Chapter 28 Gio
GIO
"Drive. Now." I bark at the driver, slamming the door so hard the whole car shakes. My hands are trembling with rage, and I can barely see straight. The leather seat creaks under my grip as I clench my fists.
The engine roars as we pull away from the curb, but it's not loud enough to drown out her words still ringing in my ears.
How dare she? How fucking dare she? That family can have each other. They're all fucked up
It takes everything I have not to put my fist through the window.
The rage burns so hot in my veins I can't take it. I've never wanted to hunt down someone and protect them at the same fucking time before.
Does she have any idea what she's done to me? How she's crawled under my skin, into my blood, until I can't imagine a world without her in it? And now she stands there, defending that piece-of-shit father of hers, accusing me of using her?
"FUCK!" I slam my fist into the partition so hard it cracks. The driver flinches but knows better than to say anything.
I was so fucking stupid. Letting myself imagine a future with her. Seeing her belly swollen with my child. Watching her chase our kids through the mansion's gardens. Building the kind of family I never had.
What a fucking joke.
"Boss?" The driver's hesitant voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. "Where to?"
Where to? I don't fucking know. I can't go home—I'm too upset. I can't go to the club, can't face my brothers right now, not when I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams.
"Just keep driving," I say firmly. "I don't care where."
But that's not entirely true. I want to go back. I want to grab her, shake her until she understands what she means to me. Until she sees that everything I've done, every move I've made, has been to keep her safe. To keep her mine.
"I'm just a job to you, remember?"
But she wasn't. She hasn't been "just a job" since—when? Since I saw her pleasuring herself, knowing I was watching? Since I felt her come apart around me? Since I woke to find her gone from my bed, and the loss was physical, like missing a limb?
No. It was before that. Maybe since I first saw her in that gallery, chin up, eyes defiant. Something in me recognized something in her. A fierceness. A loyalty. A vulnerability she tried like hell to hide.
The kind of woman who could stand beside a man like me. The kind who could bear my children, raise them with that same fire in their veins. The kind who wouldn't flinch from what I am, what I do—but who would make me want to be, not better, exactly, but worthy of her.
And what did I do? I forced my way into her life. I put cameras in her home. I killed men in front of her. I claimed her like she was property.
"Maybe I don't want to be another thing you own."
But she's mine and I'm her's.
She became mine the moment I decided she was, and nothing—not her denial, not her father's scheming, not even her hatred—will change that.
The part that's eating me alive, the part that makes me want to break something, is that maybe I am exactly the monster she thinks I am.
My phone buzzes. Ares. I almost ignore it, but for some reason, I answer, even when everything else is going to shit.
"What?" I bark into the phone.
"Bad timing?" Ares's voice comes through, a hint of amusement in it that makes me want to reach through the phone and strangle him.
"You could say that."
"The gallery girl giving you trouble?"
I clench my jaw so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't shatter. "She thinks I've been using her. That everything between us was just a fucking scheme to find out why her brother was the shooter."
Ares is quiet for a beat. "Wasn't it, initially?"
"Fuck you." I hang up.
My phone immediately buzzes again. I answer it with a snarl.
"What part of 'fuck you' was unclear?"
"The part where you're acting like a lovesick teenager," Ares replies evenly. "Since when does Giovanni Bonventi let a woman get under his skin like this?"
Since her. Since Raven. The thought comes unbidden and unwelcome.
"She's making deals with her piece-of-shit father. The same father who was ready to sell her to the Russians like she was fucking merchandise." My free hand balls into a fist. "She's choosing him over me."
"Is that what's really bothering you?" Ares asks. "That she's choosing her father? Or that she doesn't believe you care about her?"
I stare out the window at the passing city, seeing nothing. "She called me a monster."
"You are a monster, Gio. Just like me, just like Enzo, Marco, shit, all of us. It's what we do. It's who we are."
"Not to her." The words escape before I can stop them. "I was never a monster to her."
Ares sighs heavily. "Where are you headed?"
"I have no fucking idea."
"Come to my place. You need to cool off."
I'm about to refuse when a cold realization hits me. If I go home now, alone with these thoughts, with this rage, I'll end up going back to her. Going back and what? Begging? Threatening? Kidnapping her to keep her safe from her own stupid decisions? Christ. When did I become this pathetic?
"Fine. Be there in twenty."
I hang up and tell my driver the change of plans. I stare out the window, lost in thought for some time. Finally, we pull up to Ares's house.
"We're here, sir."
Ares is already at the door when I reach his entrance, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He takes one look at my face and steps aside without a word.
I stride in, shedding my jacket and loosening my tie. I head into his bar room and take a seat.
Ares hands me the whiskey. "Let's talk."
I down it in one swallow and hold out the glass for more. "Nothing to say."
"Bullshit." He refills my glass, then his own. "I've known you my entire life, Gio. I've seen you angry, I've seen you violent, I've seen you every which way, but I've never seen you like this."
"Like what?" I challenge, looking him dead in the eye.
"Heartbroken, man. Like a fucking lost puppy."
I laugh. "Dramatic much? Shit. I'm pissed off, not heartbroken. She's being stupid, getting herself into danger, and she won't let me protect her. End of story."
Ares shakes his head, settling into an armchair. "You keep telling yourself that."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're in love with her, you idiot. And it's scaring the shit out of you."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Love? Is that what this is? This possessive rage, this desperate need to keep her safe, this hollow ache at the thought of her choosing someone else over me?
"I don't do love," I say flatly.
"Apparently you do now."
I drop into the sofa across from him, rubbing my hand over my face. "She's going to get herself killed, Ares. Her father wants her to forge paintings to pay off the Russians. The same Russians who beat the shit out of him and who tried to buy her like she was a fucking racehorse."
"And you're worried about her."
"Of course I'm fucking worried about her!" I explode, surging to my feet. "These aren't men who'll be satisfied with a few forged paintings. Once they know she can do it, they'll never let her go. They'll use her until there's nothing left."
The thought of Raven in their hands, being hurt, enrages me. A red mist descends over my vision, and I grip my glass so hard I'm surprised it doesn't shatter.
"So what's your plan?" Ares asks calmly, unfazed by my outburst.
"Plan?" I ask. "She made it clear she doesn't want my help. Doesn't want me."
"Since when has that ever stopped you from taking what you want?"
I look at him sharply. "What are you saying? That I should force her? Kidnap her?"
Ares shrugs. "If that's what it takes to keep her safe. Hell, take her to my place in Kalamata. Greece does wonders."
I sigh, lost in thought. The idea tempts me. I could do it. But I'd lose her. Even if her body was there, she'd hate me. And somehow, that matters now.
When the fuck did that start mattering?
"I can't force her," I admit.
"Can't?" Ares raises an eyebrow. "Or won't?"
"Same difference."
"Not really," he points out. "One means you're incapable. The other means you're choosing not to. And that choice? That's the difference between the man she called a monster and the man you want to be for her."
I stare at him, processing his words. "You Greeks and your fucking philosophical bullshit."
Ares laughs.
"Look, I appreciate the pep talk, but this isn't some fucking rom-com," I say, pacing. "The Russians are real. The threat to her is real. And her father is using her."
Ares leans back, studying me. "So protect her. Like you always do. Like you want to."
"I did that," I growl, slamming the glass down. "And look where it got me. She thinks I'm no better than the Russians who want to own her."
The difference gnaws at me. I don't want to own her like property. In fact, what she doesn't realize, is she owns me. I'm trapped.
Fuck. Maybe Ares is right. Maybe this is love, and it's ripping me apart.
"So prove her wrong," Ares says simply.
I stop pacing. "What?"
"Prove. Her. Wrong." He sets down his glass. "If you're not the monster she thinks you are, then show her. Don't tell her. Actions, Gio. Not words."
"I've been protecting her—"
"By controlling her." Ares smirks. "There's a difference. You put cameras in her apartment. You watched her every move. You decided what was best for her without giving her a choice."
His words sting because they're true.
I sit back down, processing everything. In my life, there's power and submission. Protection and obedience. The strong and the weak.
But Raven isn't weak. She's fierce and stubborn as fuck. It's one of the things I—
One of the things I love about her.
Fuck.
"I need to go back," I say suddenly.
"Now?" Ares looks at his watch. "It's nearly 2 AM. Sleep it off and go speak with her in the morning."
I nod. He's probably right. I’ll head to my real home tonight, not the place I’m renting above the gallery.
I thank him for everything and leave.
The drive home is fast, my head full of Ares's words, but even more filled with thoughts of her.
Once we arrive, I dismiss my driver and head inside. I toss my keys onto the counter and shrug off my jacket. My house feels empty, hollow. I've barely spent any time here since meeting Raven. I’ve basically been living in my "strategic position apartment” across the hall from her.
I walk up my grand staircase and into my bedroom. I sit on the couch, not ready for sleep, and rub my face.
My eyes drift to my iPad sitting on the table.
I shouldn't. I told myself I wouldn't. But the thought of her there, alone with her father, planning something that could get her killed—it's eating me alive.
"Fuck it," I mutter, sinking onto the couch. I swipe to unlock the tablet and pull up the security feed.
The gallery is dark, the main floor empty. I click through the cameras, searching the basement, the storage areas. Nothing. She's not there.
Finally, I click on the feed to her apartment, half-expecting to find it empty too, but the living room light is on.
The breath freezes in my lungs as I see what's waiting there.
A canvas stands in the center of the room, positioned directly facing the camera. There's just one word painted on it in bold black letters:
Sorry.
My heart slams against my ribs. Sorry? Sorry for what? For the things she said? Or—for something she's going to do?
I lean closer to the screen, scanning the rest of the room for any sign of her. Nothing. Just that single message staring back at me.
I cycle through the cameras again, going back to the basement.
Wait a minute. It's not dark because the lights are off. It's dark because someone covered the camera.
The anger that's been simmering since I left the gallery rises again, but it's different now. Layered with concern. With fear.
I can't believe she would do that. Totally shut me out. After everything, she's never done that before.
"What are you doing, Raven?" I whisper to the screen. "What the fuck are you thinking?"
Frustration gets the better of me, and I toss the tablet across the room.
I need to sleep. I need to try and clear my head.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll figure out what to do. How to protect her without controlling her. How to keep her safe without driving her away. How to be the man she needs, not the monster she fears.
I'll take on the Russians, Raven's father, and my own demons all at once if I have to. And I refuse to lose any of those battles. Especially not the one for her.
As I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, one thought circles in my mind:
I'm the one who should be apologizing.
But apologies aren't my style.
I'll show her what we have—or I'll die trying.
Sleep comes fast, and I'm thankful for it. Because little do I know, security alarms are about to throw my life into fucking chaos.