Chapter 11 – Giovanni
GIOVANNI
T he past few weeks with Siena have been nothing short of incredible.
I never imagined I’d let anyone in this close. Hell, I didn’t think I could. But she’s different. She’s the first person who makes me want to open the doors I’ve kept locked my entire life.
Pizza nights sprawled out on my couch, her feet tangled in my lap while we argue over which toppings are superior.
Late-night talks where she laughs until her cheeks flush pink and her eyes shine, then grows quiet, telling me things she’s probably never admitted out loud.
Movie marathons where she falls asleep halfway through, her head against my chest, and I find myself memorizing the rhythm of her breathing.
Every small, ordinary thing with her feels extraordinary.
Tonight will be different. It’ll be special. We’re going to Broadway. She once told me, soft and a little embarrassed, that she’s never been but always dreamed of it. That was all I needed to hear. If she has dreams, then it’s my job now to make them real. This is only the beginning.
I lean back in my chair, a small smile tugging at my lips, but it dies the second the door creaks open.
My father steps into my office.
Carlo DeLuca fills the space like a thunderstorm with a tailored suit, sharp eyes, and the kind of presence that demands attention without saying a word.
When I told him about Michael, what I had to do, he was furious.
Not at the act, but at the betrayal. At the weakness it revealed.
Since then, he’s been hovering. He’s checking the books, walking the floor, making his presence known.
It wouldn’t be so bad, except now he’s caught wind of Siena.
I straighten in my chair, bracing myself.
He closes the door behind him and steps closer, his shoes clicking softly against the polished floor. “You’ve been distracted lately,” he says, his tone deceptively casual. “The numbers are good. The floor is running smooth. But I see it in your eyes. Something’s taking your focus.”
I keep my expression neutral, my voice even. “Everything’s handled. Michael was taken care of. The casino’s thriving.”
He tilts his head, studying me with that hawk-like stare. “I’m not talking about business, Giovanni.”
There it is. The shift. The trap.
His lips twitch, but not quite a smile. “Word is you’re seeing a girl. Siena Costa.” He pauses, savoring the name. “That’s Robbie Costa’s daughter, isn’t it?”
My hands tighten on the arms of my chair. “She’s not part of this world.”
He arches a brow. “Everyone connected to us becomes part of this world eventually. You know that.”
I lean forward, letting a hint of steel edge my voice. “Not her.”
He studies me for a long, tense beat, then exhales through his nose like a man trying to decide whether to push or let it go. “You think you can keep her separate. That’s cute.” His gaze sharpens. “But don’t let your feelings blind you. Women can be liabilities. Even good girls.”
I grit my teeth but keep my composure. He doesn’t understand that Siena isn’t a weakness. She’s the first real strength I’ve had that isn’t built on fear or power.
“She’s different,” I say quietly, but firmly.
His brow furrows, and for a fleeting second, something unreadable flickers in his eyes. Maybe concern, maybe warning. “Make sure she really is.” He turns for the door, but not before adding, “And make sure she doesn’t become the thing that costs you everything.”
The door closes, leaving me with the echo of his words.
I drag a hand down my face, willing myself to push his warning out of my head. But the truth is, it lingers. It always does.
I grab my phone and scroll to Siena’s name. The moment her smiling face fills my screen, the tension eases just a little. Tonight is supposed to be about her dreams, not my father’s shadows.
She’s worth the risk.
And I’ll prove it to her. To him. To everyone.
I stand at my bedroom mirror, adjusting the cufflinks on my black dress shirt until the silver catches the light just right. The suit isn’t for business tonight. It’s for her.
A Broadway play. The look on her face when she told me she’d never been that was half shy, half wistful has been burned into my memory since the moment she said it. She deserves magic. And for once, I want to give her something untouched by the DeLuca name.
The city hums outside my window. Horns are blaring, sirens wailing, neon bleeding into the night sky. It’s a reminder of everything I am. Power, control, danger. But tonight, for a few stolen hours, I want to give her a world where none of that exists.
I pick up the bouquet of white lilies waiting on the counter.
They’re her favorite. She told me in passing, weeks ago, while she rearranged the flowers on her apartment windowsill.
I remember everything she says, every small detail, every laugh, every sigh.
That’s what she does to me. She makes me pay attention.
Anthony: Everything’s handled here. Enjoy your night.
For once, I’m grateful. No fires to put out. No ghosts from past nights' decisions haunting me. At least, not yet.
I grab my keys, take one last look in the mirror, and head out.
When I get to Siena’s place, I feel a sense of excitement that is so different from the normal sense of tension I usually feel. When she opens her door, my breath catches.
She’s wearing a deep emerald dress that hugs her curves and falls to just above her knees, a soft wave to her dark hair, and a hint of gloss on her lips. She’s stunning in a way that feels effortless, like she doesn’t even realize she’s the most beautiful woman in the city.
Her eyes widen a little at the flowers. “White lilies,” she whispers, fingers brushing the petals. “You remembered.”
“Of course I did,” I murmur, offering my arm. “Tonight’s about you, Siena.”
She quickly puts them in a vase and places them on her coffee table with a small smile. She slips her hand into the crook of my elbow, and for a moment, it feels almost normal, like I’m just a guy taking his girl to a show. Not a man with blood on his hands and shadows at his back.
The drive is filled with quiet conversation, easy laughter, and stolen glances that make my chest ache.
The theater district is alive when we pull up to the theater, the marquee glows bright against the night sky.
Her eyes light up, wide and full of wonder, and for just a heartbeat, I let myself believe that maybe, I can be the man she thinks I am.
I open her door and hold out my hand. “Ready to have your first Broadway night?”
She smiles, slipping her fingers through mine. “With you? I think I am.”
And as I lead her up the steps, past the velvet ropes and into the glittering world she’s always dreamed of, I silently promise myself that whatever storms are waiting on the other side of this night, I’ll hold them off as long as I can.
Tonight belongs to her. To us. To the fragile hope that maybe love can exist even in the shadows.
The final curtain call still echoes in my ears as we step out of the theater.
The city feels softer somehow with the streetlights glimmering like stars, and the crisp night air carrying the distant sound of music and traffic.
Siena’s arm is looped through mine, her face lit with awe and the kind of happiness I don’t see often enough.
“That was…” she starts, then shakes her head, her dark hair catching the light. “I don’t even have the words, Giovanni. It was magic.”
I watch her as we walk, her eyes darting back toward the marquee as if she can hold onto the moment a little longer. “You deserve magic,” I say quietly.
She glances at me, surprised by the softness in my voice. “You remembered everything I said. The lilies. The play. You even got tickets in the front section.”
“I remember everything you say,” I tell her, and it’s the truth. Every little piece of her stays with me.
We stop at a quiet corner where the noise of the crowd fades, and I pull her closer. Her hands rest on my chest, and for a moment we just stand there, breathing each other in. The city rushes around us, but here, it feels like time pauses.
“Thank you for this,” she whispers. “For making me feel seen.”
I trace a strand of her hair between my fingers. “You’re impossible not to see, Siena.”
Her lips part slightly, and the world narrows to her. Her warmth, her scent, her heartbeat thrumming against my palm. I lean in, kissing her slowly. Nothing frantic or desperate like many times before, but deep and certain. The kind of kiss that says I’m here. I’m choosing you.
When we finally break apart, she smiles, her forehead still pressed to mine. “You’re full of surprises, Giovanni DeLuca.”
I smirk, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “I told you I’d prove it, didn’t I?”
We walk back toward the car, our hands intertwined, and for a brief, perfect stretch of time, the world outside the danger, the expectations, my father’s watchful eyes, doesn’t exist.
In this small slice of night, it’s just her and me. And the fragile hope that maybe we can hold onto this magic a little longer.