Chapter 6 – Siena
SIENA
T he clink of glassware and the low hum of conversation fill the restaurant, but I barely hear any of it. My tray balances against my hip, but my mind is miles away, tangled up in a man I shouldn’t even be thinking about.
It’s been a week. Seven whole days since Halloween. Seven days since Giovanni DeLuca kissed me like I was the only woman in the world. Seven days since I let myself believe, just for one night, that maybe I could be.
And not a word since.
I knew better. I told myself not to get sucked in. I told myself it would be nothing more than one night. And here I am, proving myself right while hating every second of it.
“Stop staring into space like that.” Fia’s voice cuts through my fog, sharp but amused. She slips up beside me, balancing her own tray like it weighs nothing. “I know exactly where your head is.”
I straighten my back, pretending like I wasn’t just drowning in memories of Giovanni’s mouth on mine. “I’m thinking I need to go check on table six.”
Fia smirks, tilting her head toward me. “Liar. You’re thinking about him again.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I am not.”
“You are,” she interrupts, lifting a perfect brow. “You need to let it go, Siena. He’s trouble you don’t want to be mixed up with. You know this.”
She’s right. Of course she’s right. And it’s infuriating.
Because even knowing Giovanni DeLuca is the very definition of trouble—violence wrapped in charm, danger dipped in sin—I can’t stop replaying his voice, his hands, his lips. The way he looked at me like he was carving me into memory.
He’s part of a world I could never fit into. Not just violence and power, but glamor and wealth. A world people like me only get a glimpse of from the outside. The sleek cars, exclusive parties, sparkling jewelry that probably costs more than I’ll make in a year.
Sure, it’s intoxicating to imagine it. To imagine him. But fantasies don’t hold up in daylight. The reality is that it’s all built on blood and secrets, and I’m not stupid enough to believe otherwise.
I glance down at my notepad, forcing myself to refocus. Table six. Drinks. That’s all that matters right now.
Because what I really want in life is simple, and that is something that Giovanni DeLuca will never be.
I want a partner who looks toward the future. Someone who believes in marriage, in children, in building a life together. Someone who loves me without conditions, without shadows.
Love.
I want to fall in love. To be loved.
And Giovanni DeLuca is not that man.
He never will be.
Even if my chest is aching like I already belong to him.
Fia bumps her hip against mine, dragging me back to earth. “You’re quiet, which means you’re in your head again. You know what happens when you get in there too long. You start convincing yourself that you’re the exception to the rule.”
I glare at her, though she’s not wrong. “I’m not convincing myself of anything. I know exactly who he is.”
“Good,” she says, balancing her tray on the counter and scribbling down an order. “Because I’ve got zero interest in visiting you in prison after you’ve been caught in some crossfire.”
“Fia!” I hiss, glancing around to make sure no customers overheard.
She shrugs, unapologetic. “What? Tell me I’m wrong. Siena, these guys aren’t the type you play house with. They don’t do picket fences and PTA meetings. They do guns and gambling and blood feuds that last generations.”
Her words sting because they’re true. I press my lips together, fighting the urge to snap back. Because underneath the sting is the ache of longing, the memory of Giovanni’s touch, the way he made me feel like maybe I wasn’t invisible.
“I don’t want that life,” I whisper, staring at the polished wood of the bar. “I never have.”
Fia softens, nudging my arm. “Then don’t let him pull you into it. You’ve worked too damn hard to get out from under your dad’s shadow, Siena. Don’t trade one kind of chaos for another.”
I swallow hard. My dad’s shadow. The heavy, suffocating weight of debt and disappointment.
I haven’t seen him since Halloween either.
Not that it’s unusual. Two weeks is the longest he’s gone before he shows back up looking for more money.
Fia’s right. I’ve fought tooth and nail to carve out something of my own.
A steady job. A clean slate. A chance at normal.
And yet, normal never made my skin tingle the way Giovanni’s kiss did. Normal never made me feel desired, wanted, or seen.
“I’m not stupid,” I say finally, forcing a smile I don’t quite feel. “It was one night. I’m not holding my breath waiting for him to show up with roses.”
“Good.” Fia nods firmly, like the matter is settled. “Because if he did, I’d have to knee him in the balls before I let him near you again.”
That makes me laugh for the first time all shift. I shake my head, grabbing my tray. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well,” she says, grinning as she heads toward her tables, “somebody has to keep you safe from your own bad decisions.”
I watch her go, warmth and gratitude pushing back some of the ache in my chest.
But when I turn toward table six, balancing the weight of my tray, I can’t stop the thought from slipping in, quiet and dangerous.
What if Giovanni DeLuca wasn’t just a bad decision? What if he was the one decision that changes everything?
The next night, the restaurant hums with the usual energy. The polished silverware, low jazz floating through the speakers, the clink of glasses. I’m carrying a tray of wine glasses when I feel it. That unmistakable shiver down my spine, like someone’s eyes are crawling over me.
I glance toward the door.
And nearly drop the damn tray.
Giovanni stands in the entryway, taking up more space than even he realizes, or maybe he does realize.
He’s wearing a dark suit, no tie, shirt open at the throat.
He doesn’t belong in this uptown dining room, looking like sin wrapped in silk.
His gaze finds mine instantly, sharp and unyielding, and just like that, every piece of resolve I’ve stitched together since Halloween feels flimsy as tissue paper.
“Shit,” I whisper under my breath, ducking my head and heading toward the kitchen.
Fia catches me halfway there. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Don’t look,” I hiss, but she looks anyway.
Her eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, no. Absolutely not. What is he doing here?”
“Fia, I don’t know. But I can’t do this. Not here.”
Before she can answer, a low voice stops me in my tracks. “Running already, Bunny?”
My breath stutters. I turn slowly, tray clutched against me like a shield. Giovanni stands a few feet away, smirk tugging at his mouth, with a heat in his eyes that has no business being directed at me in public.
“I’m working,” I say firmly, forcing my voice not to shake. “You shouldn’t be here.”
He takes a step closer, his presence swallowing the space between us. “Why? Afraid I’ll ruin your perfect little uptown routine?”
I glare. “Afraid you’ll ruin everything, Giovanni.”
For a moment, he studies me, and the smirk softens into something more dangerous. Something almost vulnerable. “One drink. That’s all I’m asking.”
“One drink turns into one night,” I snap back, my pulse racing. “And one night turns into a mess I can’t crawl out of. I told myself this was nothing, and I was right.”
His jaw tightens, but instead of snapping, he leans in, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “You didn’t look like you thought it was nothing when you were screaming my name last week.”
Heat floods my face, my chest, my entire body. Fia gapes at me like she’s ready to drag me out the back door herself.
“Table twelve,” she blurts, grabbing the tray out of my hands. “Go. I’ll cover you.”
I shake my head. “Fia?—”
But Giovanni doesn’t give me a choice. He slides his hand lightly against my lower back, steering me toward a shadowed corner near the bar. Not rough, but firm and possessive. The kind of touch that makes my body betray me, even as my brain screams no.
“You should leave,” I whisper, refusing to look at him.
He leans down, lips brushing my ear. “And you should stop pretending you don’t want me here.”