Chapter 12 – Siena
SIENA
T he scent of melted cheese and garlic fills the apartment, warm and comforting against the bite of air leaking through the old window frames.
Fia bites into her pizza, the crust crackling as she pulls the slice away.
She curls her legs beneath her on the worn gray couch, her oversized sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder.
The lamp casts a soft amber glow across her face, but her eyes, which are normally sparkling with mischief, are sharp tonight.
“You’ve been taking a lot of nights off work.”
Her words aren’t an accusation at first, but there’s an edge beneath them.
I glance at her over the rim of my wine glass, pretending to focus on the deep red swirl inside. I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I’ve had a lot of things going on.”
Fia’s brows lift. She chews slowly, swallows, then leans forward, the pizza slice drooping in her hand. “Like being in bed with the mob prince of New York?”
The words slam into me harder than I expect.
My breath catches, and I lean back into the couch cushions, trying to mask the sting.
“That’s not fair, Fia.” My voice is quieter than I mean for it to be, but then the heat comes, sharp and protective.
“Giovanni is nothing like you think he is. He’s nothing like I thought he was. ”
She starts to speak, but I cut her off, needing her to hear me. “He’s kind. Compassionate. Romantic. Understanding. No one has ever made me feel the way he does.” My throat tightens, but I keep going. “The last few weeks have been the happiest of my life.”
I reach forward and top off her wine glass, the glug of the bottle too loud in the tense air. “I’m sorry I’ve been preoccupied and we haven’t spent much time together,” I add, trying to soften the edge of my own words. “But I’d love your support and understanding.”
Fia drops her pizza onto the plate with a soft thud.
She takes a long sip of her wine, buying herself time, and when she finally speaks, her voice is softer but no less worried.
“Siena, I’m not looking for an apology. I’m glad you found happiness, and I hope with all my heart that it’s everything you say it is. ”
She pauses, her eyes shimmering in the lamplight. “But you can barely pay your bills as it is, and you haven’t been working much. I’m just worried you’re going to fall behind on everything. That’s all.”
Guilt prickles in my chest. I glance past her, out the window at the city skyline, as the lights blur like watercolor against the night sky. My voice is almost a whisper when I say, “Giovanni has been paying for a few things when money is tight.”
The disappointment in Fia’s tone is unmistakable. “Siena.”
“It’s not like that, Fia.”
“Like what?” She leans forward, her eyes searching mine. “Like he’s paying for your time and your body?”
Her words slice through me. Anger, hotter and sharper than I’ve felt in years, flares to life, and I shoot to my feet, the blanket slipping off my lap and pooling at my ankles.
“I love you, Fia. I love your friendship. But if that’s how you view my relationship, then I think you should leave before I say things I can’t take back. ”
I stride into the kitchen, gripping the edge of the counter until my knuckles ache, the anger burning in my chest like wildfire.
Behind me, Fia’s voice is small. “Siena, I’m sorry.”
I turn just as she’s sliding her coat over her shoulders, her movements slower than usual. Her purse dangles loosely from her hand.
“I’m sorry that I can’t see your relationship for what you say it is,” she says, her voice unsteady. “I’m not blinded by the money and power. And I’m sorry, but when a guy is paying for you to miss work, it sounds like he’s controlling the situation. Controlling you.”
She gives me a weak, almost heartbreaking smile. “I’ll be here when you need me.”
The door clicks shut behind her.
The apartment feels too big, too quiet. I stand there for a moment, staring at the half-empty wine glasses, the cooling pizza, the empty space on the couch where my best friend just sat. A tear slips free, hot against my cheek, and I swipe it away, but it doesn’t stop the doubt creeping in.
For the first time, I wonder if she’s right.
The pizza box sits abandoned on the coffee table, the smell of cold cheese heavy in the air.
I’ve been staring at the television for almost an hour, not really watching, just letting the flickering images wash over me while my thoughts spiral.
Fia’s words loop in my head, sharp and accusing.
Like he’s paying for your time and your body… controlling you.
My phone buzzes against the couch cushion, and my chest tightens when Giovanni’s name lights up the screen.
Giovanni: Hey, beautiful. Just wrapped up here. On my way over.
I chew my bottom lip, my first instinct is to tell him not to come. But the ache in my chest and the way the apartment feels hollow without him wins out.
Me: Okay. Door is unlocked.
Ten minutes later, there’s a soft knock before the door creaks open.
Giovanni steps inside, wearing a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled up, the top buttons undone.
His hair is slightly mussed, his tie loose around his neck.
He looks tired, but when his eyes find me, they soften as they search my face, making my heart squeeze.
“Hey,” he says quietly, slipping out of his coat.
“Hey.” My voice sounds small even to me.
He crosses the room in three strides, and before I can stop myself, I’m folded into his arms, my cheek pressed against his chest. His scent of cologne and something distinctly him wraps around me, and for a second, everything feels safe again.
“You’re quiet tonight.” He tilts my chin up so I’ll meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
I start to shake my head, but the weight of Fia’s words won’t let me lie. “Fia came over tonight.”
His jaw slightly tightens. “And?”
“And she said some things.” I pull away slightly, wrapping my arms around myself. “She thinks you’re paying for me. That you’re controlling me. That—” My voice cracks, and I force a shaky laugh. “God, it sounds so ridiculous out loud.”
His expression darkens. It’s not angry, but hurt. “Is that what you think?”
“No.” The word rushes out too quickly. “No, Giovanni. But—” I swallow hard, searching for the courage to be honest. “It planted a seed of doubt. And I hate that it did. I hate that I even let her words get to me.”
He studies me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine like he’s looking for the truth beneath the words. Finally, he exhales, the tension in his shoulders softening.
“Siena,” he says, his voice low but firm, “if you want to pay for your own dinners, if you want to split every cab fare or every coffee bill, tell me. If you want to take extra shifts to cover your rent, tell me. I don’t need to buy your time or your body. I don’t need control.”
He steps closer, his fingers brushing a tear from my cheek. “I just want to take care of you because I want to, not because I think you can’t. Because for the first time in my life, I actually care.”
Something inside me crumbles. I press my forehead to his chest, breathing him in. His arms wrap tight around me, holding me steady.
“I’m here for you, Giovanni,” I whisper, the words trembling but sure.
“And I’m here for you, Siena,” he murmurs against my hair. “No one else’s opinions matter. Not even Fia’s.”
But even as his heartbeat thrums steadily beneath my cheek, the echo of Fia’s warning lingers soft but persistent, like the hum of a distant storm.
Giovanni brushes away the last of my tears with his thumb, then pulls back just enough to give me a crooked smile. “You’ve got the saddest eyes for someone who’s supposed to be happy.”
A laugh bubbles up through my chest, shaky but real. “I am happy. I just feel everything too deeply sometimes.”
He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his dark eyes glinting with something playful. “Then we’ll have to fix that.”
“Fix what?”
“The sadness.” He grabs the pizza box off the table, balancing it dramatically on one hand like a bad waiter. “Step one: order fresh pizza. Step two…” He sets the box back down, grabs my wineglass, and dips his finger in the last few drops, dotting my nose with red.
I gasp, laughing. “You did not just do that.”
“Oh, I did.” He grins and reaches for me, pulling me against him. I swat at his chest but end up giggling against his shoulder, the heaviness melting away in the sound of our laughter. He dips his head close to my ear. “See? Laughter fixes everything.”
The room feels lighter, brighter. Even the silence afterward is easy. I look up at him, cheeks flushed, and the sparkle in his eyes is warm.
“Come to Sunday dinner at my parents’ house,” he says suddenly.
I blink, caught off guard. “What?”
“It’s about time they meet the woman I love.”
The words knock the air from my lungs. The woman I love.
“You love me?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“Yes, Siena Costa.” His hands cradle my face, his eyes bouncing between mine.
“I love you. I love you so fucking much that it’s hard to breathe, hard to focus, hard to be away from you for a second.
It’s time, sweetheart. Time for me to share everything with you.
And we start with dinner at my parents.”
Tears slip down my cheeks, hot and unrestrained. “I love you too, Giovanni. More than I ever thought possible. And I’d love to meet your parents.”
He kisses me, slow and soft this time, like it’s just the two of us. When he finally pulls back, there’s a flicker of something almost boyish in his expression.
“I’ve never brought anyone to Sunday dinner before,” he admits, his voice low. “I’ll admit, I’m nervous.”
I smile and rest my hand on his cheek, stroking the stubble there. “Relax, baby. You seem to forget who my father is. I’ve been dealing with gamblers and bookies most of my life. I can handle your parents.”
That flash of regret flickers across his face. The same one that always surfaces when I mention my father. My chest tightens, but I refuse to let the weight of it dim this moment. My life hasn’t been easy, but every jagged edge, every wrong turn has led me here. To him.
I squeeze his hand, and for once, he doesn’t try to hide the relief in his eyes. Whatever storms are coming, they don’t matter. Tonight, we’re just two people in love, daring to believe we can build something real.