Chapter 8 – Siena
SIENA
I roll over and stare out the window, the faint glow of the city spilling into my room.
I said yes.
I agreed to see where this goes with Giovanni.
The words circle in my head like a song I can’t shake, both terrifying and exhilarating. I still don’t know if this will turn into something amazing or the biggest mistake of my life.
He wanted me to stay tonight. The way he looked at me with those dark eyes, burning with heat and something that looked a lot like gratitude. Like I’d given him a gift he didn’t know he wanted.
But I didn’t stay.
I smiled instead, brushing my hand against his chest and whispering, It’s time to prove it.
He promised me being with him would be amazing.
That he’d show me a side of himself no one else got to see.
And I need that. I need more than the way his touch makes my body light up like fire.
I need to know there’s substance under all that danger and charm.
That this isn’t just another thrill waiting to leave me scorched.
Because if there’s one thing I know about myself, it’s that I’ve always been drawn to men who make me feel a little reckless. Men who pulse with danger and promise excitement. I’m like a moth to the flame. And every single time I’ve been burned.
Giovanni DeLuca is more dangerous than all of them combined.
He’s power wrapped in temptation, sin dressed in an expensive suit. And yet, for reasons I can’t explain, I said yes.
So now he has to prove me right. Or maybe prove me wrong.
Either way, I need to know if this is a beginning worth risking or a mistake I’ll never recover from.
I move to the couch with my blanket and pull it tighter around me, trying to shut out the buzz of thoughts racing in my head, but it’s no use.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him. His smirk, the way his hand lingered on my hip like he wasn’t ready to let me go, the way his voice softened when he told me he wanted more.
The sound of my front door creaking open pulls me out of my spiral. Fia doesn’t even knock anymore. She steps inside with a bagels and coffee in her hand and her sharp eyes landing on me instantly.
“Jesus, you look like you’ve been hit by a truck,” she says, dropping everything on the coffee table and toeing off her shoes.
I groan, sitting up against the armrest and grab a coffee. “Thanks, Fia. Always know how to boost my confidence.”
She grins but it fades quickly as she studies me. Really studies me. “Something’s different.”
My stomach tightens. “Different how?”
She plops down beside me, tucking her legs under her. “Different as in you’re glowing. Like, post-sex glowing. But it’s not just that. You’re softer. Your walls aren’t all the way up, and honestly? That scares the hell out of me.”
I roll my eyes, though my cheeks heat. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” she challenges, tilting her head. “You haven’t been yourself all week, Siena. You’ve been distracted at work, quieter than usual, and now you’re sitting here looking like someone cracked you open. Talk to me. Who is he?”
My throat dries. Fia knows me too well. “No one,” I lie, too quickly.
Her brow arches. “No one who wears a suit like the devil and leaves you smiling in your sleep, huh?”
I wince, caught. “Damn it, Fia.”
She leans closer, her voice softening. “It’s him, isn’t it? Giovanni DeLuca.”
I don’t answer, but I don’t have to. The look on her face says it all.
“Siena,” Her hand covers mine, warm and grounding. “You told me you’d never go near that world. That you didn’t want to be anywhere close to it.”
“I didn’t,” I whisper. “But he’s not who I thought he was. At least, not with me. He listens. He makes me feel…” I trail off, searching for the word. Safe. Desired. Wanted. All of it. “He makes me feel alive.”
Fia squeezes my hand. “Alive is good. But alive can turn into ashes if you’re not careful.”
I look down at our hands, my heart aching with the truth in her words. “I know. And yet, I said yes, Fia. I told him I’d give him a chance.”
Her mouth parts in shock, but she doesn’t scold me the way I expect. She just exhales and leans back. “God help you, Siena. Because if Giovanni DeLuca really wants you, I don’t think there’s a force on earth that can stop him.”
Her words send a shiver through me, not entirely out of fear. Because deep down I know she’s right.
Two nights later, I’m finishing up my shift when my phone buzzes in my apron pocket. Fia shoots me a look from across the bar, her brow raised.
I pull out my phone and my stomach drops when I see his name. I hesitate, heart racing before clicking on his name.
Giovanni: Outside. Don’t make me wait, sweetheart.
I bite my lip, heat coursing through me at the possessive way he phrases it. He doesn’t ask. He tells. And the worst part? My body likes it.
When I step out the side door, he’s leaning against his car like he walked straight out of a movie scene. Tailored black slacks, jacket draped casually over his shoulder, the city lights catching the sharp lines of his jaw. He’s too much. He’ll always be too much.
“Hi,” I say cautiously, tugging my coat tighter around me.
His eyes roam over me, dark and intent, before softening. “Long night?”
I nod, forcing a laugh. “That’s the restaurant life.”
He pushes off the car and opens the passenger door. “Good. Because I’m about to make it better.”
I arch a brow. “That sounds like a line.”
“Maybe it is.” He smirks, but his gaze holds mine with a seriousness that roots me in place. “But I’m not here to play games, Siena. You said you wanted me to prove myself. Tonight, I start.”
Against my better judgment, I climb into his car. The second the door closes, I’m cocooned in his world. His cologne, the low hum of the engine, the weight of his presence filling the space between us.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
“You’ll see.”
We drive for twenty minutes before pulling up in front of a little family-owned Italian restaurant tucked on a quiet street. Not the casino. Not some glitzy club. Something normal.
Inside, he greets the owner in fluent Italian, kissing the older woman’s cheek before leading me to a corner table already set with wine and bread. “This is where my parents used to bring me every Sunday after church. Best lasagna in the city.”
I blink at him. “This is your big plan? To feed me lasagna?”
His lips twitch. “To feed you lasagna. To talk to you. To let you see the man behind the name.” His hand brushes over mine, firm but gentle. “This is me proving I’m more than what you’ve heard.”
And damn him, it’s working. Because as we eat, he makes this fun.
“Your favorite childhood memory?”
I tap my chin as I stare up at the ceiling.
His soft chuckle has my heart racing. “My childhood wasn’t great.
My mom took off when I was just a few weeks old.
My dad raised me and sometimes I wonder how it was possible for him to even keep me alive when all he did was gamble away his money.
But somehow he managed.” I sip my wine and grin.
“There was one day, I was about eight years old. My dad woke me up and was smiling. He rarely smiled, so it was a welcome sight. Anyway, he packed us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and we had a picnic in Central Park. He asked about school and told me that I was the best thing in his life. A woman started playing the guitar and he grabbed my hand and we danced like goofs without a care in the world.” I smile at the memory as a tear tries to escape but I blink it back quickly.
“I was so happy and thought for sure he was changing. The next day he was back to gambling, but for years I hung onto that memory knowing somewhere deep inside he had the ability to love me.”
“Siena, damn, I’m so sorry.”
“Nope, don’t. It’s my favorite memory, nothing to be sorry for.”
“You know, being the son of Carlo DeLuca hasn’t been easy.
You craved your father’s love and attention and so did I.
I tried doing everything I could to get it.
I played sports, but he never came to a game.
I forced myself to get good grades, but he never noticed.
It wasn’t until I got into my first fist fight that he came into my bedroom with pride in his eyes.
He told me that he was proud of me for standing up for myself and that DeLuca men fight for what they want.
After that, I would pick fights just to get his attention.
And that only lasted so long because once I turned eighteen, he told me it was time to be a man.
I got a small apartment and started working for him.
He’s a good man, just not always to his own son. ”
I see regret and pain flash across his face but I don’t want him to feel like that.
My memory is a good memory for me. One I still often think about when my father goes MIA like he he now.
But listening to him talk about the relationship with his father breaks my heart.
He does understand me on a level that most people can’t or won’t.
I need to lighten the mood because we’re both getting lost in the darkness of our worlds.
“There was this one time in high school that I made Fia sneak out. My father was never around so I had no rules, but Fia had parents who gave a shit. I made her climb out of her bedroom window and her leg got caught and she flipped out the window. She landed with her skirt around her waist and her panties exposed for the world to see.”
We both laugh at that memory and the heaviness lifts.
Everything we talk about he listens. Not only does he listen, but he understands. And I’m starting to understand him too.
Somewhere between the shared bottle of wine and his hand lingering over mine a little longer than necessary, I realize this isn’t going to be as simple as I thought.
He’s proving himself, and I’m terrified he might succeed.