5. Ginevra
5
GINEVRA
A groan escapes my lips as I slam my phone a bit too forcefully onto the side table beside me. I never realized how maddening boredom could be until I started staying at Lorenzo’s house.
After the incident three days ago, Lorenzo put me on house arrest, swiftly packing up most of my things from my apartment and moving me here, to his penthouse in the upper reaches of Manhattan.
My army of bodyguards has doubled, and while I’m permitted to go out, it’s always under heavy escort. Mostly, I just linger in my assigned bedroom. Occasionally, like today, I wander through the vast house, but it feels like I’m trapped within these walls.
I know the real reason I haven’t left is fear. I’m terrified because someone out there wants me dead. Sometimes, I still hear the explosion echoing in my mind. I remember how the blast threw me to the floor and the sharp pain from the scratches on my arms. Luckily, I wasn’t seriously injured since I stood far away when it happened, but it still feels like a nightmare I can’t escape.
So I stay put. Even though it makes me want to suffocate sometimes, I don’t leave.
Lorenzo has been trying to cheer me up these past couple of days. I notice he comes home earlier than usual, most times with my favorite ice cream or desserts he knows I like. But beneath his smiles, I see the worry in his eyes. He looks even more stressed now than he did when the tragedy that befell our family’s architectural firm happened.
Today, I tried to do something different instead of moping around all day. I attempted making lunch myself. I tried following a recipe I found online for grilled chicken salad, but I ended up burning it badly. I ate a cold sandwich because I was too lazy and sad to order some food, then I watched the most boring movie ever.
It’s still 2 p.m., but the day has felt so long already. I’m sitting in Lorenzo’s living room, the heavy drapes of the curtain drawn tight against the world outside. The house feels like a fortress—solid and imposing, with its dark wood paneling and ornate furniture that seems to whisper of old wealth. I used to love Lorenzo’s house so much. It had a certain dark charm to it—the perfect mixture of old money and modern luxury.
Now, it feels like a gilded cage.
But living here now has made me realize how depressing the constant dark colors and minimalist decor makes me feel. It’s very different from my apartment, which was light and spacious, with colorful artworks hung on walls and plants in every corner.
God, I miss my house and plants. Lorenzo didn’t bring them, and tears spring in my eyes as I realize they must have withered by now.
I startle slightly at the sudden ring of the doorbell and the sound of the key code being entered. Wiping my tears harshly, I wonder why Lorenzo is back so early. I grab my phone again and pretend to be scrolling through messages when I hear the sound of his footsteps approaching.
“Sweet Pea?”
I turn, a little surprised to see Rinaldo walking towards me. He’s the only one who calls me that, a nickname I loathe but can’t escape.
“Hey,” I mutter as he gets to the sofa and leans in to press a kiss to my forehead.
Rinaldo visited me two days ago after he heard what happened. He didn’t stay long, claiming he had a very important meeting to attend. I wasn’t shocked, and honestly, I didn’t care. I was too shaken to care.
The plush sofa sinks under his weight as he sits beside me, gently cupping my face.
“Have you been crying?” he asks, his brow furrowing.
“No,” I lie, the word slipping out easily.
He observes my face for a few seconds before saying, “You’re lying.”
I sigh as his hand continues to cradle my face.
“Move in with me, Ginny...”
“Rinaldo—”
He leans in, pressing a kiss against my lips. I sigh again, and he takes advantage of that, his tongue slipping into my mouth. I respond eagerly, ignoring the way his tongue moves like he’s unsure of what he’s doing.
I run one hand through his blonde locks while the other holds his shoulder tightly. My fingers tug at his hair lightly as if I needed something physical to ground myself in reality.
“Slow down, Sweet Pea,” he murmurs against my lips, placing his two hands on my waist to keep us steady.
“I want this, Rinaldo,” I murmur against his lips, leaning towards him.
We don’t have sex very often. Rinaldo is always busy with work, so a large percentage of the times I spend the night at his place is spent with him playing video games or going straight to bed the moment he eats dinner. The few times we do have sex, it’s always a letdown. Rinaldo orgasms and goes right to sleep while I have to finish off with my hands.
I don’t miss Rinaldo himself; it’s the intimacy, the physical connection that I long for. The sensation of being touched, the pleasure of being truly satisfied, and the raw, exhilarating release of being thoroughly fucked—these are the things I’ve been without for too long.
In truth, they’re things I’ve rarely had the chance to experience.
I lean into him and begin pressing open-mouthed kisses against his neck.
“I need to forget everything, baby,” I murmur, throwing one leg over his waist until I’m straddling him on the sofa.
He grunts as I roll my hips against his erection. “Fuck, Sweet Pea.”
“Make me forget.”
Grabbing my face, he smashes his lips against mine. I feel the slightly awkward clash of tongue and teeth as his tongue swirls around inside of my mouth. Instead, I focus on the sensation of his hardness rubbing against my clothed clit as I rock against him.
He plants his hands on my waist, and I whine against his lips as he stands to his feet.
“Someone might walk in,” he leans back to give me a small smile.
In that moment, I’m not sure I would care. Yet, I blow out a breath before directing him to the guest room. The moment we get in, I try to push him down to the bed and straddle him again, but he carries me to the middle of the bed instead.
No words need to be said. I already know Rinaldo hates it when I try to stay on top. He begins to unbutton his shirt, and I take that as a cue to pull off my simple sundress and panties.
When we are both naked, he slips on a condom he brought, like he planned to come have sex with me, positions himself between my spread legs, and slips into me.
“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he grunts, burying his head in my neck. “I could do this forever. Just let go.”
I close my eyes as he begins to thrust. I know exactly how this will go, and I regret kissing him back in the first place. His thrusts become faster, and he plants his hands at the sides of my head to hold himself up. Soon enough, he’s grunting and moaning loudly.
“Do you love this, baby?”
My gaze shifts from the ceiling to his face. “Yes, baby,” I let out a high-pitched moan, the one that usually makes him pound faster until he comes.
And that’s exactly what happens.
As he pulls off my body, I cover myself with a blanket, suddenly feeling hollow and empty.
As he slips his clothes back on, I close my eyes, waiting for him to leave.
“I brought you something, Sweet Pea,” he suddenly says.
When I open my eyes, I see he’s holding a velvet box.
“It’s high time you wore my ring on your finger, don’t you think?” He asks, flashing me a smile.
He hands the box over to me just as his phone rings. I place the box and place it on the bedside table without opening it.
“Sure, I’ll be there very soon,” he tells whoever is on the line before ending the call.
When he starts telling me how he has to go attend to something important, I don’t say anything. He says something about how I should try to relax and how I should think about us moving in together, but I can’t help but feel more isolated than before.
The room feels colder now, the plush fabric of the blanket pressing around me like a cage. I watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him, and I’m left in a silence that feels suffocating. The ticking clock on the wall seems to mock my restless thoughts, each second more dreadful than the last.
I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down on me. My fears return. Who would want to kill me? The question spirals in my mind, tangling with the fear that refuses to fade. I close my eyes, trying to block out the thoughts, but they come rushing back—the smell of smoke, the panic, the screaming.
I lose track of time, lost deep in my thoughts. The next time I hear heavy footsteps in the house, I know it’s Lorenzo. I quick throw my sundress back on and step out of the bedroom. I meet him halfway down the stairs.
“What’s wrong?” I ask the moment I see his face.
It’s very obvious that something happened. His face tells a story of distress: bloodshot eyes, missing suit jacket, several buttons undone on his shirt, and his hair tousled as if he’s been running his hands through it all day. A faint smell of beer lingers around him.
When he doesn’t deny that something is wrong, my heart thuds. This has to be bad.
“Talk to me, Lorenzo,” I grab his hand. “You’re scaring me.”
He takes a moment, as if he’s gathering his thoughts. As he walks back down the stairs to the kitchen, I follow him.
“It’s Dario,” he finally says, his voice thick with frustration. He slips his hands into his pockets as he paces the length of the large kitchen.
My stomach drops at the mention of Dario. The name feels like a poisonous fruit—sweet yet lethal. A part of me still hasn’t stopped thinking about that night, even though I know he’s bad news.
“What did he do?” I swallow hard.
Again. What did he do again?
“He’s gone public with some damaging news about us. Claims we can’t pay our debts. It’s chaos.”
As Lorenzo buried his hands in his hair, I let the message seep into my skin.
“Why is he doing all this?” I finally speak.
Lorenzo hisses, anger blazing in his eyes. “Apparently, he’s behind one of our creditors. He released a slanderous statement claiming that the Bianchi Empire is unable to pay back their debts, and now other creditors who were previously dormant are demanding their money back. It’s...fuck! This is a nightmare.”
His voice cracks at the end, and I feel my heart clench at his pain.
I feel a fresh surge of anger and hatred towards Dario. What the hell does he want from us? Why won’t he just stop?
My blood boils in desperation to know exactly what happened between them. How did they go from being best friends to being sworn enemies? Why did Dario make it his mission to attack our family and everything we’ve built?
As I watch Lorenzo, weighed down by the thought of losing everything, determination ignites within me. I can’t let Dario destroy our Papa’s legacy. Lorenzo’s legacy.
My eyes dart to where his phone lays on the kitchen counter, right beside where Lorenzo stands. I step towards him and pull his into a hug.
“Hey. It’s going to be okay,” I whisper as I discreetly grab his phone from the table, my heart pounding in my chest.
When I lean back, the hand holding the phone is hidden behind me.
“Why don’t you go take a shower? I’ll order us some Chinese.”
With a tense nod, Lorenzo heads upstairs. I wait until he’s out of sight before I turn the phone over in my hands. His password is my birthday.
The soft glow of the screen illuminates my face as I scroll through his messages and contacts, searching for anything I could find on Dario. His number. His address.
I sift through sparse chats and Lorenzo’s work emails until I come across a file labeled with details about business associates and prominent businessmen in Manhattan.
I know Lorenzo well enough to understand that obtaining such information isn’t unusual for him. Our family business, while legitimate, often intersects with less savory elements to maintain its status and relevance.
My Papa used to say, ‘Sometimes, you have to do bad things for the greater good.’ I suspect it was more of a mantra to justify the questionable practices that contributed to his empire’s growth.
As I continue scrolling through the names, almost ready to give up because the list isn’t arranged alphabetically, I finally spot it. I found it.
Dario’s address stares back at me, making the wheels in my head spin faster. My heart races, not just with fear but with the thrill of what I’m about to do.
When Lorenzo leaves the next morning, I steal the keys to the Audi he hardly drives and climb out through the fire escape. Luckily, he didn’t assign any security detail to that side of the building. They’ll still think I’m inside all day.
It’s time I confronted Dario De Luca. I won’t let that asshole ruin my family.