Chapter 14
14
GIANNA
Walking down the hallway back to my room without stumbling takes every ounce of strength I possess. My legs feel boneless, my joints all liquid from that powerful orgasm.
I press a hand over my still-racing heart as I open the door and slip inside. Without Michael. But honestly, despite craving more, I’m secretly grateful for the space. As much as I wanted him to follow me here—to pin me to the mattress and pick up right where we left off—I needed some distance from him.
I’ve had sex before—twice, with the same man—and both times I thought I knew what satisfaction felt like. But those experiences pale in comparison to what just happened with Michael. And we didn’t even have actual sex. Yet.
My pulse kicks up just thinking about it as I collapse face-first on the bed.
If I hadn’t stopped him, we would have had explosive sex right there on his desk. But I’m not on birth control, and no matter how much pleasure he gave me—and will give me—I’m not about to risk getting pregnant. Not now when my entire life is up in the air, and I have literally no idea what will happen tomorrow.
I groan into the pillow, turning to my side—then suck in a breath when a sharp pulse of pleasure shoots through me. My clit throbs, overly sensitive from being pressed into the mattress.
Holy shit.
The wet, sticky mess coated between my thighs is all the proof I need of how hard I came. But now that I’ve had a taste of him, literally , I’m left wanting more.
Needing more.
God, and Michael… he got nothing. No relief at all. And his erection looked painful as hell. A twinge of guilt hits me. I thought for sure he’d take me to his room and finish the both of us off, but that call he got seemed to make him realize what he was about to do. It was like something clicked in his head.
I sigh and roll onto my back, staring blankly up at the ceiling.
Who was that on the other end of that call?
Not that it matters anyway. He stopped. Which means I need to keep seducing him. Keep teasing him, keep pushing him, until we actually have sex. That’s when he can truly become mine and be too invested to take me back to Uncle Aldo.
At least, that’s the plan. But the more I push, the more he gets under my skin.
He’s just so much. So handsome, so expressive when he wants to be, and so explosively powerful.
I sigh longingly—then immediately shake myself. The seductress has become seduced. And if I’m not careful…
What if, in my mission to make sure Michael falls for me… I end up falling for him instead?
No. No way. That can’t happen. It must not.
But…
I turn to my side, absently tracing my swollen lips with my fingertips, my mind spiraling into dangerous fantasies—scenarios of when I finally get Michael to fall in love with me.
“You’re the sun that orbits around me, Gianna. Without your presence, my life is a bleak, meaningless existence. I love you with all my being, and I promise not to ever betray you. I love you,” Michael declares, grabbing my hand earnestly to drop kisses over the back and inside my palm, his blue eyes guileless as he waits for my response.
I beam, my heart soaring. “Michael, I–”
A sharp knocking cuts me off.
My brows knit. I glance around the doorless room, wondering where the sound is coming from, then turn back to my suitor. “Michael, I lo–”
But he’s gone.
And suddenly the lights go out, leaving me alone in the darkness.
My heart drops to my belly, my happiness twisting into cold dread in seconds. “Michael! Where are you?”
Knock-knock–knock-knock.
The persistent sound won’t stop. It’s everywhere. Loud. Relentless. Amplifying my fear because I can’t see the door. Where is the fucking door!?
I jerk upright, gasping, my skin clammy with sweat. Confusion clouds my mind as I glance around. The room is dimly lit, quiet—except for the sharp rap of someone knocking.
“Gianna, baby, you need to wake up.”
Michael’s voice.
I blink, disoriented, then realize the door handle is jiggling. Shit. I must have locked it when I came in earlier. And… fallen asleep?
Rubbing sleep from my eyes between yawns, I shuffle towards the door, unlocking it and cracking it open. And— wow .
He’s fully dressed in a three-piece suit, looking like he just stepped out of a goddamn magazine. His cufflinks gleam under the dim light, his rings sparkling on his thumbs, ears, and brow.
“Someone is looking dapper. Are we going somewhere?” I ask, my heart skipping as I check him out again. Holy hell, this man is gorgeous. Would I ever get used to this?
His blue eyes flick over me, unreadable. “Yes. We have an important occasion to attend. Get dressed and take your things. We might not be back for a while.”
And just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving me with a million questions burning at the back of my throat.
An important occasion?
My mind flashes back to his phone call—what, an hour ago? Two? I have no clue how long I was out. But whatever that call was about, it changed something in him. Is that related to us leaving?
Where the hell are we going?
A knot forms in my stomach, my heart thudding heavily as I throw on some clothes, my mind racing through every possible scenario. I was just starting to feel settled in this house—like it could be home—and now we’re leaving?
A new wave of anxiety rolls through me. Once we’re out of here, we’re vulnerable. What if we run into Uncle Aldo’s men? What will we do then?
My heart thuds faster. Crap. I almost forgot I was on the run. I got complacent, which is really bad .
I sigh, glancing around the bedroom I’ve come to think of as mine for what feels like the last time, and my heart aches painfully. “Don’t be so dramatic, Gia,” I murmur to myself, shrugging my backpack on. He did say it was just for a while, so I’ll certainly be back here soon.
…Right?
Steeling myself, I leave my room. The hallway is empty, so I drag my feet towards the staircase and slowly descend, my heart growing heavier and heavier with each step, my anxiety tightening like a vice around my chest.
How the hell did I survive two months alone on the streets? I’ve only been with Michael for one week, but already, I’ve come to depend on him entirely for my safety. I trust him , I realize. And it’s scary as hell.
At the foot of the stairs, I spot him waiting in the foyer, back against the wall, ankles crossed, fingers flying over his phone screen. A sexy little furrow of concentration creases his brows, making his brow ring a little more prominent.
God, even in a suit, he still looks like the ultimate bad-boy playboy.
Did I really try to seduce this man? And it… kinda worked? Me?
He glances up, those blue eyes arresting me, and— oh . Fuck. My core clenches as memories of his dark, hooded gaze flash through my mind. Of my lips wrapped around his cock, of the way he yelled my name…
Heat floods my face, and I quickly look down. “I’m ready.”
“Why are your cheeks turning so red?” He sounds amused. “What are you thinking about, dove?”
“Nothing. Just wondering where we’re going, and if I’m dressed appropriately.” I wave a hand down at my jeans and top, desperate to change the subject.
“Hmm.” He pockets his phone and uncrosses his ankles, pushing away from the wall. “You’re stunning as always.” His knuckles skim down my cheek, and the heat in my face spreads.
But thankfully, he’s already moving to get the front door for me, giving me a moment to breathe. I keep my head down as I walk past him into the late evening air. The sun is setting, casting a burnt-orange glow over the lush green foliage surrounding Michael’s house. Beautiful.
“Come on.” His palm presses flat against the small of my back, sending jolts of electricity racing through me. I tense, willing myself not to shiver, but my breath still escapes in a shaky exhale.
Michael opens the passenger door of his sports car for me and waits until I’m seated comfortably, the seat belt draped across my chest, before he closes it. Then he jogs around the hood, twisting his wrist to check his watch.
“Are we running late or something?” I ask him as he gets in.
“They’ll wait for us,” is his quiet answer. He turns the ignition, and the engine rumbles to life with a soft, powerful purr that sends vibrations rolling through my body.
Nice. I trail my fingers along the side of the leather seat, around the polished door handle, and over the upholstery. Very nice . Probably cost an arm, a leg, and both kidneys.
With a sigh, I relax into my seat, letting my head loll to the side as I watch the city blur past. Seattle is really pretty in the evenings—when it’s not raining. It’s a pity I never got to enjoy it or any of the sight-seeing stuff here. But then again, I never did in any of the other cities I passed through either, and I’m a little regretful now.
The engine’s soft rumble and gentle vibrations must loll me back to sleep because the next thing I know, I’m being lifted. I blink groggily, and the first thing I see is Michael’s gorgeous face and the soft bristles of his emerging five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw. Before I can stop myself, I raise my hand, tracing the rough edges.
He glances down at me and gives me the softest smile imaginable. “Go back to sleep, love.”
His voice is gentle, like a lullaby. And it takes a second for my sleep-addled brain to register that he’s walking… Oh?—
Wait. Did he just?—?
“Love? I’m your love now?” The words come out drowsy but teasing as I take in our surroundings, realizing we’re at some sort of tarmac, what seems like a private airport, and heading towards a small jet.
“What?”
His question pulls my gaze back to him. He looks at me in confusion, so I elaborate, “You just called me love .” A thrill rolls down my spine languidly as it really sinks in. My toes curl in my shoes, and I lazily raise my hands to the back of his neck.
“No, I said dove, ” he argues, frowning a little as he climbs the jet’s stairs.
I roll my eyes. “I heard what you said clearly, and you said love, l–o–v–e, not dove.”
“You just woke up, maybe some parts of your eardrums are still asleep, making you mishear.” But the twitch at the corner of his lips gives him away.
Oh, he’s teasing me.
I pinch the back of his neck in retaliation before nuzzling my head against his chest, and he chuckles, adjusting his grip on me to maneuver through the jet’s entrance.
He totally called me love.
And I totally liked it.
Inside, the wealth is staggering. The chairs aren’t arranged like standard airplane seating but like a cozy living room—like this isn’t just a mode of transportation, but a home in the sky.
Michael places me in one of the big chairs, the soft material embracing me like a cloud, and I sigh contently, reaching up to ruffle the small tuft of hair he keeps at the top of his head just as he bends over to fasten my seatbelt.
His brow raises, but he can’t hide his twinkling eyes. Before I can stop myself, I lean forward to give him a quick peck on the lips. His eyes widen in pleased surprise, and he starts to lean in for more?—
“Are you ready to go, Mr. Hart?”
Michael straightens, and I glance behind him to see a man dressed in full pilot’s gear who studiously avoids looking at me. Michael gives him a nod, and the man quickly makes his way back to what I realize must be the cockpit.
With a quiet sigh, Michael takes the seat across from mine, buckling himself in as the plane roars to life.
To my surprise, a flight attendant walks towards us with a huge smile. I had no idea we’d have a flight attendant on this trip. Her gaze falls on Michael first, and that smile softens—turning just a bit more interested.
Then, she sees me. Her expression barely falters, but I notice the subtle dimming of enthusiasm. Oh? I try to raise a brow in that arrogant way Michael does but end up raising both my brows instead.
“Would you like anything, ma’am?” she asks politely.
I smile sweetly. “No, thank you.” Then I turn to Michael before she gets the chance. “What about you, honey? Do you need anything?”
Michael smirks at me. “No, love , I’m good as well.” He practically purrs the endearment, dragging it out.
The flight attendant’s smile flickers, then vanishes entirely. With a quick nod, she turns and retreats to her station just as the plane starts taxing down the runway.
“You called me love,” I gloat as soon as she’s out of earshot.
“Yes, because you were so clearly trying to stake your claim on me, I figured I’d help you along,” he says, eyes dancing with pleasure.
My heart trips over itself. “N–no, of course not. That’s not what I was trying to do. What a ridiculous thing to say.” I laugh nervously, but— crap . That’s exactly what I was doing. I wanted her to know he was off-limits to her.
“It’s fine, Gianna. I like it.” He winks, and I blush, my heart rate tripling.
“Whatever,” I murmur, tugging at a loose thread on my shirt—when I suddenly realize something is missing.
I jolt up in my seat, eyes darting around wildly, heart pumping. My mom’s necklace is still secure on my wrist, like it’s been since I snatched it off that man’s dead body, but my backpack…
My stomach plummets.
It’s gone .
Shit. Shit. My clothes, my money, the canned meals I stole not so long ago—those are all my worldly possessions. I can’t lose it .
“Hey, Gianna, look at me.” Michael’s voice cuts through my panic. “What is it?”
I drag my gaze to his because I know—I know —he’ll fix it. “My backpack. I think we left it in your car. Stop the plane, Michael.”
He watches me quietly for a second, then unbuckles his seatbelt and gets to his feet. Relief floods me.
He’s going to stop the pilot. He’s going to get it.
Michael disappears from view, but then…
Minutes pass.
He doesn’t come back.
And the plane… starts leaving the ground, slowly levitating.
My breathing turns shallow, my fingers fumbling at my seatbelt. But just as I’m about to go into full panic mode, Michael reappears—holding the bag. My heart stutters in my chest. I didn’t really realize just how ratchet the thing looked until now that he’s holding it up in his diamond-ringed fingers.
“This is it, right? I saw it when I carried you out of the car and had my man bring it in for you.” He gives it a little shake, his brows raising at the clunking sounds from the cans inside. “What the hell do you even have in here?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, snatching it from his grip the second he’s close enough. Hugging it to my chest, I mumble, “Thank you.”
He just shrugs as he drops back into his seat. A few minutes later, the flight attendant comes back, this time carrying a laptop. She hands it to Michael without a word before walking away. He presses a button on the side of his seat, and a table extends from the armrest, unfolding smoothly across his lap.
He sets the laptop down, opening it. “I hope you don’t mind? I have some work to catch up on before we land.”
“It’s fine.” I glance out the window at the now dark night. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” His fingers fly across the keyboard, already lost in whatever he’s doing.
“That’s not an answer, Michael. Where the hell are we going ?”
That gets me his full attention. His fingers pause, and he looks up. “Are you worried? Don’t be. You’re safe with me.”
I wasn’t worried—even though, logically, I should be. I mean, what do I really I know about this man other than his full name? How good he is at kissing? And… other things? I shake the thought off my head. “I just need to know.”
He exhales, finally giving in. “My home. We’re going to my primary residence. But first, we’re making a stop at my friend’s place. I need to set some records straight.”
His primary residence? That tells me nothing. But I know he’s not going to say more than that, so I let it go. For now. I’ll figure it out when we land anyway.
Michael dives back into his work, typing furiously, completely absorbed. Meanwhile, I entertain myself by exploring the plane.
There’s the cockpit, where the pilot is doing… pilot things. The flight attendant’s station, where the woman from earlier barely spares me a glance. And a small restroom tucked to the side.
Further back, I come across a cabin with seats that look more like a regular plane—boring. But at the very end, double doors lead to an ensuite bedroom with a walk-in closet.
Of course he has a bedroom on his jet.
I snoop through the drawers beside the bed and find a thick tech book. Great. Just what I didn’t want. But it’s better than staring at the wall, so I take it and head back to my seat.
Michael glances at me curiously, raising a brow when he notices the book in my hand, but I ignore him. Opening the book, I attempt to read through the boring, straight to the point text.
Yada-yada-yada, Java, Yada-yada-yada, API. Some weird gibberish that looks like a spell from a fantasy novel—return B; true or false.
I yawn, flipping to the next page. How the hell does Michael even read these things? And I know he has at least once because when I skip to the third chapter, I see a few lines are highlighted.
I force myself to slog through that chapter—just to prove I can—but halfway through, my brain is fried, my head aches, and I’m this close to throwing the book across the cabin. Instead, I drop it beside me and lean back in my seat, pretending to sleep.
Except… I don’t actually sleep.
I watch him work.
The way his brows furrow in focus. The slight press of his lips. The sharp, confident movements of his fingers on the keys.
He’s so gorgeous like this. And if I didn’t know him, I might even find him a little intimidating. But I enjoy watching him. This is way more entertaining than whatever was in that Java book.
I lose track of time as we travel, staring the entire way without getting bored at all.
When the plane begins its descent, I sit up with an exaggerated yawn, stretching dramatically as I fully open my eyes. “Are we about to land?”
He chuckles, fingers finally going still on his keyboard to look at me. “You’re a terrible actress. Did you enjoy the show?” He waves at his face, calling me out completely.
Busted.
I try to pull off a careless shrug like I’ve seen him do, but my stupid, burning cheeks betray me. “Fine,” I admit. “I was just curious. What were you working on that had you so absorbed for so long?”
“You must have noticed that I love tech.” He nods towards the book I abandoned.
“Oh. Yes. I definitely noticed,” I say dryly. Between that book, his fully-automated Seattle house, his library, the ridiculously overcomplicated security systems? Yeah. It’s hard not to notice. “Do you work in tech or something?”
“Or something.” He smiles faintly, snapping his laptop shut.
“So, you were doing tech-y things on your computer?” I question when he annoyingly doesn’t say anything again. Can’t he see I’m curious?
“You could say that,” he answers mysteriously— the asshole .
I groan. The most frustrating man alive. “It’s unfair that you probably know all there is to know about me, but getting to know you is like pulling teeth.”
“What do you mean? I’m an open book.” He flashes me a perfect, arrogant grin, all teeth, which earns him a dramatic eye roll.
“Yeah, sure.”
The plane touches down, and I go quiet as we taxi down the runway, my anxiety from earlier coming back in full force. I glance out the window, my brows knitting at the early lights of dawn. Wherever we are, it’s far from Seattle.
Once we come to a full stop, Michael pushes his desk-thingy away and stands, stretching his arms. Then, he looks down at me. “Ready?”
I gulp. Not really. “I guess.” I undo my seatbelt with trembling fingers and get to my feet.
Michael frowns at me, holding my hand. His frown deepens. “Your hands are as cold as ice. Are you nervous?”
I shrug. What am I supposed to say? I literally have no idea where we are, no safety net, no backup plan. Just him. And even though I trust him, right now, something deep in my gut prickles with unease.
He watches me for a second longer, then sighs. I half-expect some kind of reassurance, but instead, his face goes blank, and he lets go of my hand.
A strange, hollow feeling creeps into my chest, but I shove it down and try not to read into his actions as we get off the plane.
It’s not his job to try to comfort me. We’re not dating.
We’re in another private airstrip, where a sleek, beige Cullinan is parked a couple of feet away. The moment we approach, a tall, Italian man gets out from the passenger side and meets us halfway. “Michael, welcome back.” Then he glances at me, giving me a polite nod. “Miss Cabello.”
He knows who I am.
Panic slithers down my spine, and I stop walking. My eyes dart around the airstrip and catch sight of another car parked near what looks like the entrance. Instinct takes over, and I edge behind Michael, using him as a shield. But he seems oblivious to my fear—or worse, doesn’t care.
“Lorenzo. Did you put everything into place?” Michael asks cryptically, and the man nods.
Put what into place?
Michael finally turns to face me, waving towards the waiting car. “Come on.”
I inhale sharply, flinching back. His face is set into granite, eyes cold as ice. This is not the Michael I’ve come to know—the one who called me love just a few hours ago.
This is the Michael who killed that man in cold blood, the one who looks like he has no heart.
My lips tremble, and I take a small step away from him. I should have stayed in Seattle.
His gaze thaws just the slightest bit when he finally registers my fear. “Come on, dove. The sooner we get on the road, the sooner we can get home.” He stretches a hand out to me, and despite every warning bell blaring in my head, I place mine in his. Like a sucker.
Lorenzo hops back into the passenger seat while Michael opens the back door for me. I hesitate for half a second before getting in, scooting towards the other side to make room. The man in the driver’s seat gives me a curt nod.
Michael joins me, sitting close—too close, considering all the space available—but the solid warmth of his thigh pressing against mine calms my anxiety a little.
We pull out of the airstrip, and I sigh, pressing my cheek against the cool window, gaze flying around for landmarks I can use to identify the city we’re in. The sooner I know where we are, the sooner I’d feel grounded.
I could just ask Michael, but I already tried—twice—and he gave me nothing but non–answers. That was when he was still somewhat open and a little warm towards me. Now that he’s closed off completely, with two extra sets of ears in the car, I don’t want to risk it.
I’ll wait. When we get to his home and we’re in the privacy of my room, I’ll rip into him and let him know— what the hell ?
I jerk back from the window, my jaw dropping.
Isn’t that the Empire State Building? No. No way.
My head snaps around frantically, and as we drive deeper into the city, more and more familiar sites punch me in the gut. The Brooklyn Bridge, the East River. And far off in the distance, standing like a cruel joke against the horizon— the Statue of Liberty .
My heart flies to my throat as I turn to Michael. “Are we–are we in New York?” It can’t be… right? No, no, no.
His voice is as cool and disinterested as the glance he flicks at me. “Yes.”
Dread pools in my stomach, and I stare at him in dumbfounded silence for several seconds. “You brought me back to Manhattan?” My voice breaks on the question, and I blink rapidly to hold back the hot tears stinging my eyes.
Michael doesn’t even flinch. “I told you I’m taking you to my primary residence. I live in Manhattan,” he answers robotically.
I spin towards Lorenzo, searching his face for something—anything—but he just watches me with vague interest.
No .
“No. I can’t be here. I can’t be here .” I lunge for the door, yanking at the handle, but it doesn’t budge. My heart splits open, and the tears I’m holding back spill down my face unbidden as I fight with the handle.
I can’t be here.
I give up on the handle and whirl back to Michael, whose stiff frame is swimming in and out of my tear-filled vision. “ Michael .” I grab his hand, gripping it like a lifeline. “I can’t be here. You know that. Take me back. Please .”
“I’m afraid I can’t, Gianna.”
What?
I stare at him in stunned silence, my fingers slowly slipping from his hand. My heart aches awfully, my throat tightening like it’s been strangled from the inside. Breathing hurts. Existing hurts.
I shift away from him and wipe my tears to clear my vision, but the more I wipe off, the more take their place, blinding me. It’s endless. A vicious, unrelenting cycle.
Then the car descends into an underground parking lot, and my body goes rigid. I sniff, swallowing back the rest of my tears painfully. I need to get it together. I need to have my wits about me.
The car goes past several fancy vehicles before pulling into a spot in front of an elevator guarded by scary-looking men— armed men. Holding long assault rifles.
The doors unlock with a sharp click, but I don’t move. I don't even breathe.
Run.
I should run. I want to run.
But where? If I move wrong, will they shoot me ?
From my peripheral, I notice Michael getting out of the car, but my focus stays on the two men standing on either side of the elevator and the other two pacing around. Then, suddenly, my door swings open, and Michael bends towards me, filling my vision. And it sinks in—I’m completely at his mercy right now.
“Come on, Gianna. We need to go. Rafael’s waiting for us.”
I blink up at him. “Rafael? Who’s that?” Though I don’t really care. The only thing that matters is that the person we’re about to meet here isn’t my uncle.
“A friend. I told you we’re making a stop at his place before going to mine.” He sounds slightly irritated, and I gulp.
Heart beating frantically, I get out of the car. He places a firm hand on my back and guides me towards the elevator, Lorenzo by his side.
The men bow their heads respectively at Michael, and as we approach, the elevator doors part for us. The three of us get in, and when Michael drops his hand from my back, I instantly move as far away from him as I can, pressing myself against the farthest corner. He notices, his brows drawing together in a frown, but he says nothing.
The elevator hums with charged silence as it climbs, the tension pressing in on my ribs. The higher we go, the heavier my stomach feels, like it’s dropping out of me completely.
Then— ding .
The doors slide open.
And standing right there on the other side, waiting for me, is my biggest nightmare.
Uncle Aldo.
Beside me, Michael stiffens, like he’s surprised. But it’s an act. I know it’s all an act. He brought me here. He did this.
My feet remain firmly planted on the elevator floor, refusing to budge.
“Michael, welcome. We’ve been expecting you.” The voice comes from behind Uncle Aldo, but I can’t tear my eyes away from my uncle—from the pure, blistering wrath in his stare. My breath shudders, tears stinging my eyes. But I blink them back rapidly. I really can’t afford to cry right now.
“Rafael, what is this?” Michael snaps. “Why is he here?”
Aldo steps forward with a slimy smile directed at Michael. “Thank you very much for your services, Michael. But I’ll take over from here. My niece and I have a lot to catch up on.”
A broad chest suddenly covers my vision, and I realize it’s Lorenzo planting himself in front of me like a shield.
Lorenzo, who I just met and don’t even know.
Not Michael. Never Michael.
Because he betrayed me. He played me .
How could he?
Someone speaks in rapid-fire Italian that I’m too lost in my head to follow. I only catch bits and pieces here and there. Your job is done, Michael. You’ll be well compensated.
And that’s when I completely dissociate. Tears spill freely down my cheeks as I stare blankly at the broad shoulder in front of me.
And then someone, Rafael, I believe, growls, “Step away from the girl, Lorenzo.”
It’s obviously a command, and the tone demands to be followed. Lorenzo obeys without hesitation, moving aside, and I finally get my first clear look at this Rafael. A tall, handsome man, with steel eyes colder than Antarctica. The way he stands alone radiates absolute power, and I know he’s the one in charge here.
“You need to understand, Gigi, it’s just business,” the man tells me slowly, almost sounding sympathetic. But his tone doesn’t match his demeanor, so I don’t trust it. I don’t trust him.
I don’t trust any of them.
“Don’t fucking speak to her,” Michael’s voice lashes through the space, rough and edged with something close to fury.
But Uncle Aldo is already stepping into the elevator. With me . And that’s when I realize Lorenzo and Michael—the traitor—had already stepped off.
The walls of the elevator seem to close in. My heart cracks open, and I can barely hear through the roaring in my ears.
Michael betrayed me. Michael, who kissed me. Who called me dove. Who held my hand just hours ago.
“Gianna.” His voice is low. Almost pleading. Almost piercing through my fog of numbness.
That motherfucker. I trusted him!
I tilt my head towards the general direction of his voice but refuse to meet his eyes, fixing my gaze on his tattooed scalp.
“Look at me, baby,” he murmurs, and I don’t miss Uncle Aldo’s scoff next to me.
I grit my teeth. “Don’t call me that,” I say to Michael’s tattoo just as my uncle’s hand slams against the elevator button and the doors begin sliding shut.
And I— like a goddamn masochist —can’t stop myself. At the last second, I look into Michael’s eyes, needing to see the glee in his eyes.
But there’s no glee.
His eyes are anguished and pained.
My brows furrow in confusion—just as the doors snap shut between us.
Uncle Aldo’s hand clamps onto my arm, roughly dragging me away from my corner. “ You little bitch ?—”
His words are drowned out by a deep, furious roar.