Chapter 13 – Giovanni
GIOVANNI
I button the cuff of my shirt for the third damn time, pacing in front of my closet like a man about to face a firing squad. My tie feels too tight, my shirt too stiff, but the weight in my chest isn’t about the clothes. It’s about tonight.
Siena has been my peace these last few weeks. My late-night laughter, my reason to unclench my fists when the world feels heavy. And tonight I’m putting her in the line of fire. Not because she deserves it, but because my father is incapable of giving anyone a free pass.
I run a hand through my hair and take a deep breath. She deserves to know the real me. I promised her. The family, the expectations, the ugliness, and the love mixed together. She deserves to know what she’s walking into.
When I pull up outside her apartment, she’s waiting by the curb, wrapped in a black dress with a scoop neck that falls just past her knees. Covered but every bit as sexy as always. She looks nervous, though she tries to hide it behind a soft smile.
“You’re staring,” she says as she steps toward the car.
“I warned you I’d stare.” I open the passenger door for her. “God, Siena, you’re beautiful.”
Her cheeks flush, and for a second, the nerves fade. “You’re not so bad yourself, DeLuca.”
As we drive, I sneak glances at her. Her hands are folded tightly in her lap, fingers fidgeting. “Hey,” I say softly, “you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Your dad…” she starts, then stops herself.
“My dad’s an ass,” I admit with a small laugh. “But he’s also the man who taught me everything I know. He’s complicated.” I squeeze the steering wheel. “He’s going to test you. That’s what he does. But my mom? She’ll smother you with love before you make it through the door.”
Siena exhales, her shoulders dropping just a fraction. “I can handle complicated. I’ve had a lifetime of practice.”
When we pull into my parents’ driveway, the smell of roasted garlic and baked bread is already floating in the night air. The warm lights glowing from the kitchen windows make the house look deceptively inviting, like a postcard, not the battlefield I know it can be.
My mom meets us at the door, her face lighting up as if Christmas just arrived. “Giovanni!” She hugs me tight, then turns her attention to Siena. “Oh, look at you. Gorgeous!” She wraps Siena in her arms before Siena can even get a word out. “Come in, come in. You must be freezing.”
Carlo is at the head of the table, a glass of red wine in his hand, his dark eyes assessing Siena before she’s even crossed the threshold. “So this is the girl who’s got my son acting like a lovesick fool,” he says, his tone smooth but edged.
“Dad,” I warn, but Siena smiles politely.
“Sir,” she says, her voice steady. “Thank you for having me.”
He gestures lazily to a chair. “We’ll see if you’re still thanking me by dessert.”
The night is a dance of subtle warfare and warmth. My mother piles Siena’s plate high and peppers her with questions about her job, her favorite foods, her childhood memories. Siena answers with grace, her laugh slipping out easily when my mother jokes about my terrible teenage haircuts.
But Carlo, he watches. Studies.
“So, Siena,” he finally says, swirling his wine. “What is it you do again? Something respectable, I hope?”
“I’m a waitress,” she answers without flinching.
“A waitress,” he repeats, letting the word hang. “Not much of a future in that, is there?”
My blood heats. “Dad!”
“Carlo, enough,” my mother hisses, narrowing her eyes.
But Siena just smiles. “It’s honest work,” she says evenly. “It pays my bills. And it’s not forever. It’s what I do while I figure out what’s next.”
Carlo smirks, and though I want to wipe it off his face, there’s a flicker of respect there too. “At least you’re not pretending to be something you’re not.” He finishes off his fourth glass of wine and raises an eyebrow. “Hopefully you’re different from your father.”
I stand up and slams my fists to the table. “That’s enough! I respect Ma enough not to walk out right now, but if you keep up with the fucking digs, we will leave and we won’t return.”
This son of a bitch. He knows if Siena ever found out what happened with her father it would end us.
“Carlo, go have a cigar and try to remember what it’s like to have a goddamn heart,” my mom says, shaking her head.
He chuckles and stands, smiling at Siena. “You, my dear, have more grace than my son and wife. I think I like you.”
The rest of the night swings between tension and laughter. When my mom praises Siena’s smile, telling her she lights up the room, Carlo snorts and mutters something about “temporary infatuations,” but I catch the way his gaze softens when Siena thanks my mother with genuine warmth.
After dessert, my mom hugs Siena again, whispering something that makes Siena’s eyes shine. “Thanks for everything, Ma,” I whisper, hugging her goodbye.
“She’s perfect, Giovanni. I’ve never seen you look so happy. Don’t let anyone steal that from you.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. DeLuca,” Siena says, holding her hand out to him. She has more respect than I do, because I just walk past him.
“Carlo, please,” he says, taking her hand in his. “It was a pleasure, Siena. I do hope we’ll see you again. I mean that.”
As we step outside into the cool night, Siena wraps her arms around herself, her breath fogging in the air.
I lean down and kiss her temple, holding her close as we walk to the car.
I’ve never brought a woman here before. Never risked this part of my life.
But tonight, seeing her in my world, I’m positive that this woman is it for me.
She’s met my parents; now it’s time she meets the other side of me.
The city slides by outside the windshield, the glow of Manhattan’s skyline blurring into streaks of gold and white.
Siena is quiet in the passenger seat, her head leaning against the window, her lips curved into the faintest smile.
Every so often, the streetlights catch her delicate features, and I feel a swell of pride that I got to show her my world tonight.
“You handled him well,” I finally say, my voice low.
She tilts her head toward me. “Your dad?”
“Carlo DeLuca himself,” I reply with a wry smile. “Most people shrink under his stare. You? You smiled, held your ground, and somehow charmed my mom into wanting to adopt you.”
She laughs softly, the sound warming the cold night that clings to my bones. “Your mom is incredible. And your dad, he’s intimidating, but I could see the way he looked at you. He’s proud. Even if he’s too stubborn to say it.”
I glance at her, that stubborn lump forming in my throat again. “You really saw that?”
She nods. “Yeah. He loves you.”
The weight of her words settles deep. I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers on the console between us. Her grip tightens, like she’s grounding me the way she did the first night she pulled me back from the edge.
We ride in silence for a while, the hum of the city wrapping around us. But I don’t want to take her home tonight. Tonight feels too important to end outside her apartment door.
“Siena,” I say, glancing at her. “Stay with me tonight.”
She blinks, surprised. “At your place?”
“Yeah.” I squeeze her hand. “We always end up at yours. I want you at mine. I want to wake up with you there.”
Her hesitation lasts only a moment before she smiles soft, shy, but sure. “Okay, Giovanni.”
By the time we step out of the elevator into my penthouse, the city stretches below us like a glittering map of possibility. Siena walks to the windows, pressing her palm to the glass as if she could touch the lights.
“Every time I’m here, I feel like I’m dreaming,” she whispers.
I come up behind her, sliding my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder. “Then let’s not wake up tonight.”
She turns in my arms, her hands smoothing over my chest. There’s no frantic edge tonight, no desperate need to escape the world outside. Tonight is about savoring. About proving that this thing between us is more.
I kiss her. It’s soft at first, then I deepen it, lingering on her lips until she sighs against mine.
We move together toward the bedroom, the city lights painting trails across the floor.
I take my time undressing her, tracing my fingers over every inch of skin like I’m memorizing her all over again.
I back her against the wall, kissing her deeper, hungrier, because I can’t seem to get close enough. My hands skim down her sides, memorizing every curve, every soft sound she makes when I touch her. She threads her fingers into my hair, tugging, pulling me closer, urging me on.
“Giovanni,” she breathes, and my name on her lips is everything.
I pause, just for a second, hovering over her, my forehead pressed to hers. “You have no idea what you do to me,” I whisper. “You undo me, Siena. Completely.”
Her eyes shine, wide and wanting, and she cups my face in her hands. “Then don’t stop.”
I kiss her again, slower this time, pouring every ounce of love I have into it. My hands roam over her, worshiping her, committing her to memory like I’ll never get another chance. She arches against me, pulling me down onto the bed.
This more than passion. It’s a promise.
Her fingers drag up and down my back, her hard nipples rub against my bare chest, as her wet pussy begs for more.
Tonight isn’t about begging though. Tonight is about Siena knowing that I love her with everything. So, I reach into the night stand and roll on a condom. Her eyes, full of want and heat, collide with mine.
I lower myself on top of her and slowly push into her. Stretching her out inch by inch.
“Oh, Giovanni,” she moans, digging her nails into my upper arms.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous, Siena.” I press my lips to hers and kiss her with the same slow pace that I’m fucking her.
There is no rush. No desperation. It’s gentle touches and soft moans. It’s not fucking at all, it’s making love. Something I’ve never done before. Never wanted to. Until now.