Chapter 15 Gio
GIO
Iwatch as tears stream down Raven's face, and something inside me snaps.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, knuckles white with restraint.
Every muscle in my body tenses, itching to tear this piece of shit apart for making her cry.
The urge to beat Frank Carvello into bloody unconsciousness burns through my veins.
The feeling comes on so strong, so naturally, it surprises me.
This piece of shit. This fucking waste of oxygen who would trade his own daughter.
I've killed men for far less.
"Please, Ravenna," Frank begs again, and each word makes my trigger finger itch.
But I stay still.
Then it hits me. I'm showing restraint. Me. Giovanni fucking Bonventi. The man who once broke someone's jaw for looking at Marco wrong. The underboss who makes grown men piss themselves with just a look.
And I'm holding back.
For her.
Knowing full well beating this man up in front of Raven will solve nothing and only cause her more pain.
I've seen men betray their families before, but this? This is a new level of fucked up. Trading your own daughter to the Russian mob? My stomach turns at the thought of what they'd do to her.
I watch as Raven stumbles backward, gasping for air. "I need some air," she chokes out.
Part of me wants to go after her, to make sure she's okay, but first, I turn my attention back to Frank, who's still calling out to her.
"Please, Ravenna," he begs, his voice pathetic and weak.
I step closer to him, purposely blocking his view of the door Raven just left through. I grab him by the throat, my fingers digging into the bruises already there. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up."
Fear spreads across his face as he looks up at me. Good. He should be afraid.
"You don't get to say her name. You lost that right the moment you decided to trade her like a fucking commodity."
I squeeze tighter, and he starts to turn red. I lean in close, my face inches from his.
"You better pray to whatever god you believe in that we can fix this," I say firmly. "Because if anything happens to her because of you, I will personally make sure you suffer in ways you can't even imagine."
I let him go, and I straighten up, disgust churning in my gut. "Get him the fuck out of my sight," I order my men, not even bothering to look at Frank again.
As they drag him away, I turn toward the door Raven left through.
Walking out of the warehouse, my body is rigid with fury. I'm still trying to crush the desire to go back in there and paint the walls with Frank's blood, to tear him apart with my bare hands.
But my driver nods to me, and when I approach, I see Raven's already inside. My anger dampens, replaced by something I'm not used to feeling. Something that makes my chest tight.
Without hesitation, I quickly slide in beside her, my driver shutting the door behind me. The silence in the car is deafening. I open my mouth, trying to find the right words.
"I..." but the words die in my throat. What the fuck do you say to someone whose father just tried to sell them to the Russian mob?
"Please, Gio. I don't feel like talking." Her voice cracks on my name.
I signal to my driver, and the car starts to move. In the darkness of the backseat, I hear her trying to muffle her sobs. Each choked-back cry feels like a small blade between my ribs.
She's turned away from me, pressed against the door, shoulders shaking with the effort of containing her grief.
My own rage simmers beneath the surface. I rub my hands on my thighs. The woman who stood up to me, who threw a fucking shoe at my camera, who refused to be intimidated—reduced to this. By her own blood.
Fuck.
I've spent my whole life being the dangerous one, the one people fear.
But right now, looking at her, I see something I've never really considered before.
An innocent. A victim. Jesus, I was so caught up in my own shit—protecting my family, getting to the bottom of this mess—that I never stopped to think about her feelings.
Never considered that maybe, just maybe, she really didn't know anything about all this and she was telling me the truth.
As we continue our way back to the gallery, my desire to speak to her grows. To just talk to her, despite the fact that I'm not good with this kind of shit. Women crying, emotions, comfort—that's not my fucking forte. But watching her try to hold herself together, something inside me shifts.
I clear my throat, my voice rougher than intended. "You don't have to talk, but you're not going with them. Not now, not ever."
Raven turns to face me, eyes blazing with fury despite the tears in her eyes. "What kind of world do you all live in? Huh? Where it's even discussed about someone just getting carted off like a fucking pawn? I have a voice. I matter. It's my life, last I checked."
Her words hit like a bullet to the chest. Fuck.
She's right. Sometimes I forget what it's like to be outside my realm—outside mafia rules, outside the brutal logic that governs my world. Shit, people disappear all the time. They get traded, sold, killed. It’s just business. And I’ve talked about it like it's nothing. But Raven, she’s not part of this.
She shouldn't have to be. Her shitty father dragged her into our hell.
I exhale sharply and glance at her. "You're right," I admit. "But I need you to understand something. As long as I’m breathing, no one is taking you anywhere. Not the Russians. Not anyone."
Her lips press into a tight line. "Why? Why do you care?"
I could lie. Could tell her it's just business. But the truth—fuck, the truth is clawing its way to the surface. Instead, I settle for something in between. "Because I do."
She looks away, staring out the window, and I don’t push. The rest of the drive passes in tense silence and I watch her from the corner of my eye, noticing how she wraps her arms around herself like she's trying to hold all her broken pieces together.
When we arrive at the gallery, I follow her up to her apartment without a word. She doesn't look at me, doesn't acknowledge my presence. As she reaches her door, I clear my throat.
"I'll be next door if you need anything."
She doesn't respond. She just goes inside and shuts the door in my face.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the closed door. My fists clench at my sides. I want to break down the door, to go in there and… hold her? Comfort her? I don't even know how to do that kind of shit, but I want to do something.
And then it hits me. This fierce need to protect her reminds me of Marco. Of how I failed him. How I almost lost my little brother because I wasn't watching closely enough.
I couldn't protect him then. But with Raven—I can do better. I can be better. I won't fail her like I failed Marco.
The Russians, Frank, anyone who tries to hurt her—they'll have to go through me first. And nobody who's tried that has lived to tell about it.
I turn to go inside my apartment when I hear her door open.
"What are you going to do?" she asks, looking at me, hesitation in her voice.
"I told you you're under my protection, so I'll keep you safe," I say firmly.
"How? You can't fight the entire Russian mafia."
I turn to face her. "I'm a Bonventi. Watch me."
The faintest smile flashes across her face. If I wasn't looking at her so intently, I would have missed it.
She nods and shuts the door.
I turn and enter my own apartment, immediately heading for the security feeds. The camera in Raven's apartment shows her curled up on the couch, hugging a pillow.
I pour myself a drink, knocking it back in one go. The burn of the whiskey does nothing to dull what I'm feeling.
What the fuck is wrong with me? When did I start caring about some woman's feelings? She's just a means to an end, right? Just a way to protect my family, to get to the bottom of this mess with the Russians.
But as I watch her on the screen, something inside me shifts. She's not just a pawn in this game anymore. She's—fuck, I don't know what she is. But I know I can't let anything happen to her.
I've spent my whole life being the protector. The enforcer. The one who makes the hard decisions to keep my family safe. But now, looking at Raven on the screen, I realize I want to be more than that. I want to be her protector too.
Not because she's weak. Christ, she's anything but weak. The way she stood up to me, the fire in her eyes when she told me off in the car—she's got more strength than most of the men I deal with daily.
No, I want to protect her because I can't stand the thought of anyone hurting her. Of anyone making her cry like this again.
Because somewhere along the line, without me even realizing it, Raven became more than just a job. More than just a means to an end.
She became mine to protect.