Chapter 12 Raven
RAVEN
Dragging myself to the gym after a long day at the gallery wasn't originally part of my plan for surviving Chicago, but agreeing to be Morgan's evening workout buddy might be the smartest decision I've made since coming back.
There's something sadistically therapeutic about running on a treadmill, and most importantly, the complete absence of a brooding Italian man watching my every move.
Truth is, coming back has been a whirlwind for me.
It's been hard to reconnect with people, men in particular.
I tried once, and Gio shut it down so embarrassingly that I've put meeting the opposite sex on hold.
However, I need some girl time, someone to chat with, and Morgan came to fill that.
We get along at work, she's nice, and she fills me in on all the latest Hollywood and reality TV gossip.
Today, I'm already five minutes into my warm-up when Morgan bursts through the door, wearing her signature bright orange yoga pants and shirt, her honey-blonde hair escaping from a messy bun.
"Sorry! Sorry!" she calls out, hurrying to the treadmill next to mine. "I got caught up talking to Danny, and then I couldn't find my gym shoes, and, yeah," she says with a smile and presses the start button.
I can't help but laugh. Morgan's perpetual lateness and creative excuses have become as much a part of our routine as the workouts themselves. To be fair, Danny is her very new fling, and while I've never met him, he seems like a nice guy, and from the pictures, not too bad-looking either.
I wish I had a Danny in my life.
"At least you made it," I say, adjusting my pace as she scrambles to get her treadmill up to speed.
We fall into one of those comfortable silences, and I just stare at one of those motivational images on the wall, mind blank, total zen mode.
"Three miles down," Morgan pants after a while. "How do you make this look so easy?"
I manage a small smile, keeping my steady pace. "Years of running from my problems, I guess."
"Yeah, I get that. Aren't we all?" Morgan laughs. "But really, I notice you're like in way better shape than me."
I shrug. "Maybe my time living abroad. You walk everywhere."
"In Florence?" Morgan glances over. "You never really talk about your time there."
"Not much to tell. I learned to restore art, drank wine, lived the Italian dream."
Morgan snorts. "Oh right, no big deal."
"No, I mean, it was lovely, obviously. That city is magical."
Morgan nods. "And now, you're back in Chicago running your dad's gallery."
I glance at her and say, "My mom's gallery actually."
"Oh?" Morgan's voice softens. "I always thought—I mean, I'd only been working at the gallery a few months before you came, and your dad's name is on everything. So..."
My fingers find the small raven tattoo on my wrist. "Yeah, well, that's my dad for you. Taking credit for other people's dreams."
"Was it really her dream?" Morgan asks, genuine curiosity in her voice.
I adjust my speed, surprised by my willingness to answer.
"She was a wonderful artist. And when she opened the gallery, she'd bring me there and tell me stories about each painting, about the artists who made them.
" I smile at the memory. "I was little, but even then, she made sure to teach me that art isn't just about beauty—it's about preservation. "
"Is that why you got into restoration?"
"Partly." I wipe some sweat from my forehead. "After she died, I started seeing broken things differently. Like maybe if I could fix art, I could fix..." I trail off.
"Other things?" Morgan prompts gently.
"My family, maybe? I don't know." I laugh because I'm starting to get nervous at my openness. "Stupid, right?"
"Not stupid," Morgan says. "If you don't mind me asking, did you speak with your brother or dad much?"
I'm quiet for a moment, just the sound of our feet hitting the treadmills. "Johnny called me on my last birthday. Drunk, singing off-key. I tried calling back, but..." I swallow hard. "That was the last time I heard from him."
"Oh, Raven." Morgan's voice is soft.
"You know what's crazy? The last real conversation I had with my dad was almost twelve months ago, on the anniversary of my mom's death. And even then, he barely said two words to me." I slow my pace. "Some family, right?"
"Is that why you stayed away so long?"
"Easier to pretend everything's fine when you're an ocean away." I hit the cool-down button. "Florence was safe. Predictable. I knew who I was there."
"And here?"
"Here?" I shake my head. "Here, I'm just the lost daughter trying to piece together a legacy I'm not even sure I understand anymore."
Morgan slows her treadmill. "You know, sometimes talking about it helps. We could do this more often. Running and, you know, actually talking? Or maybe coffee too—I guess we don't always have to run."
I wipe my face with my towel, hiding the unexpected sting in my eyes. "Yeah," I say quietly. "Maybe we could."
"I'm free tomorrow?" Morgan asks, her voice careful, like she's afraid I'll say no.
For the first time in weeks, I feel something loosen in my chest. "Yeah," I say. "Coffee would be nice."
As we head toward the locker room, Morgan suddenly grabs my arm. "Oh my god," she nods toward the weight area, "check out those two guys over there."
I follow her gaze toward the free weights, where two men stand near the squat racks.
My eyes land on one of them first—his back is broad, defined with raw muscle, covered in dark ink that stretches across his shoulders and down his arms. The way the tattoos shift with his movements is almost hypnotic.
My breath catches slightly in my throat.
He's hot. Stupidly hot.
"Do you see that guy's back?" Morgan whispers. "Jesus."
I laugh, feeling a flush creep up my neck. "Uhh, yeah. Tattoo guy," I say as my eyes trace the V-shape of his back.
Then he turns to adjust the weight, and my stomach drops.
Morgan gasps beside me, practically gripping my arm.
"Oh shit. Isn't that your scary security guy?"
Oh. My. God.
My mouth goes dry.
Gio.
Of course, it's Gio. Because the universe hates me.
He spots us, and something flickers across his face—a momentary break in his usual controlled expression. His eyes drag over my workout clothes, lingering a little too long, and the muscle in his jaw ticks once before a knowing smile appears on his lips.
I want to look away, I should look away, but my traitorous eyes are drawn to his chest, where the tattoos continue in mesmerizing patterns across and down his defined abs that glisten with sweat.
A bead of moisture trails down his stomach, and I catch myself following its path before I snap my gaze back up.
He's not alone. Next to him stands another man, equally tall and muscular, though with fewer tattoos. They're talking in low voices, both radiating that dangerous energy that seems to fill the space around them.
"Who the heck is his friend?" Morgan whispers. "Is this like a hot body convention? They're both so..."
"Terrifying?" I say, trying to ignore the heat pooling in my lower abdomen.
"I was going to say hot, but yeah, that too."
They're walking toward us now, and panic flutters in my chest, but I force myself to stand still, fighting the urge to retreat.
Gio moves with that same quiet authority, his broad shoulders cutting through the space like he owns it.
His expression is unreadable, his eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense. I feel my skin starting to tingle.
"Raven," he says in that deep, commanding voice. "Fancy meeting you here."
His presence is overwhelming—all raw power, sweat, muscles, and that aura of something dangerous lurking beneath the surface he's always giving off. Him being shirtless has me feeling a bit flustered and off-balance.
I swallow hard and cross my arms, very aware of the way his workout shorts hang low on his hips. "It's a public gym, Gio."
His smile widens, and I know he caught me staring earlier. "Indeed it is."
Ares nods to us both, but his eyes linger on Morgan, who's turned an impressive shade of pink.
"Ladies," Ares says, his slight accent smoothing out his words. "Enjoying your workout?"
"Oh, I love your accent. Where are you from?" Morgan asks, brushing her hair behind her ear, Danny clearly taking a back seat.
"Greece. Have you ever been?"
"No, but I've always wanted to. It looks so beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as you, I assure you. I'm Ares, by the way."
I roll my eyes and turn back to Gio. "What are you doing here?"
Gio's eyes raise from my sports bra to meet mine.
"It's a public gym, remember?"
I roll my eyes.
"Well, we were just leaving," I say quickly, grabbing Morgan's arm.
"Were we?" Morgan protests, but I'm already pulling her toward the locker room.
"Have a good workout," Gio calls after us, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.
Once we're safely behind the locker room door, Morgan turns to me with wide eyes. "Damn, Raven. Did you see Ares? He's like a freaking Greek god. And Gio—I think he was kind of checking you out."
"What? Don't," I warn her, but my heart is still racing.
"But—"
"Not. A. Word."
She mimes zipping her lips, but her knowing smile says it all. I busy myself gathering my things, trying to forget the image of those tattoos, that smirk, the way his muscles moved...
"Dammit," I mutter, slamming my locker shut harder than necessary.
Why does this asshole have to be so annoyingly hot? Like, can't I catch a break?
Maybe I need to find a new gym.