Chapter 17 Raven
RAVEN
Ishift in my bed, feeling a bit groggy. My head feels fuzzy, and my eyes are too heavy to open right away. I try to piece together what happened. The SUV, the knife, blood.
I inhale deeply and freeze. That scent. Rich, masculine—definitely Gio's cologne.
The same one that haunted my dreams. Am I dreaming again?
I turn my face into what I think is my pillow, and his scent intensifies, wrapping around me like a security blanket.
Something in my chest unclenches, making me feel oddly safe despite my confusion.
I force my eyes open, blinking away the fog. As my vision clears, panic sets in. This isn't my bedroom. The walls are the wrong color, the sheets—I don't own silk sheets. I sit up, my heart beginning to race.
Where the hell am I?
I push myself up, my head spinning slightly with the movement. On the nightstand beside me sits a crisp black shopping bag with the Armani logo in the center, and below it, in an elegant script, is my name—"Raven."
I hesitate for a moment before reaching out and grabbing the bag.
Inside, I find an outfit—a black dress that looks like it would cling to every curve.
Underneath are a matching bra and panties in the same color.
The fabric feels sinfully soft against my fingers, and heat rushes to my face as I examine the lace on the lingerie.
Tucked within the clothes is a receipt. My eyes widen as I see the total.
"Twelve thousand dollars?" I say to the empty room, my voice rough. "What the hell?"
Part of me wants to enjoy this extremely generous gift and think nothing negative about it, but the other part, the part that's kept me going all these years, thinks: Who does Gio think he is, buying me clothes like I'm some kind of doll he can dress up?
I hear some noise from outside the room and quickly shove the receipt and lingerie back into the bag, my hands trembling slightly.
The door opens slowly, and Gio stands in the doorway, filling the entire doorframe.
He's wearing a white button-down shirt and black dress pants.
The top few buttons of his shirt are undone, and I see his tattoos snaking their way out of his shirt and up his neck.
The sight brings back flashes of him at the gym, and my mouth goes dry.
I stay in that thought for a moment before he brings me back.
"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle.
The question triggers something in my mind. Like a dam breaking, everything rushes back at once—the SUV, the knife at my throat, warm blood spraying across my face. My hand instinctively touches my neck where the blade had pressed.
As I press on the slight cut, I then remember what he did.
"Holy fuck, Gio, did you kill those guys?" I blurt out.
He takes a step into the room while maintaining eye contact with me. "Don't worry about that right now. Are you okay?"
I pull my hand away from my neck and look down at my fingers, expecting to see blood, but they're clean. Someone must have washed them while I was out.
"I—I don't know," I stammer, my voice shaky. "Am I supposed to be okay after watching someone get shot in the head?"
Gio moves closer, and I can smell his cologne again, stronger now. It's oddly comforting, which only serves to confuse me more.
He hesitates for a moment, as if he's unsure what to say.
"Well, you're safe now," he says, his voice low and steady. "That's what matters."
"Safe?" I say sarcastically. "I was nearly kidnapped, Gio. Or worse. How is that safe?"
He sits on the edge of the bed, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "Because I got there in time. Because those men can't hurt you anymore."
"So you did kill them," I say, but I already know the answer. I mean, who survives being shot in the head?
Gio doesn't flinch. "I did what was necessary to protect you."
I should be horrified. I should be running for the door. But instead, I find myself oddly calm. Is this shock? Or am I just so desensitized to violence now that seeing people get killed is acceptable?
"Where am I?" I ask, changing the subject. I'm not ready to process those questions yet.
"My place," Gio answers. "I brought you here after you passed out. Figured it was better to keep you here than your apartment while you slept."
I nod, remembering the darkness that overtook me. "How long was I out?"
Gio looks at his watch. "About two hours."
I look down at myself, realizing I'm wearing an oversized T-shirt that definitely isn't mine. That hot embarrassment feeling starts to creep up my neck. "Did you...?"
Gio shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I—I didn't peek or anything. Your clothes were, well, they needed to be disposed of."
Right. Because I'm sure there was blood on them.
Gio clears his throat. "The clothes in the bag," he says, gesturing to the Armani shopping bag. "They're for you."
"Yes, I had a look. The dress is very—"
Gio puts his hands up. "I know. I don't know too much about women's clothing, so I had my driver speak with a stylist at the store. Said I wanted something nice for you, and well, there you go."
"It's very nice, but it's too much," I protest. "I don't own anything like that."
His eyes darken. "Well you do now."
I look at Gio, my emotions a tangled mess. Part of me wants to run as far away from this dangerous man as possible. But another part...
"Thank you," I say softly, looking down. "For saving me."
Gio's eyes soften slightly, but his jaw remains tense. He nods once, accepting my gratitude without a word.
I take a deep breath. "So, what does this mean now? Where do we go from here?"
Gio's face turns stoic and unreadable. "Well, the Russians are going to take your answer as no, so they'll try to intimidate—and a whole lot worse."
I nod. I think of my father, beaten and broken in that warehouse, and even though I am upset at him for trying to sell me out, there's a part of me—the daughter part or maybe the weaker part—that wants to protect him. To help him.
"What would happen if I say yes? Will my dad and I be okay?"
"I won't allow it," Gio says without skipping a beat, his voice firm like steel.
Something inside me snaps. "You won't allow it?" I repeat, feeling that familiar rage building. The same rage when someone tries to control my life or make decisions for me.
And even though I recognize the irony—that I'm fighting about being forced to become a Russian's mistress with a person who's not making me do it—it's just the fact that it's him, and he's making a decision for me, that's making my defenses light up.
I feel my fight-or-flight senses kick in, and I need to get off this bed. I stand abruptly, the room spinning for a moment before I steady myself against the nightstand.
"Seriously?"
Gio looks up at me, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "Are you getting upset over this?"
"Well, shit." I shrug. "I mean, again, without me making a choice." The words tumble out of me, sharp and angry even though I know I'm not being rational.
"Sit down before you hurt yourself," he commands, but I don't listen. "I just thought—" Gio continues, but I cut him off.
"Sure you did," I spit out. My hands are shaking, and I clench them into fists. "You just thought you'd make another decision for me, right? Because clearly, I can't be trusted to make my own choices."
The rational part of my brain knows he's trying to protect me, but right now, that knowledge only fuels my frustration. I'm tired of men thinking they know what's best for me, tired of being a pawn in their games. I need to always stand up for myself, or people will walk all over me.
Gio jumps to his feet and towers over me. His eyes flash with anger, his jaw muscles twitching with frustration. I take an involuntary step back, my chest tightening slightly.
"I told you, you're mine to protect," he growls. "You're mine. End of story. I will not allow you to be with anyone right now except for me. So fuck it if you think otherwise," he says, pointing to his chest. "I'm your protector."
Each mine makes my blood boil hotter until something inside me explodes. Before I can process what I'm doing, my hand flies through the air, and my palm connects with his cheek in a hard hit that stings my hand.
Shit, I just slapped him.
I feel like time freezes. I've never hit anyone before, let alone a mobster who kills people without hesitation. I find it hard to breathe as the reality of what I've just done crashes over me.
Then a surge of adrenaline courses through my veins as I brace myself for what he's about to do. My mind goes through all the possible scenarios—none of them good. I half expect him to strike me back, to grab me, choke me, hell, maybe even kill me. My body tenses, ready for anything.
But Gio doesn't move. His head remains turned slightly from the force of my slap. His green eyes blaze with an emotion I've never seen before, and everything shifts. The air between us feels like it disappears.
In one swift motion, he grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls it back. The sudden movement makes me gasp, my scalp stinging from the pressure. But instead of fear, heat courses through my body. He pulls me close, and I slam up against his rock-hard chest.
"You. Are. Mine," he growls, and then, my world changes.
His lips crash into mine, hard and demanding.
The kiss is nothing like I had dreamed about, and God help me, it's even better.
It's possessive, brutal, hungry, desperate, and more.
It's like nothing I've ever experienced before.
His mouth demands, takes, conquers. I taste him, and my body reacts like it's a drug. I want more. I need more.
My frustration is instantly replaced with desire, and I don't even have to think. My hands slide up, gripping his shirt, and I pull him closer to me, kissing him back with equal passion.
His free hand snakes around my waist, and I can feel every hard plane of his body, the heat of him seeping through my thin T-shirt.
His teeth graze my bottom lip, and I let out a small moan. He uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine, calling for more.
The rational part of my brain is screaming at me to stop, reminding me of who he is, of what he's done. But for once, I silence that voice.
Right now, in this moment, I don't want to think.
I just want to feel. I just want him.