Chapter 9 – Giovanni
GIOVANNI
I lean back in my chair, eyes glued to the bank of security monitors in front of me, but my focus isn’t on the casino floor. It’s on Siena.
Last night was different. We laughed a lot. I can’t remember the last time I let my guard down like that. With her, it’s effortless. No pretending, no trying to fit the mold my father’s carved out for me. She sees past all the bullshit, and instead of making me feel exposed, it makes me feel alive.
She’s strong, independent, sharp as hell.
Sexy in a way that’s got me replaying every detail of her smile, her laugh, the way her eyes light up when she talks about things that matter to her.
But there’s something raw too. She’s vulnerable.
She’s been hurt. She’s scared. And she deserves so much more than the hand she’s been dealt.
And, fuck me, if I don’t want to be the one to give it to her.
The door bangs open.
“We’ve got a problem,” Anthony says.
I snap my head up, jaw clenching. “You better learn to fucking knock.”
“Sorry,” he mutters, but he doesn’t look sorry. He plants his palms on my desk, leaning in like he owns the place.
I narrow my eyes. “Spit it out.”
“We’re missing money. A lot of it.”
My pulse spikes. I sit up straighter. “What the hell do you mean? How could we be missing money?”
He shifts his weight, folding his arms across his chest like he’s bracing for the explosion. “Earnings from last night don’t match. We’re down fifty grand.”
The blood roars in my ears. I shove back my chair and slam my fists on the desk so hard the monitors shake. “Fifty grand? What the fuck, Anthony? Who had access? Who was here? Why the fuck didn’t you have eyes everywhere?”
He doesn’t flinch. Just cocks a brow, all attitude. “I was here. Doing my job. I walked the floor. I kept my eyes peeled. Where the fuck were you? You should’ve been here.”
That’s a line he shouldn’t have crossed.
I stalk around the desk, closing the distance between us until we’re nose to nose. My voice is low and lethal. “You telling me you’re incapable of running things unless I’m here holding your fucking hand? Don’t you dare put the blame on me.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back down.
“Find out what the hell happened,” I bite out. “Because if Carlo gets wind of this, it won’t just be your ass on the line. It’ll be mine too. And neither of us wants that.”
He nods stiffly and turns to leave, but I stop him cold. “Anthony.”
He pauses at the door.
“Don’t ever try putting the blame on me again. It won’t end well. You fucking got that?”
His eyes flash, but he dips his chin. “Yeah. Got it.”
When the door shuts behind him, I drag my hands over my face and let out a rough breath.
Fifty grand. Gone.
This isn’t just sloppy bookkeeping. This is deliberate.
I drop back into my chair, jaw aching from how hard I’m clenching it, and start pulling up the camera feeds from last night. I need to find the leak before my father does. Because if Carlo finds it first, there’ll be hell to pay.
And it won’t just be for the thief.
I drag the keyboard toward me and pull up the security feed from last night, every muscle in my body coiled tight. Fifty grand doesn’t just vanish. Someone’s skimming, and that someone’s about to pay.
The screens flicker, different camera angles showing the casino in full swing. People drinking, laughing, losing their money to me. I fast-forward through the feeds, scanning for anything out of place.
At first, it’s the usual shit. Dealers sharp as ever. Waitresses hustling drinks. Regulars at their tables, pouring cash into games they can’t win.
But then something catches my eye.
I slow the feed, leaning forward. One of the back counting rooms. The camera angle isn’t perfect, but it’s enough. Two guys wheeling in cash boxes. Standard procedure. But when they leave, one of them looks over his shoulder, his movements a little too stiff, a little too careful.
I freeze the frame, zoom in.
Michael.
Motherfucker.
He was on shift last night. He knows procedure inside and out. And yet, I watch as his hand lingers too long at the side of the cash cart. He palms a bundle. It’s fast, practiced, like it’s not his first time. Shoves it inside his jacket. Keeps walking like nothing happened.
My jaw locks so tight it feels like it might crack.
I rewind. Play it again. And again. The more I watch, the more the rage builds in my chest.
Michael. A man I trusted. A man my father trusted. Skimming from under our noses.
“Son of a bitch,” I snarl, slamming my fist on the desk. The screens rattle.
This isn’t just about money, it’s about loyalty. And in this family, loyalty is everything.
I shove back from the desk and pace the office, running a hand through my hair. I can’t take this to Carlo. Not yet. Not until I’m sure. If I go to him with half a story, Michael will have my father eating out of his hand before I can even lay down the evidence.
No, this has to be handled my way. Quiet. Controlled.
And that means Michael and I are going to have a little talk.
I grab my jacket, blood still boiling in my veins.
Last night with Siena reminded me what it feels like to breathe, to live without all this weight pressing down on me. But tonight? Tonight, I’m back in the thick of it.
And if Michael thinks he can steal from me, from my family, he’s about to find out just how wrong he is.
I don’t waste time. My blood’s still hot as I storm out of my office and down the back corridor, my footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. Anthony falls in step behind me, but I don’t even look at him. My sights are locked on one thing.
Michael.
I find him in the break room, sitting at the table with a cigarette between his fingers, like he doesn’t have a goddamn care in the world.
“Michael,” I bite out, my voice low, sharp enough to cut.
He looks up, surprise flickering across his face before he covers it with a smirk. “Boss.”
I slam the door shut behind me, the sound cracking like a gunshot. Anthony stays outside because he knows better. This is between me and the thief.
“You want to tell me what the fuck you were doing last night?” I demand, stalking toward him.
His smirk falters. Just for a second. Then he leans back, trying to play it cool. “Working. Like I always do.”
“Working,” I repeat, my tone dripping with venom. “You call slipping fifty grand into your jacket working?”
The color drains from his face. He stubs his cigarette out too quickly, the motion jerky, nervous. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
I grab him by the collar and slam him against the wall so hard it cracks. My face is inches from his, and I can see the fear starting to break through the mask he’s wearing.
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Michael,” I snarl. “I’ve got the footage. I watched you take it with my own eyes.”
His throat bobs as he swallows hard. “Giovanni, please, it’s not what it looks like.”
I tighten my grip, fury burning through me. “You stole from my family. From me. Do you have any idea what that means?”
He shakes his head, stammering. “I was gonna put it back. I just needed…”
“Needed?” I cut him off with a harsh laugh. “You think this is some kind of fucking loan service? You think you can dip into my money whenever you feel like it?”
His eyes dart around, desperate, like he’s searching for an escape that isn’t there. “I swear, I didn’t mean for it to get this far.”
I slam him again, harder. “You’re done. You hear me? You don’t get to breathe under this roof another second. And if you think you’re walking away clean,” I lean in, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper, “you’ve got another thing coming.”
He starts trembling. “Please, Giovanni. Don’t tell your father. He’ll?—”
“Damn right he will,” I growl, releasing him just long enough for him to slump to the floor. “And I haven’t decided if I’m gonna let him. For now? You’re gonna sit tight while I figure out what the fuck I’m gonna do with you.”
I throw a look toward the door, and Anthony steps in, his eyes hard.
“Lock him up,” I order.
Michael’s pleading, but I don’t listen. My chest heaves with the force of my anger, but underneath it all, there’s that cold, deadly calm I only get when I know I’m in control.
Because Michael made the mistake of stealing from me.
And I never let betrayal slide.
Michael’s begging doesn’t stop, not when Anthony drags him down the hall, not when I follow behind, not when the heavy steel door slams shut on the soundproof room we keep for situations exactly like this.
He’s on his knees now, hands out, shaking like a leaf. “Giovanni, please, I swear, I’ll pay it back. Just give me time.”
I circle him like a predator, calm but seething underneath. My knuckles itch, my jaw clenches, but I keep my voice steady. “You had time. You had trust. And you pissed on both.”
I nod at Anthony, who shoves Michael forward until he collapses against the chair in the center of the room. Leather straps snap into place around his wrists before he can fight.
“Wait, no, Giovanni.” His voice cracks when I take off my jacket and roll my sleeves. “Please, don’t do this. I’ve got a family.”
I squat in front of him, close enough that he can see the truth in my eyes. “And what the fuck do you think this is? You steal from me, you steal from my family. You know the rules, Michael. There’s no coming back from this.”
He starts sobbing, mumbling apologies, excuses, promises.
I shut him up with the first punch. His head snaps back, blood spraying from his lip. The sound echoes off the walls, but all I hear is the steady beat of my pulse.
“Fifty grand,” I say through clenched teeth, slamming my fist into his gut. He folds, gasping for air. “You thought I wouldn’t notice?” Another strike, his cheekbone cracking beneath my knuckles. “You thought you could fuck me over and walk away?”
He’s wheezing now, his body slumped against the chair, blood dripping from his mouth. “Giovanni, please.”
I grab him by the hair, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “You were dead the second you touched that money. I’m just deciding how much you suffer before it’s finished.”
Anthony shifts in the corner, silent, watching. He knows better than to interrupt.
I slam Michael’s face against the arm of the chair, the crunch of bone splitting the air. His scream tears out of his throat, high and broken.
“You think I like this?” I hiss, leaning down to his ear. “You think I get off on breaking one of my own men?” I pull back just enough for him to see the truth on my face. “I don’t. But loyalty means everything. And betrayal means death.”
I pull the gun from the back of my waistband and press it against his temple. His entire body trembles. “Please.”
I pull the trigger. The echo dies out, leaving only silence. Michael slumps lifeless in the chair, blood painting the concrete floor.
I holster my gun, breathing steady, and glance at Anthony. “Clean it up. Make it disappear. Call Lorenzo for help.”
Anthony nods without a word, already moving.
I grab my jacket, slip it back on, and walk out of the room. My hands are stained red, my chest is tight.
And all I can think about is Siena.
Because the one thing she was worried about was the kind of man who left brutality and blood in his wake.
And now I’ve got to figure out how the fuck I can prove to her that I can still be the man who makes her feel safe, while being this man too.