Chapter 21 Raven
RAVEN
Ismooth my hands down the front of this sinfully beautiful dress, admiring how the fabric hugs every curve. I've never worn anything this luxurious before.
The mirror reflects back someone I barely recognize, someone elegant, sophisticated even.
This black Armani dress Gio bought for me fits like it was meant for me, the neckline plunging just enough to make a statement without being vulgar. My breasts look amazing, lifted and shaped perfectly. I turn sideways, and—damn. My ass looks incredible in this.
Gio's going to lose his mind.
And then there are the shoes. This morning, one of Gio's men dropped off a bag containing a pair of red-bottomed Louboutins, complete with a note that simply read: "Wear these tonight." The six-inch heels make my legs look a mile long, and the signature red soles flash with each step.
Ya girl is feeling fancy.
I can't help but giggle as I twirl in front of the mirror. The little girl who used to play dress-up in her mother's closet is screaming with joy inside me. Hell, the adult me is screaming too, just not as loudly.
I pause, catching my reflection again. My dark hair falls in soft waves around my shoulders, framing my face. The smoky eye makeup I've applied makes my blue eyes look almost electric.
Finally, for the first time since arriving in Chicago, gone is the stressed-out art restorer, replaced by this goddess.
It's nice to feel sexy.
There's also a small part of me—okay, a big part of me—that is excited to see Gio's reaction. I know he made it clear this wasn't a date, and I don't even know if I'm ready to call it one myself, but I like the way he looks at me, and that's what I'm after.
And since I'm thinking of Gio, that other part of me decides to chime in.
Uhh, this is Gio we're talking about. Gio, who barged into my life, turned it upside down, and now controls my every move. Gio, who's dangerous and possessive and infuriating.
Yet when he touches me…
Everything about this situation defies logic.
I apply one last coat of deep red lipstick, grab my clutch, and walk out into the living room.
My new Louboutins click against the floor. Each step coincides with my crazy spinning thoughts.
Click. He's a killer.
Click. But he saved my life.
Click. He's controlling me.
Click. But I feel safe with him.
I'm so confused. More than I have been with anything in my life.
When you dislike someone, you dislike them.
You don't think about them, dream about them, and you sure as hell don't have sex with them—yet all these things are happening to me.
No matter how much I tell myself he's this or that, when I see him, I get more and more excited.
When he's with me, I feel more and more protected.
But it's more than that. The way my body responds to his touch, the electricity that crackles between us even when we're just in the same room—that can't all be in my head, can it?
Shit, I'm falling for him.
Hell, maybe I already have, and my conscious mind is playing catch-up.
I let out a laugh. How can I live in a world where the one person I can seemingly trust right now, who has my best interest at heart—more than my own father— is a ruthless mobster? What kind of fucked-up movie is this?
A knock at the door startles me out of my thoughts. It's him.
"Just a minute!" I call out, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
I walk to the door and rest my hand on the doorknob. This is it. No turning back now. Whatever happens tonight, whatever this thing is between Gio and me, I can't help but feel like it's all about to change.
I open the door, and Gio looks magnificent.
There's no other word for it. He's wearing a black tux with a bowtie, the tailored fit emphasizing his broad shoulders and trim waist. His dark hair is styled back, and his green eyes seem to glow as they rake over me.
His neck tattoos show perfectly, if there ever was such a thing, and his scent immediately makes me smile.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then Gio's lips curve into a smile. "Fuck me," he says, his eyes traveling from my face down to my feet and back up again. "You look absolutely beautiful, Raven," he says and kisses me on the cheek.
I bring my hand up to where he kissed me and press it. "Thank you," I say with probably too big a smile. "You're looking very handsome."
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a burgundy box. My eyes go wide when I see Cartier written across it. "I got you a little something."
I've never owned anything from Cartier in my life. Hell, I've barely even window-shopped there.
"Gio, you didn't have to—" I start, but he cuts me off with a look.
"Here, open it," he commands softly, his green eyes intense.
I take the box from him. It's heavier than I expected. I lift the lid slowly.
Inside, nestled on black velvet, is a stunning diamond necklace. The large stones catch the light perfectly. It's easily the most beautiful piece of jewelry I've ever seen up close.
"Oh my God," I breathe. "Gio, this is—"
"Do you like it?" he asks.
I nod a little too eagerly. "Oh yes, it's beautiful. It's just… a lot."
Gio smiles. "Say you'll wear it tonight, and every night after."
"I will," I promise.
"Good. Let me put it on you."
I turn and lift my hair, and Gio places the necklace around my neck. He presses his body into me slightly as he does, and I instantly find myself wanting more of it.
"There," he says.
I turn and look at him. "Well?"
"Stunning. The necklace looks very nice on you, too," he says with a smile and offers me his arm. "Shall we?"
I hold his arm the entire way to his waiting car. Even in the elevator, I don't let go, and he doesn't seem to mind.
I slide into the back of his Rolls Royce, and as we pull away, I can't help but fidget with my new necklace. The weight of it feels foreign, yet comforting. I catch Gio watching me out of the corner of his eye, his gaze intense as always.
Suddenly, he breaks the silence. "Why do you do that?"
I blink, confused. "Do what?"
"That," he says, pointing to my hand. I realize I've been absently rubbing my tattoo again.
"Oh." I stop immediately, feeling self-conscious. "It's just a thing I do."
"I know, but why?" His voice is softer than usual, genuinely curious rather than demanding.
I hesitate. "Is it that obvious?"
"You do it a lot. I've seen you do it when you're upset, angry, happy, and if I had to guess, nervous now?"
"Okay, Mr. Observant," I retort, trying to mask my discomfort with sarcasm.
He laughs. "Well, with you, it's easy to observe."
I hesitate for a moment but decide to answer him truthfully.
"Well, it's my mom." I hold up my wrist, showing him the small raven inked there. "Not like my actual mom—I assure you I didn't come from a bird."
"Are you sure? I do see a slight resemblance," he teases, his eyes carrying a hint of amusement.
"Oh, shut up. Do you want me to tell you or not?"
"Please," he says with a smile. "I'm all ears."
"My mom got sick when I was sixteen. Cancer." The words come out quieter than I intended, even after all these years. "Before things got really bad, we went and got matching tattoos. My name, Ravenna, is Raven in Italian, so that's what we got."
I pause, lost in the memory for a moment. I remember that small tattoo parlor in a rough part of Chicago, the sting of the needle, my mom's hand squeezing mine.
"It was one of the happiest days of my life," I continue. "It was right before she started chemo. She said she wanted us to have something that connected us forever, something that cancer couldn't take away."
I blink back tears, trying to compose myself. "When we all knew she was going to die, she told me that whenever I wanted to talk to her, I could just say what was on my mind while rubbing my raven, and it would carry the message to her. So—shit, my makeup," I say, feeling a tear roll down my cheek.
"Here." Gio hands me a crisp white handkerchief, monogrammed with his initials.
"Sorry, I—"
"Please don't ever be sorry about that." His voice is softer than I've ever heard it. "Family is all we have in this world. I know what it's like to lose a mother... and..." He trails off, jaw tightening. "Never mind, but I think it's nice that you have that. Don't ever let that go."
His words surprise me. I've never heard Gio speak so gently before.
I dab at my eyes with his handkerchief, the soft fabric catching my tears. "You don't think it's weird?"
"Are you kidding me? Has anyone ever?"
I laugh. "Bud Thomson, my senior year of high school, did."
Gio's eyes darken dangerously. "Then I'll kill that motherfucker if you want. I'll find him and bring him to you, and you can make fun of his name. Get him back." He smiles. "I mean, the guy's got to go through life being called Bud."
We both launch into laughter, and I start to feel better.
"Yeah, fuck Bud Thompson," I say, grinning.
"That's the spirit," he says, then a semi-serious look takes over his face. "Seriously though, want me to find him?"
"What? Jesus, Gio." I pause for a second. "Okay, sure. No!" I shake my head. "I'm kidding. But thanks."
Gio is silent for a long moment, his eyes never leaving my face. When he finally speaks, his voice is gentle. "Well, for what it's worth, your mother," he says softly and reaches for my hand, "she must have been an incredible woman."
I smile. "She was. God, she really was." I turn my hand over, intertwining our fingers without thinking. "She would have hated you, you know."
Gio raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Yeah," I say, still smiling. "She always said I had to stay away from dangerous men. She wanted me to find a nice, boring accountant or something. You know, predictable."
"Well, I sure as hell ain't boring or predictable. And I may be dangerous, but you'll always be protected when you're with me."
As we pull up to a nice-looking building, Gio looks out. "We're here."
I look out and read the sign: The Harp Academy: Music Center for Children.
Gio helps me out of the car, his strong hand steadying me. I can't help but marvel at the contradiction he presents. This tall, imposing figure—all muscle and mafia danger—just moments ago was cracking jokes and offering to hunt down my high school bully. It's all so disarming.
As we make our way inside, my fingers grab the new necklace he gave me, and I find myself biting back a smile. Who would have thought that Gio Bonventi, the man who terrified me just days ago, could make me laugh?
"What's got you smiling?" His voice is low, meant only for me among the crowd.
I turn to look at him - really look at him. Beyond the threatening exterior, past the tattoos and the muscles and the reputation. "Just thinking about how wrong first impressions can be."