Chapter 19 – Giovanni
GIOVANNI
T he low hum of the casino filters through the closed door of my office. The clinking chips, bursts of laughter, the steady thrum of slot machines. I’m leaning back in my chair, eyes on the bank of monitors, and for once, I’m not scanning for threats or cheating. I’m watching her.
Siena’s easy smile flashes on one of the screens, her head tilted back as she laughs at something Fia said.
The sound doesn’t reach me, but I can imagine it perfectly.
It’s light and unguarded, the kind of laugh she doesn’t give to just anyone.
My chest tightens in a way that feels almost foreign, like my ribs can’t contain the weight of this feeling.
I never really understood how someone else’s happiness could bleed into your own. But here I am, grinning like an idiot because she’s smiling. Because she’s happy.
The door clicks open behind me, and I don’t even need to turn. The air changes. Heavier, colder.
“I see you haven’t taken my advice yet,” my father’s gravelly voice cuts through the quiet.
I swivel in my chair slowly, keeping my expression controlled even as my blood heats. “Good evening to you, too, Father.”
Carlo DeLuca steps inside, tailored suit sharp as ever, eyes like stone. He closes the door with deliberate finality and slides his hands into his pockets, a predator at ease.
He nods toward the monitors. “Parading her around here, bringing her deeper into a life she has no business being part of. That doesn’t look like a man who’s listening.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk, steepling my fingers to keep from clenching them. “She’s not just some girl. She’s my girl.”
His lips curl into something between a smirk and a sneer. “She’s a weakness. And everyone out there—” he gestures toward the casino floor “—they can smell blood in the water. You think they won’t use her against you?”
My pulse spikes, but I keep my tone even. “You think I haven’t considered that? I’m not reckless.”
“You’re distracted,” he says simply, voice like a blade.
I stand, meeting him eye-to-eye across the desk. “Distracted men don’t grow this business. Distracted men don’t make weekends like this happen.” I nod toward the logs on my desk. “The numbers don’t lie, Carlo.”
He takes a step closer, lowering his voice. “The numbers won’t save you when someone tests you. And they will. You’ve built walls your whole life, Giovanni. Don’t tear them down for a pair of pretty eyes.”
The words hit harder than I’d like to admit, but I don’t let him see it. “This isn’t about pretty eyes. Siena is different. She’s the first thing in years that makes sense.”
He studies me for a long, heavy moment, then shakes his head like I’m a kid making a mistake he’s already foreseen. “You’ll regret this.”
“Maybe,” I say, my voice low but certain, “or maybe you’ll finally see that I can run this family and have something worth fighting for.”
He exhales a humorless laugh and moves to the door. “Just don’t come to me when she costs you everything.”
The door closes behind him, leaving the room too quiet. I stare at the monitors again, my jaw tight.
Siena is still there on the screen, laughing with Fia, completely unaware of the storm outside her world. My chest squeezes again, but this time it’s laced with steel.
Carlo’s wrong. Siena isn’t my weakness. She’s my reason.
The drive to my parents’ house feels heavier than the luxury SUV beneath us.
Siena hums along quietly to the radio, her fingers laced with mine over the center console.
She looks beautiful in her light blue sundress, hair curled just enough to look effortless.
She’s glowing with excitement, completely unaware of the tension crawling under my skin.
My mother inviting her directly had been a power move. Sweet, strategic Maria DeLuca. When Siena had asked, there was no way I could refuse. Not without crushing her enthusiasm. And damn it, I want her happy. I want her to have every soft, safe thing she’s been denied her whole life.
She glances at the bakery box in her lap. “I grabbed a crumb cake for dessert. Do you think your parents will like it?”
I pull into the driveway and shift into park, a grin tugging at my lips despite the knot in my chest. Wrapping my arms around her, I kiss her temple. “That was nice of you, sweetheart. They’ll love it. My mom especially. She’ll probably beg you for the bakery’s address before dessert is over.”
Her face lights up. “Good. I just want them to like me, Giovanni.”
I rest my forehead against hers. “My mom already adores you. And as for my dad, let me worry about him.”
The front door opens before we’re even on the porch. My father’s broad frame fills the doorway, a cigar clenched between his fingers. The narrowing of his eyes when he sees Siena on my arm is so sharp I can feel it slice through the warm evening air.
“Carlo,” I say, my voice smooth but edged.
He steps aside with mock politeness. “Giovanni. Siena.” His tone is courteous, but the weight behind her name feels like a warning.
Siena’s hand squeezes mine, steady but curious, as we walk inside. My mother, ever the diplomat, sweeps Siena into a hug before I can even close the door. “Look at you. You’re stunning. Oh, and you brought dessert!”
Siena blushes, holding out the crumb cake. “I hope it’s okay. I wasn’t sure what your favorites were.”
My mom beams, whisking the cake away like it’s treasure. “It’s perfect. Thank you, lovely.”
The house smells of every Sunday dinner I grew up, but beneath it all is the sharp, metallic tension only I can taste.
As we sit, Siena takes the seat beside me, her knee brushing mine under the table. She’s engaging, asking my mother about her garden, about the lasagna recipe. My mom laughs, telling her embarrassing stories about me as a boy. Siena laughs so hard she wipes a tear from her eye.
But every time my father’s gaze slides across the table to me, it’s like staring down the barrel of a gun.
“So,” Carlo finally says, swirling wine in his glass. “Siena, what exactly is it you do when you’re not distracting my son?”
The question is wrapped in velvet, but the barb is unmistakable. Siena blinks, startled, then recovers with grace. “I’ve still been waitressing,” she says, “but Giovanni and I have discussed me opening my own interior design company.”
“That so?” Carlo lifts an eyebrow, then flicks his gaze toward me. “And you’re fine with that, Giovanni?”
I set my fork down deliberately, meeting his eyes head-on. “I’m more than fine with it. Siena’s capable of anything she sets her mind to. And she doesn’t answer to you.”
The table stills. My mother’s eyes dart between us, but Siena just places her hand softly on my thigh under the table, steadying pressure that keeps me grounded.
Carlo smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Wonderful.”
Dinner continues, my mother filling silences with stories, Siena chatting about a funny moment she and Fia had at the casino last week. I watch her, soaking in the way she fits here, laughing with my mother, holding her own with my father, even under his scrutiny.
Siena compliments my mother’s cooking, and I catch the faintest flicker of something in Carlo’s expression, a crack in the armor, maybe even reluctant admiration. But I’m not foolish enough to believe he’s softened.
As we leave, my mom hugs Siena tight and whispers something in her ear that makes her smile. My father doesn’t say a word to me, just gives a curt nod.
Back in the SUV, Siena exhales. “Well, that wasn’t as bad as I thought.”
I grip the wheel, watching the house disappear in the rearview mirror. “You handled yourself perfectly.”
She glances at me, a teasing light in her eyes. “Even when your dad practically interrogated me?”
My lips twitch. “Especially then.”
But deep inside, I know this isn’t over. Carlo isn’t done. And as Siena threads her fingers through mine, resting her head on my shoulder, I silently vow that whatever storm my father tries to bring, I’ll face it. For her. For us. For the future, I refuse to let him steal.