Chapter 5 – Giovanni
GIOVANNI
I sit in the car longer than I should, watching the faint light flick on in Siena’s apartment window. She’s there, safe. That should be enough.
It isn’t.
I drag a hand over my face, forcing myself to look away, to shove down the gnawing urge to storm up those steps, kick open her door, and claim her all over again. She’s the last woman I should want. The last woman I should touch. Robbie Costa’s daughter. Innocent. Off-limits.
And yet, I already know I’ll do it again.
The passenger door opens, snapping me out of the spiral. Anthony slides in, his expression grim, Lorenzo not far behind him.
“Everything’s tied up,” Anthony says, his tone clipped. “Costa won’t be showing his face again.”
I lean back in my seat, jaw ticking. “Clean?”
“As clean as it can be,” Lorenzo mutters, his voice rough. “But the bastard didn’t go down easy. Swore he had more to give us. More money, more connections. But we both know he was tapped out.”
I light another cigarette, needing the burn in my lungs. My chest is tight, not from the job but from the image of Siena’s wide eyes when she whispered, don’t make this something it’s not.
I’ve killed men for less than what Robbie owed me. Didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. But tonight feels different.
Anthony studies me, his brows pulling together. “She doesn’t know, does she?”
My glare cuts to him, sharp as a blade. “She knows nothing. And that’s how it stays.”
He shifts uneasily. “Giovanni, she’s not stupid. She’ll start asking questions. You sure you want to keep her this close?”
Every rational part of me says no. Walk away. Let her go. But when I close my eyes, all I see is Siena sprawled across that couch, looking at me like I was the only man in the world who could touch her. Like she wanted me, not the mob prince with blood on his hands. Me.
I exhale smoke, low and lethal. “I’m sure.”
Lorenzo chuckles darkly, shaking his head. “The devil doesn’t fall, G. He drags everyone else down with him. Don’t forget that.”
But as the car pulls away from her building, I already know I’ve forgotten.
Because I’m already planning when I can see her again.
Sunday dinners at my parents’ house are a tradition. Nonnegotiable. Doesn’t matter if you’re running on no sleep, or if blood’s still drying on your knuckles. You show up.
The house smells like roasted garlic and tomatoes before I even walk in.
My mother, Maria, has been cooking since dawn, no doubt.
Every guy at the table is already halfway through a plate by the time I drop into my seat.
Anthony, Lorenzo, and Michael are all loud and laughing, trading stories that aren’t meant for polite company.
Which is fine, because polite company doesn’t exist here.
My mom beams when she sees me, wiping her hands on her apron before kissing both my cheeks. “Giovanni, finally. I made your favorite. Sit. Eat. You’re too thin.”
I smirk because she says that every damn time. No one in this house has ever gone hungry, but my mom makes it sound like I’m wasting away.
It’s comfortable here, too comfortable. Like stepping into a different world, one untouched by the shadows we rule in the city. For a few hours, I can almost pretend we’re just another Italian family gathering on a Sunday. Almost.
I catch my father’s gaze from across the table. Carlo doesn’t smile. He never does. One subtle tilt of his chin is all it takes, and I know what it means. Get outside. Now.
I push back from the table and follow him out to the back patio. The fall air is sharp, carrying the faint scent of cigar smoke from nights before. He lights one now, taking his time before speaking. That’s his way. He loves to make you wait, make you sweat.
Finally, his eyes cut to me. “How’d the night go?”
I shrug, leaning against the railing. “As planned.”
“Robbie Costa?”
“Handled.” The word tastes like ash on my tongue, but I don’t flinch. I never flinch in front of him.
He exhales a long stream of smoke, studying me through it. “Good. Bastard owed us long enough. Can’t let debts like that fester. Sends the wrong message.”
I nod, jaw tight. The message was sent, loud and clear.
“And the casino?” he presses.
“A success. Packed from wall to wall. Everyone in costume, everyone dropping money. We pulled in triple the usual take.”
That gets the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. That’s huge for Carlo DeLuca. It’s his version of approval. “That’s what I like to hear. Keep that casino running strong, Giovanni. It’s not just a business, it’s a message, too. Proof we own this city, night after night.”
I nod again, but I can feel the lie clawing at my insides. I left one part of the night out. The part with Siena. The part that could burn everything to the ground if he ever found out.
Carlo taps ash into the tray, his voice dropping lower. “You’re making me proud, son. Don’t fuck it up.”
His words land heavy. Not a warning. A promise.
And all I can think about is the feel of Siena’s body beneath mine, the taste of her lips, the sound of her voice when she said don’t make this something it’s not.
I already fucked it up.
I stay behind in the kitchen after dinner, drying dishes while my mom hums softly under her breath. The clatter of silverware, the faint scent of basil and garlic lingering in the air. It’s almost peaceful.
She glances at me more than once, and finally, I huff a laugh. “What, Ma?”
Her eyes soften, wrinkling at the corners. “I’m just always so happy to see you, Giovanni. It’s not the same in this house since you moved out.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Ma, I moved out nearly ten years ago. I’m twenty-eight years old.”
She swats at me with the dish towel. “I know how old my only child is, for Christ’s sake. I’m just saying, I like having someone here that’s not just your father. The house feels too quiet without you.”
I don’t know what to say to that. She’s not wrong. My father’s presence fills every corner of this house, but it’s not the kind of warmth she craves. It’s weight. Pressure. A crown of iron we all wear, whether we want to or not.
Her gaze lingers on me, searching, and then she forces a smile. “So, when are you going to settle down and give me some grandchildren to take care of?”
That makes me laugh, but it’s hollow. I set the plate down, drying my hands on the towel. “You’ve got me, Ma.”
She frowns, shaking her head, but lets it drop. She always does.
Hours later, I’m back at my apartment, the silence closing in fast. My place is clean, modern, not a trace of clutter. Expensive, but cold. It doesn’t feel like home. It feels like a fortress.
I pour myself a glass of bourbon and sink into the leather chair by the window. The city glows beneath me, alive and humming, but none of it touches me. Not tonight.
All I can see is Siena. The way she looked at me when I told her her father was gone. The way her lips parted beneath mine like she’d been waiting years for me to kiss her. The way she curled into my shirt like she didn’t want to leave.
I should be thinking about Robbie Costa, about how he went out owing us, about how Carlo will want every loose end tied up. That’s what a DeLuca heir does. That’s what’s expected of me.
Instead, I’m replaying the sound of Siena’s laugh. The brush of her fingers against mine. The heat of her body as she came apart under me.
She’s a complication I don’t need. A distraction I can’t afford. A danger to both of us.
And yet, sitting here in the dark with the city at my feet, all I want is to see her again.
I take a slow sip of bourbon, my chest tight.
I can’t let her go.
Siena might be something I’ve been missing, and I didn’t even realize.