Giovanni
GIOVANNI
C onnor’s voice booms through the trees, carrying that usual edge of mischief he can never hide.
“Well, well, look who made it out alive!” He claps his hands together as the five remaining initiates stumble back into the clearing, covered in dirt, sweat, and splatters of red paint. “Congratulations, you fuckin’ heathens. You survived the Night Hunt.”
I stand back, leaning against one of the massive oak trees as I watch them. Chiara’s in the group, her eyes darting to me, and there’s that spark of defiance again. She’s not gloating, but she doesn’t have to. The way she holds herself tells me enough.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket, trying not to think about how she played me back there, how she knew I was hunting her and still outmaneuvered me. I should be pissed. Hell, I am pissed. But the way she handled herself? It’s hard not to respect that. Annoying as hell, but impressive.
Connor steps up to the group, slinging his paintball gun over his shoulder. “Alright, you earned your place for now. But don’t get too comfortable. Legacy Week isn’t over yet, and trust me, the worst is still to come.”
The leftover initiates exchange nervous glances, but they’re too tired to say anything. Chiara meets my eyes again, and for a second, it’s just us. There’s something there, something unspoken, but before I can figure it out, Connor’s voice snaps me back to reality.
“Let’s get the hell out of here and head back to the Volkov Suites. We’ve got a party to finish, and I’m not about to let a little hunt ruin my buzz.”
I push off the tree, heading toward the SUV without a word. The night’s been a blur of adrenaline and tension, and I need to clear my head. But of course, Connor jogs up beside me, grinning like the smug bastard he is.
“I’m ridin’ with you, G,” he says, slapping me on the back before hopping into the passenger seat of my SUV.
I don’t argue, I never do with Connor. He’s too stubborn to bother fighting about something as small as who rides where..
As I toss the paintball gun into the backseat, he hops into the passenger side, kicking his feet up onto the dashboard like he owns the damn thing. I slide into the driver’s seat, the leather cool against my back as I start the engine.
“You’re quiet,” he says after a moment, glancing over at me with a sideways smirk. “That’s not like you, Gio.”
I shrug, my eyes fixed on the road ahead as we pull away from the clearing. The forest disappears in the rearview mirror; the trees replaced by the sprawling estate of Willow Bridge.
“Just tired.”
Connor chuckles, shaking his head. “Aye, tired, my arse. You’ve been distracted all fuckin’ night. I saw the way you were lookin’ at her.”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Who?”
Connor raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t play dumb with me. Chiara. You think I don’t notice? You’ve had your eye on her since the start of this week. Hell, probably before that.”
I keep my eyes on the road, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react. “You’re imagining things, Connor.”
“Am I now?” Connor leans back in his seat, his smirk widening. “So you weren’t just chasin’ her through the woods like a dog after a fuckin’ bone?”
I clench my jaw, my pulse picking up again at the memory of her slipping through my fingers. “It’s Legacy Week. She’s one of the initiates I chose. I was doing my job.”
Connor snorts, clearly not buying a word of it. “Sure, sure. And it’s just a coincidence that she’s the only one who managed to get away from you, yeah?”
I shoot him a glare, but he just laughs, throwing his head back against the seat. “C’mon, G. You think you’re bein’ subtle, but you’re not. You’re fuckin’ obsessed with her. And trust me, you keep actin’ like that, and she’s gonna catch on sooner or later.”
“There’s nothing to catch on to,” I snap, my voice harsher than I intended. “Chiara’s just another initiate. She’s good, sure, but that’s it.”
Connor raises both hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, relax. But you know as well as I do, she’s not gonna stay single for long.”
I grind my teeth, the thought of someone else getting close to her sending a jolt of irritation through me. It’s ridiculous. Chiara’s off-limits. But Connor’s words hit a nerve.
“You’re reading too much into this,” I mutter, gripping the steering wheel harder. Connor looks at me like I’ve just said something stupid, which, in fairness, I probably have.
“Mate, I’ve known you a long time, yeah? And I’ve seen the way you look at her. It’s not just about the game. There’s more there. And if you don’t fuckin’ act on it, someone else will. Mark my words.”
I let out a long breath; the tension coiling tighter inside me. “You’re wrong, Connor. I’m not interested in Chiara like that.”
Connor scoffs. “Bullshit. If you’re not interested, why the fuck were you so hell-bent on catchin’ her tonight? You let the others go, Gio. You didn’t give a shit about anyone else.”
I grit my teeth, refusing to admit he’s right. I won’t give him that satisfaction.
“Look,” Connor continues, his voice dropping a little as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m not sayin’ you have to marry the girl, but if you’re feelin’ somethin’, you’ve gotta stop pretendin’ like you don’t. She’s smart, she’s strong, and she’s got every fuckin’ eye on her right now. You know what that means? Someone else is gonna come along and snatch her up. And if that happens, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
I don’t respond; the words hanging between us as the road stretches out ahead. Connor’s not wrong, but he’s not right either. There’s more at stake than just feelings, more than he knows.
But something about the way Chiara’s been getting under my skin … it’s starting to fuck with me.
“You’re overthinking it,” I finally say, trying to brush it off. “She’s not my problem.”
Connor shakes his head, smirking like he knows something I don’t. “Aye, keep tellin’ yourself that, mate. We’ll see how long that lasts.”
I park the SUV, cutting the engine. Connor hops out first, stretching his arms above his head. “Time to get back to the fun, eh?”
I nod, but my mind’s elsewhere—on Chiara, on the chase, on everything Connor just said.
“Don’t take too long, G,” Connor calls over his shoulder as he heads toward the party. “You might not have as much time as you think.”
I watch him go, my jaw tight, the tension in my chest twisting into something darker. Connor’s wrong. He has to be.
But deep down, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s right.
S he’s standing alone, watching the flames of the bonfire, lost in thought. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself before I speak.
“Chiara,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
She turns to look at me, and sighs as if she’s expecting another confrontation. “What is it, ?”
I run a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words. “Look, about earlier … I didn’t mean to be such an asshole.”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I let out a frustrated sigh, the tension between us thick enough to cut with a knife. “It’s not about you. It’s—fuck, I don’t know. It’s everything.”
She rolls her eyes and turns away, clearly ready to be done with me. She doesn’t respond right away, just gives me that look—like she’s trying to decide if I’m worth the trouble.
Then she shakes her head, more resigned than anything, and turns to walk away. I can’t let it end like this. Not like this. Not without something more.
I start to follow her, my footsteps quickening as she heads toward the back of the pool house, where the light from the Suite barely reaches. The air is cooler here, quieter, with only the faint sound of water lapping against the pool tiles.
“Chiara,” I say, my voice softer now, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t even turn around. It’s like she’s trying to put as much distance between us as possible, and I can’t have that.
Before she can say anything, I reach for her wrist, pressing her back against the wall of the pool house and caging her in with my arms on either side of her.
“What are you doing?” she demands, her voice more steady than I expected, but I can see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.
“Just making sure you’re listening,” I murmur, my face inches from hers. “You’ve got this habit of walking away before I’m done talking.”
“Well, maybe you should say something worth listening to,” she snaps back, her eyes narrowing in defiance. But there’s a heat in her gaze that tells me she’s not as unaffected as she’s trying to appear.
“Careful, Micetta,” I warn, my tone low, teasing. “You might hurt my feelings.”
She scoffs, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t have feelings, . Just an ego the size of the whole damn school.”
I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Maybe. But you seem to have a knack for getting under my skin, Chiara. It’s almost like you enjoy it.”
“I enjoy making your life difficult,” she retorts, her chin lifting defiantly. “Someone has to.”
“Is that what you think you’re doing?” I ask, my eyes locking onto hers, searching for that spark I know is hiding beneath her bravado. “Or are you just trying to keep me at arm’s length because you’re afraid of what happens if you let me in?”
She falters for just a second, and I catch it—her breath hitching, the way her eyes flicker down to my lips before darting back up to meet my gaze.
“Not everything is about you,” she says, her voice a little less steady now. “Sometimes, people just don’t want to be around you.”
“Doubt it,” I say, my tone softening as I let my fingers brush against her wrist, feeling the pulse quicken beneath her skin. “But I don’t think that’s what this is about. I think you’re just scared of what happens when you finally admit you don’t hate me as much as you want to.”
She stares at me, her eyes searching mine like she’s trying to figure out if I’m playing some kind of sick game. And maybe I am, but it’s one I’m fully invested in.
“You’re delusional,” she mutters, shaking her head as if she can will away the tension between us.
“And you’re infuriating,” I counter, letting my lips curve into a teasing smile. “But you can’t deny there’s something here, Chiara. Something more than just hate.”
She’s silent for a moment, her eyes never leaving mine, and for the first time since we started this twisted dance, I see the walls she’s put up starting to crack, just a little. And it’s enough to make me lean in and whisper, “Tell me I’m wrong.”
But she doesn’t, and that’s all the answer I need.
She swallows hard, her chest rising and falling faster now. I know I’m getting to her, and that thrill —that need to push her just a bit more— makes my blood hum.
“Is this what you do, ?” she bites out, trying to sound strong. “You corner girls and see how far you can push them before they break?”
I lean in even closer, until our noses almost touch. “Only the ones worth breaking, Chiara. And you … you’re not like the others. You don’t scare easily, do you?”
She glares at me, and I swear, if looks could kill, I’d be six feet under right now.
“No, I’m not scared of you,” she says, her voice steady even though I can see the uncertainty in her eyes .
“Good,” I say, my voice softening as I tilt my head slightly, letting my lips brush against the shell of her ear. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
There’s a charged silence between us, the kind that crackles with tension. I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, my hands sliding down the wall until they rest on either side of her hips.
“Hmm,” I murmur, my voice low, “I just want to see how long it takes before you stop pretending you don’t feel this.”
Her lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, I think she’s going to shove me away, to finally end this game of cat and mouse. But she doesn’t. She stays right where she is, trapped between me and the wall, her eyes locked on mine.
“I don’t feel anything,” she lies, her voice barely convincing.
I grin, my hands sliding up from her hips to her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer.
“If that’s true,” I whisper, “then why haven’t you walked away?”
She opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out. Instead, she just glares at me, her resolve crumbling by the second. The tension between us is electric, and I know she feels it too, even if she’s not ready to admit it.
“Don’t play mind games with me, Kitten,” I murmur, my lips ghosting over hers, teasing, “You feel this too, just fucking admit it.”
“I don’t feel anything,” she repeats, but the tremor in her voice betrays her. It’s a weak defense, and we both know it.
My grin widens as I lean in close, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear, my voice dropping to a whisper that’s meant for her alone.
“Liar,” I murmur, my breath warm against her skin.
Before she can muster another protest, I lean in and press a kiss just behind her ear, feeling the way she tenses at the contact, then slowly melts into it. Her hands, which had been resting on my chest as if to push me away, now grip the fabric of my shirt instead, holding on as if she needs the anchor.
“See?” I whisper, my lips trailing down to the sensitive skin of her neck, pressing another kiss there. “I told you, your body doesn’t lie.”
She shudders, her breath coming out in a soft gasp, then she pushes me away. “Stay away from me,” she breathes, before she turns and this time I let her run.
The grin slips from my face as I watch her go, knowing I, not only planted a seed, but fucked with my own mind.
But it’s more than that, too. It’s the fear of her stopping this, of seeing her choose someone else over me. How the fuck has she made me this weak already? I barely fucking know her.
All I know is that I’m not ready to let Chiara go, not yet. And if that means going head-to-head with Leo Volkov, so be it.
I just wish I knew how to be honest with her without it turning into a goddamn push and pull every time.