you.”
Luciano’s jaw ticks as silence stretches between us. He looks like he’s not sure how to handle my lack of fight, like he expected me to beg or cry or something. When I remain still, he scowls. His next words come out in a low snarl. “You’re un-fucking-believable,” he says with a growl. “You lie to me. Then you stand there like a statue, acting all high and mighty now that I know the truth?”
I keep my chin raised, refusing to flinch at the raw fury in his eyes. I’ve faced worse than you, I remind myself. My father has done things that make my blood run cold; Giovanni’s cruelty is the reason I was so desperate in the first place. “I never lied about my reasons,” I murmur. “Only my name.”
His body trembles with pent-up aggression, and for a terrifying moment, I think he might physically lash out. I brace myself, mind racing with possible escape routes. But then, with a sharp exhalation, he jerks away from me.
“Fuck this,” he mutters and storms out, shoving the double doors open so hard they slam against the walls. I’m left behind in the hush, heart pounding so violently I can barely hear my own thoughts.
The kitchen staff timidly returns, staring at me with wide-eyed concern. One older gentleman flashes me a sympathetic smile before setting down a pot and backing off. I can feel their collective pity. Chewing the inside of my cheek, I straighten my dress, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles until my hands stop shaking.
Then I turn, forcing myself to walk briskly out of the kitchen. My knees want to buckle, but I can’t let them. Not with them watching. Not when I have to go back out there and face my father’s scrutiny. This is nothing new. I’ve spent a lifetime swallowing fear and presenting a poised front for the outside world. I’m a master at appearing untouchable even when I’m crumbling inside.
All eyes swing to me the moment I enter. Giovanni’s expression is carved in disapproval, Saverio looks displeased, and others look at me with compassion in their gaze. But it’s Luciano—standing near the table, shoulders squared—that draws my attention. He refuses to meet my eyes, but I can feel the anger radiating from him.
He doesn’t say anything at first. He crosses his arms over his chest, lips pressed into a grim line. The vein in his temple throbs visibly. My father opens his mouth, presumably to demand an explanation, but before he can speak, Luciano’s voice slices through the silence like a sharpened blade.
“I want her moved into my house immediately,” he announces. His tone is clipped, leaving no room for argument. “Today.”
My stomach plunges into my ass, and a thousand questions crash through my mind. He wants me under his roof? Why? If he hates me so much, if he wants to dissolve this marriage, why do this? Unless... he’s punishing me. For lying, for sneaking out, for defying him in some way. Even though I wasn’t his at the time.
Giovanni’s face lights with grudging approval. “An excellent decision,” he declares, casting me a sidelong glance that makes my skin crawl. “We wouldn’t want your new bride out of your sight, now would we?”
Saverio nods, looking satisfied. “The arrangement can proceed smoothly then.” He glances at my father. “The sooner, the better.”
I swallow back the tightness in my throat, feeling a subtle prickle of tears behind my eyes. I made my bed, didn’t I? If I hadn’t snuck out, if I hadn’t tried to ruin myself, maybe I’d have ended up with some kinder fate. But maybe not. Maybe this was always the plan. The universe has a cruel sense of humor.
I steal one last glance at Luciano, who stands stiffly, fists flexing at his sides. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. He hates me. And yet, I sense he wants me close, whether for revenge, for answers, or for something darker, I don’t know. The contradiction in his stance—both rigid with anger and unconsciously leaning toward me—makes my stomach twist with unfamiliar dread.
What does he want from me? And why does he want me in his home?