Chapter 6
Gia
I hurry down the dimly lit street with a grin on my face, my latest painting clutched tightly in my hands. The night air is cool against my skin, a welcome relief after hours on my feet painting. I've been working non-stop for days, pouring every ounce of my conflicted emotions onto canvas. The result is... intense. I can't wait for Rachel’s reaction when she sees it in the morning. I’ve already delivered four other paintings to the gallery this week, but this is my best yet. I got the idea to leave it there tonight so Rachel’s surprised when she walks in tomorrow morning, and had to act on it.
As I approach the gallery, I see a figure stepping into the elevator. Without thinking, I call out, "Hold the elevator, please!"
I rush forward, slipping through the doors just as they're about to close. "Thanks," I mutter, still catching my breath. "Fifth floor, please."
The man presses the button without a word. I step to the back of the elevator, finally taking a moment to study my elevator companion. He's tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in an expensive suit that hugs his frame in all the right ways. There's something familiar about the set of his shoulders, the way he holds himself…
Suddenly, the elevator jerks violently, then stops with a groan of protesting metal. The lights flicker ominously before settling into a dim glow.
"You've got to be kidding me," I groan, leaning my head back against the wall.
The man stiffens, then turns around, and I feel my heart stop as I take him in. Dominic Esposito. It can’t be.
His eyes widen in surprise, then darken with something that sends a shiver down my spine. "Gia," he says, his voice low and rich as he steps closer to me.
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my body reacts to his presence as I look up to meet his gaze. "Dominic. What are YOU doing here?"
His eyes flick down to the wrapped canvas in my arms, then back up to my face. A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "I could ask you the same thing. Though I think I can guess."
I resist the urge to touch my face, knowing there's probably paint smudged across my cheek. Instead, I lift my chin defiantly. "I'm dropping off a new piece. You?"
He shrugs, the movement drawing my attention to the breadth of his shoulders. "I'm a patron of the arts. Is that so hard to believe?"
I snort, unable to help myself. "You? An art lover? Somehow I doubt mobsters have much time for gallery hopping. Why are you really here? to shake down one of the building tenants?"
His eyes flash with something dangerous, and for a moment, I remember exactly who I'm dealing with. But then his expression softens, and he chuckles as he shakes his head. "You'd be surprised, Red. There's a lot you don't know about me."
"Oh really?" I challenge, crossing my arms. "Like what? Do you have a secret passion for watercolors? Or maybe you're more of a sculpting kind of guy?"
He grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Actually, I'm quite skilled with my hands. Thought you’d remember that."
I feel my cheeks heat up at the reminder, but I refuse to back down. "Well, I hope those skilled hands of yours can get us out of this elevator, because I have places to be."
Dominic raises an eyebrow. "Hot date?"
"Yes, actually," I lie smoothly. "With my couch and a pint of ice cream. And I'd hate to keep them waiting."
He laughs, the sound rich and warm in the confined space. "Far be it from me to come between a woman and her ice cream. Let's see what we can do about this situation, shall we?"
We fall into silence as Dominic examines the control panel. I try the emergency phone, but it's dead. Dominic fiddles with his cell, but there's no signal.
"Great," I mutter. "Just great."
"Relax," Dominic says, loosening his tie. "I'm sure someone will notice we're stuck soon."
"Oh, sure," I say sarcastically. "Because people are always coming to art galleries in the middle of the night."
He turns to me, a challenging glint in his eye. "I do. Rachel lets me stop by the gallery whenever I want. And is this such a bad thing? Being stuck here with me?"
I roll my eyes, ignoring the flutter in my stomach. "Please. I can think of at least a dozen places I'd rather be right now."
"Only a dozen?" he teases. "Come on, Red. I'm sure you can do better than that."
I can't help but laugh. "Fine. How about this? I'd rather be swimming with sharks. Or walking across hot coals. Or listening to my great-aunt Luciana's stories about her cats for the hundredth time."
Dominic clutches his chest in mock hurt. "You wound me, Gia. And here I thought we were getting along so well."
Hours pass, and no one comes. We continue our banter, trading quips and increasingly ridiculous scenarios we'd rather be in than stuck in this elevator.
"I'd rather be in a room full of clowns," I declare at one point.
Dominic shudders dramatically. "Now that's just cruel. I thought you artist types were supposed to be sensitive souls."
I laugh, surprised at how easy it is to talk to him. "Oh, we are. Sensitive to beauty, to emotion... to the soul-crushing terror of clowns."
He grins, and I find myself admiring the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. "I'll remember that. No clowns on our next date."
I scoff, ignoring the way my heart skips at the word 'date'. "Bold of you to assume there will be a next date when I don’t recall the first, Esposito."
"What else should I call what happened between us?" he shrugs, his smile turning cocky.
As the night wears on, we slowly relax in each other's presence. Dominic sheds his jacket, rolling up his sleeves to reveal strong forearms. I try not to stare, but it's hard when we're in such close quarters.
"So," he says eventually, nodding towards my canvas. "You going to let me see what you've been working on?"
I hesitate, suddenly shy. "I don't know..."
"Come on," he coaxes, his voice soft. "I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours."
I roll my eyes at the innuendo, but find myself unwrapping the canvas anyway. As I turn it to face him, I hear his sharp intake of breath.
"Holy shit," he murmurs, stepping closer. "Gia, this is... incredible."
I watch his face as he studies the painting, fascinated by the play of emotions across his features. He reaches out, his fingers hovering just above the canvas as if he wants to touch it but doesn't dare.
"You're her," he says suddenly, his eyes snapping to mine. "You're the artist. The one whose work I’ve been buying." He looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat as realization dawns. He’s the buyer Rachel mentioned. He's so close now, I can feel the heat radiating off his body.
"I had no idea," he murmurs, his eyes searching mine. "Your work... it speaks to me in a way I can't explain."
I swallow hard, acutely aware of how little space there is between us. "Thank you," I whisper.
His hand comes up, his thumb brushing gently across my cheek. "You've got paint," he murmurs, his voice husky. The look in his eyes is almost reverent. It sears my soul, strips away my defenses.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“Like what?” he asks as he leans his forehead against mine.
I can't breathe. Can't think. All I can do is feel the warmth of his touch, see the desire burning in his eyes.
“Gia,” he says. It’s a whisper and a prayer.
And then he's kissing me, and the world falls away.
His lips are soft but insistent, coaxing a response from me that I'm helpless to deny. I melt into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as his arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against his body.
The kiss deepens, becomes hungry, desperate. I feel like I'm drowning in sensation, in the taste and feel of him. This is entirely different from the other night. That was lust, attraction, chemistry. This, this is something I don’t have a name for.
His hands roam my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arch into him, wanting more, needing more…
Suddenly, the elevator jerks back to life and lowers. We spring apart, breathing heavily, just as the doors open to reveal a group of confused-looking firefighters.
"Are you folks alright?" one of them asks, concern etched on his face.
I nod, not trusting my voice. Without looking at Dominic again I thank the firemen and then head up the stairs. I’ll be taking those from now on.
I make my way to Rachel's office, my mind still reeling from what just happened. The painting feels heavy in my arms, a tangible reminder of the emotions I've been grappling with since first meeting Dominic.
I leave the painting propped against her desk with a note, then hurry back to the stairs. What if Dominic is still down there? I shake my head, annoyed at myself. So what if he is? I'm a grown woman. I can handle running into him again.
But when I get back down to the lobby, it's empty. I feel a mix of relief and... disappointment? No. I refuse to be disappointed.
As I step past the elevator, I catch a whiff of his cologne, still lingering in the air. I close my eyes, memories of our kiss flooding back. His hands on my waist, the taste of his lips, the way he looked at me like I was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen…
As I step out of the building into the cool night air, I hear a familiar voice.
"Gia," Dominic says, his voice low and sultry.
I jump, startled to see him leaning against a sleek black car, hands in his pockets.
"It's dangerous for you to be out this late alone. Let me take you home."
My heart races, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through me. "I... I can manage, thanks."
He pushes off the car, taking a step towards me. "Please, Gia. It would make me feel better knowing you got home safely."
I hesitate, torn between my better judgment and the undeniable pull I feel towards him. "I appreciate the offer, but I really shouldn't."
Dominic's eyes soften, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his confident facade. "Come on, Red. Just a ride home. No strings attached."
I bite my lip, weighing my options. The responsible part of me knows I should decline, but the memory of our kiss in the elevator is still fresh, making it hard to think straight.
"Fine," I concede, against my better judgment. "But just a ride home. Nothing more."
A smile spreads across his face, not quite hiding the triumph in his eyes.
As I slide into the passenger seat of his luxurious car, the scent of leather and his cologne envelops me. The interior is spotless, and I suddenly feel self-conscious about the paint stains on my clothes.
"So," Dominic says as he pulls away from the curb, "where to?"
I give him my address, and we fall into a charged silence. The city lights blur past the window, and I'm acutely aware of Dominic's presence beside me, his hands resting easily on the steering wheel.
"That was quite a painting," he says after a while, his voice low. "I meant what I said earlier. Your work is truly extraordinary."
I feel a blush creep up my neck. "Thank you," I murmur. "I didn't realize you were such an art enthusiast."
He chuckles softly. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Gia. I'd like the chance to change that."
I turn to look at him, studying his profile in the dim light. He's undeniably handsome, but it's more than that. There's a complexity to him that intrigues me, despite my reservations.
"Dominic," I start, then pause, unsure of what I want to say.
He glances at me, his eyes intense. "Yes?"
I take a deep breath. "This... whatever this is between us. It can't happen. You know that, right?"
He's quiet for a moment, and I wonder if I've offended him. But then he speaks, his voice soft but determined. "I know it's complicated, Gia. But I can't ignore this connection between us. Can you?"
Before I can answer, we're pulling up outside my apartment building. Dominic parks the car but makes no move to get out.
"Thank you for the ride," I say, my hand on the door handle.
"Gia," he says, stopping me. “Have dinner with me."
I shake my head, reality crashing back in. "I can't. What happened before, that was a mistake."
The determination on his face surprises me. "Just dinner. One hour of your time, that's all I'm asking."
I should say no. I know I should. But the memory of his kiss is still burning on my lips, and I find myself nodding. "Fine. Dinner. Saturday. But that's it."
He grins, a triumphant light in his eyes. "I'll take it. I'll text you the details."
As I step out of the car, a thought occurs to me. "Wait, I never gave you my number."
Dominic's grin turns mischievous. "Don't worry about that, Red. I have my ways."
I roll my eyes, but can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "Goodnight, Dominic."
"Sweet dreams, Gia," he calls as I walk away.
As I step safely inside, my heart pounding and my lips still tingling, I can't shake the feeling that I've just made a deal with the devil. And the scariest part? I'm not sure I care.
My mind is a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions as I enter my loft. On one hand, Dominic Esposito represents everything I've been taught to avoid. He's the enemy, even though I’m finding it harder to remember why. He’s also dangerous, connected to a world of violence and crime that I’ve done my best to distance myself from.
On the other hand... the way he looked at my painting, with such genuine appreciation and understanding. The easy banter we shared, the way he made me laugh despite myself. And the way he knew exactly what I wanted that night…
I groan, burying my face in my hands. What am I doing? This is insane. I can't get involved with someone like Dominic. It would complicate everything - my relationship with Sofia, my career, my whole life.
Later as I climb into bed, I can't help but think about our upcoming dinner date. It's just dinner, I tell myself. One hour. What's the worst that could happen?
As I drift off to sleep, Dominic's smile is the last thing I see. And despite all my reservations, I realize I’m looking forward to seeing it again.