Chapter 14
fourteen
KITANIA
I ran my fingers across the various countertop samples, imagining laying out cooling pastries or kneading dough on the beautiful, polished surfaces. Deciding whether I wanted more of a speckled granite, a glittering quartz, or the stunning white veined marble felt impossible.
Three months ago, I wouldn’t have dared to dream about having a kitchen of my own, let alone renovating one to my exact specifications. But here I was, comparing options because my opinion mattered to my mates, because I had a future worth planning for.
The kitchen designer, a thoroughly vetted Beta, stood respectfully at my side, careful to maintain enough distance that Gio wouldn’t growl at him, but close enough to answer my endless questions.
“This one has excellent heat resistance,” he said, tapping a sample with white quartz with a silvery-blue shimmer. “Perfect for someone who bakes as much as Mr. Cristenello says you do.”
I bit my lip to hide my smile. Gio had been bragging about my baking again. The thought warmed me from the inside out.
“The veining in this marble is beautiful,” I murmured, tracing the delicate gray lines across one sample with my fingertip. “But I worry about staining.”
“Wise concern,” the designer nodded. “Though as long as you seal it regularly, you shouldn’t have a problem. The quartz, however, may be more practical for heavy use. It’s also virtually maintenance free since quartz is non-porous.”
From a few feet away, I could feel Giovanni watching me. He leaned against the railing, arms crossed over his broad chest, content to let me take the lead. When I glanced over, his hazel eyes were warm with something that still made my heart skip.
“What do you think?” I called to him, torn between practicality and the option that truly called to me.
He pushed off from the wall and sauntered over, his movements fluid and confident, a fighter through and through. “I think you should pick whatever makes you happy, Dolcezza.” His deep voice sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. “This is your domain.”
My domain. The words echoed in my head as I turned back to the samples. My fingers hovered over a particularly stunning piece of white and gold marble that would catch the morning light streaming through the eastern windows. It would bring warmth and brightness to the dark teal cabinets I wanted to go with, and would match the gold hardware perfectly, tying all the design elements together.
“I think the natural light will hit this one beautifully,” I tapped my favorite sample. In my mind, I could see it already—fruit tarts with glistening glazes cooling on that counter. Complex laminated pastries being rolled out, the butter creating thin, delicate layers that would puff up in the oven. Rows and rows of cooling cookies in every variety. My mother’s bread recipe I hadn’t made since I was fourteen, the dough rising in the corner where the morning sun lingered longest.
The memories of baking with my mom came rushing back—one of the few bright spots in my childhood before loss and foster care swallowed me whole. The way she’d let me punch down the dough, laughing at my serious concentration. How she’d dust flour on my nose and call me her little helper. Those memories had been locked away for so long, too painful to revisit. But now, with the promise of a kitchen of my own, they didn’t hurt as much. Now, using her recipes felt like carrying on a legacy.
The designer cleared his throat, bringing me back to the present. “Should we discuss appliances next? I have the catalogs here.”
I nodded, reluctantly pulling myself away from the countertop samples. He handed over the catalogue for my favorite brand, and I immediately flipped to the ovens, mentally calculating what would be reasonable. The mid-range models looked perfectly adequate—dual fuel, decent capacity, reliable.
Giovanni stepped closer, placing a warm hand on the small of my back. “Don’t even think about compromising on the oven,” he ordered firmly, leaving no room for argument.
I flushed slightly, caught in my mental calculations of how to keep costs reasonable. “I wasn’t going to—” I began, but Giovanni’s knowing look stopped me mid-sentence.
“Sweetness, I saw you eyeing the mid-range model. That’s not happening.” His thumb rubbed small circles against my spine, sending tingles up my back.
The designer, clearly experienced in navigating couples’ discussions, discreetly slid over the catalog for the premium line, probably hoping for a bigger sale.
My eyes widened at the specifications of the top model. “Six rack positions? Convection and steam functions?”
My fingers hovered over the page, almost reverently. These were the kind of features I’d only dreamed about when watching professional baking shows.
“Gio, this is professional grade. It’s too much. I’m just a hobbyist.” But even as I protested, I couldn’t tear my eyes from the specs—precise temperature control, steam injection for artisan bread, space for multiple sheet pans at once.
Giovanni’s expression softened as he watched me practically vibrating with excitement. “Nothing’s too much for you,” he said quietly, and the simple statement carried such weight that I had to look away, overwhelmed by the emotion behind it.
I’d never had anyone care about my happiness this way—never had someone who noticed the little things that lit me up from within. The Valentinos had seen me as property, a thing to use and abuse. Before them, foster families had viewed me as a paycheck at best, a burden at worst. But Giovanni—all my Alphas, really—saw me. They noticed what made me come alive and went out of their way to nurture those things.
Like reading with Tommy. Driving with Marco. Quiet intimacy with Dimitri. And this very moment with Gio.
My mind already raced with the confections I could create in such an oven—macaroons with perfect feet, delicate choux pastry, crusty artisan breads with open, airy crumb structures—each possibility making my mouth water. I could almost smell the buttery, sweet scents.
“We’ll take this one,” Giovanni told the contractor, who nodded and noted down our choice. “And I’d like to do double wall ovens, not single.”
I opened my mouth to protest the extravagance but closed it again when Gio gave me that look—the one that said arguing was pointless. Instead, I leaned into his side, quietly accepting his generosity, still learning that it was okay to receive without feeling guilty.
My phone chimed from my pocket, breaking my reverie. I smiled apologetically at the designer. “Sorry, that might be the contractor looking for a decision about the bathroom fixtures we were discussing yesterday.”
I pulled out my phone, expecting a message from Joey. He’d been incredible with communication, always making sure to include me in every decision. Honestly, he might be the guys’ cousin, but the man knew what he was doing when it came to construction and renovations. We were lucky he cleared his schedule to take on our project.
But as I glanced at the screen, my smile froze, blood draining from my face so fast I felt dizzy.
The text was from that same unknown number…
Enjoy playing house while you can. It won’t last.
My fingers tightened around the phone, my chest constricting as panic flared hot and bright. Rocco. It just had to be him. No one else would take such pleasure in tormenting me, in reminding me that my happiness was temporary, fragile, and under threat. The words blurred as my vision tunneled, my breathing becoming shallow and quick.
Giovanni, always attuned to my emotional state, was behind me in an instant. His body tensed as he caught the shift in my scent—fear, sharp and acrid, so cutting even my nose wrinkled from the bitter notes that had risen between one heartbeat and the next.
“Kitania?” One of Gio’s hands went to the curve of my hip while the other tucked back some of my hair, pulling it over my shoulder.
Tall as he was, he had a straight line of vision to the phone I was staring at. Before I could hide the screen, his hand captured mine, tilting the phone to read the message. His body went rigid.
“What the fuck is this?” The words came out as a growl, his Alpha aura swelling around us so powerfully that I instinctively wrenched my neck sideways, a primal submission response I couldn’t control. My body recognized the predator behind me, even if my mind knew he’d never hurt me.
The designer took two hasty steps backward, muttering something about checking measurements and disappearing to the kitchen with impressive speed. Even though he was a Beta, he clearly recognized when an Alpha was on the edge of losing control.
Giovanni’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking visibly as he struggled to contain his rage. He took a deliberate breath, clearly trying to rein in his Alpha presence for my sake, but his eyes remained dangerously dark, the hazel now almost black with fury.
“I’m sorry.” The apology was automatic. Old habits from a difficult past died hard—apologize first, try to defuse the situation, make yourself small and unthreatening.
Giovanni’s expression softened marginally as he cupped my face with his free hand, titling my head sideways and up so he could see my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. The gentleness contrasted sharply with the barely contained violence in his eyes.
“No more secrets—not about this.” He took my phone, scrolling up to read the first one from the same number. “When did these start?”
I swallowed hard, guilt washing over me for not telling them sooner. “Last week. That’s only the second one, but...”
“But you didn’t want to worry us.” It wasn’t a question. Giovanni knew me too well by now.
“You’re already working on taking Rocco down. I didn’t think the messages would change that—just make you angry.”
“Damn right, I’m angry.”
I winced.
“Not at you, Dolcezza. At him —that sniveling rat bastard.”
He scrolled through each message again. Each word made his expression darker, the muscle in his jaw jumping.
“We’re going to find the fucker and make him wish he’d never been born,” he promised in a dangerous register that revealed exactly what kind of man he was beyond the gentle treatment he always showed me. This was the man who put bullets in people’s heads without hesitation, a man who’d grown up in the brutal world of organized crime and underground fight rings and thrived.
But I wasn’t scared of him. I relished his protection, the darkness that kept our pack safe.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you.” There was absolute certainty in his promise, and I leaned into his touch, believing him implicitly.
“I know. And I won’t let anyone hurt you, either.”
Gio leaned down and brushed his lips against mine, devouring me with barely checked constraint. It was meant to distract, and yet, the threat lingered in the back of my mind, adding another layer to my never-ending tension. It had been almost two months since Tommy had recovered enough to come home from the hospital, since the warehouse explosion had nearly taken all my Alphas from me. Two months of relative peace, of rebuilding, of learning to trust that happiness might not be yanked away at any moment.
And now this.
But as the fear coursed through me, something else crystallized inside—resolve, steel-spined and unforgiving. I was tired of being afraid, tired of being the victim, the one who needed saving. I wanted to be strong enough that I never needed to be saved again.
“I want to keep training.” My words were steadier than I expected. “I need to be able to fight back if—”
Giovanni cut me off with another fierce kiss, his lips claiming mine with a possessiveness that made my knees weak. When he pulled back, his eyes had softened slightly, pride now mingling with the protective fury.
“You won’t have to,” he promised. “But yes, we’ll keep training. Every day if you want.”
I nodded, sure now in a way I hadn’t been before. I needed to train and hone my skill so I’d never be a victim again. I thought of the gun I now kept in my nightstand, the one Tommy had taught me to use. I thought of the weight training Marco had shown me, and the self-defense sessions with Gio that left me sore but satisfied. And I thought of Dimitri—his sharp, strategic mind and the quiet way he’d been teaching me how to think like a predator instead of prey. Each lesson emboldened me, putting the power back in my hands.
“No one will ever make you feel helpless again.” Giovanni turned me to face him fully. “Not while I’m breathing.”
I believed him. But I also knew that the only person who could truly ensure I never felt helpless again was me. And as I looked toward the kitchen to where the samples were spread out—toward the future I was determined to have, filled with pack, a home, and family—I made a silent vow to safeguard what was mine with everything I had.
No matter what it took, no matter what I had to become, I would never go back to being the broken Omega that Rocco Valentino had tormented.
I’d die first.