Chapter 31 Gio
GIO
Ipull up to the gallery and help Raven out. I support her firmly as we walk toward the elevator to take us up to her apartment.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, keeping one arm firmly around Raven's waist.
"Someone's in the gallery," I say, showing her the security alert. "Motion sensors triggered in the lobby."
Raven's eyes go wide. "My father."
Something dark coils inside me, a serpent waiting to strike. My body goes still, like a wolf catching the scent of its prey.
"Stay here," I say.
She straightens, despite the pain. "No. I'm coming with you."
I look at her for a moment, knowing there's nothing I could say to change her mind.
I nod once and draw my gun.
"Stay behind me."
We move silently toward the gallery entrance. I push open the door, keeping my weapon raised as we enter. The main floor is dark, silent, but a faint glow is coming from Raven's office.
We make our way over, and I push the door open with my gun. I scan the room quickly. Left. Right. Nothing.
"What the hell happened here?" Raven asks.
The room looks like it's been ransacked. Like someone was looking for something in a hurry.
We then hear a crash, and I spin around, ready to fire.
"The basement," Raven whispers to me.
As we move toward the sound, Raven's fingers dig into my arm.
I feel her tremble as we approach the stairwell, but her steps are steady. We descend slowly, my gun leading the way. The basement comes into view—her workspace, her restoration table, and Frank Carvello stuffing things into a duffel bag. It looks like he's trying to make a run for it.
The sight of him ignites my blood. He not only brought the Russians to her, he stood by while they beat her, while they threw her into a trunk. Every bruise on Raven's face flashes before my eyes.
Frank looks up, dropping a rolled canvas, his mouth falling open in shock.
"Ravenna?" His eyes dart from her battered face to my gun. "How did you—"
I don't let him finish. I lunge forward, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the wall. My gun presses into his temple.
"You worthless piece of shit," I snarl.
Frank's eyes are wide, panicked. "Please, I had no choice—they would have killed me."
"So you gave them your daughter instead?" My voice is barely human. "You let them put their hands on her while you just fucking watched!"
I glance around the workspace, spotting a metal tool on Raven's workbench—a sharp, pointed pick she uses for restoration. I release Frank's throat just long enough to grab it, then slam him back against the wall.
"Wait!" he pleads, hands raised. "I'm her father—"
"No," I growl. "You lost that right."
I grab his wrist, pinning his hand to the wall. He struggles, but I'm stronger, fueled by a rage I've never known before. Not just my usual controlled violence—this is personal.
"Ravenna!" Frank cries out. "Please!"
I turn to look at her. She stands frozen, her bruised face wet with tears, but her eyes—those blue eyes—are hard as ice, and her face is firm.
I turn back to Frank. "She's not going to help you anymore."
With one swift movement, I drive the metal pick through his palm and into the wall behind it. There's a slight pause, and then his screams fill my ears.
Blood streams down the wall as Frank howls, his body squirming in agony. He's pinned like an insect, hand impaled, unable to escape.
His eyes dart wildly to his daughter. "Ravenna, please—I'm sorry—"
"Stop speaking to her! She's not going to save you from what I'm about to do to you," I say firmly as I lean into his ear so he can hear me over his yells.
"Ravenna!"
She takes a step forward, and for a moment, I think she might intervene, try and stop me. Instead, she meets his gaze coldly.
"First, you sold me to cover your fuck-ups," she says, her voice shaky but confident. "Then, you brought them to me. Invited them into the gallery, and you watched as they beat me. Took me. Your own daughter."
She stops talking and just shakes her head, tears gently falling down her soft skin.
I press my forearm against his throat, cutting off his oxygen just enough to make him struggle. "You think the Russians were bad? They're amateurs compared to what the Bonventis do to people who cross us."
"I didn't mean—" he chokes.
I slam his head against the wall. "Don't fucking lie to me. You meant it. You handed her over to save yourself."
His eyes dart frantically between me and Raven. Blood continues to run down his arm from his impaled hand, dripping onto the floor.
"The only reason," I say, pressing the barrel of my gun under his chin, "you're still breathing is because I want information. Who's behind this? Names. Now."
"I only dealt with Mikhail Petrov," he gasps. "He's their enforcer. Takes orders from Viktor Sokolov."
The names solidify in my mind. Targets. Dead men.
"Where do you meet them? Where were they taking Raven?"
His face contorts in pain. "Warehouse, east side… number fourteen on Dockside Row."
I lean in. "If you're lying to me," I say, twisting the metal pick, and he screams again.
"I swear!" he whimpers. "Please, Ravenna—"
"Don't say her name," I hiss. "Don't even look at her."
Raven walks up to us, her face pale but composed despite the bruising. She stands beside me now.
"You know what hurts the most?" she asks her father quietly. "I still came back to help you. Despite everything. Despite how you've never been there for me, never showed me love—nothing. I was still willing to sacrifice for you."
Frank's eyes fill with tears. "I'm sorry—"
"Save it," she cuts him off. "I don't care anymore. I'm not the one who will be sacrificed now."
She turns to me, and in her eyes, I see a decision has been made.
I holster my gun because a bullet would be too easy, too quick for this asshole.
She turns around and walks up the stairs.
Frank's eyes move between me and the stairway where Raven just disappeared. His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for water.
"Please," he manages to choke out. "I can make this right."
I laugh. "Make this right?" I step closer, my face inches from his. "You think there's any coming back from this? From doing what you did to her?"
I grip the handle of the pick. Frank's eyes widen as he realizes what's about to happen.
"Wait—"
I yank it out of his hand, and he screams. Blood spurts from the wound, splashing onto my shirt, the warm liquid staining it red. Frank cradles his injured hand to his chest, crimson flowing between his fingers.
"Gio, listen—"
"No more talking." The rage that's been building inside me since I saw Raven beaten and stuffed into that trunk finally breaks free. "No more chances."
I drive the metal pick into his chest. The resistance of skin, muscle, and bone gives way beneath the force of my thrust. Frank gasps, his eyes bulging in shock. I rip the tool free and drive it in again, the satisfying crunch of breaking sternum vibrating through my grip.
Blood bubbles from his mouth as he tries to speak, but only a wet gurgle comes out. His hands weakly paw at my arms, leaving smears of red that match the growing stain on his shirt.
"This is for every bruise on her face," I growl, stabbing him again, deeper this time. "For every moment she spent in that trunk, terrified."
Frank's legs buckle, but I hold him upright, pinning him against the wall. His breathing is ragged now, his face ghostly white as the blood drains from it. But he's still conscious, still feeling every bit of this punishment.
"The last thing you'll see is the man who loves your daughter more than you ever did."
I tighten my grip on the pick as his gaze meets mine, filled with terror and the understanding that death has arrived.
It sickens me that even now, I see no remorse there, only fear for himself.
Without hesitation, I drive the pick directly into his left eye.
There's no resistance this time. It slides into his socket as easily as a hot knife cuts through butter.
Frank's body instantly goes limp, and death pulls all the air from his lungs.
I let go of him, and like a puppet with cut strings, he slides down the wall and crumples on the floor.
I step back, breathing heavily, watching the blood pool around his body. The metal pick protrudes from his eye socket, a grotesque flag planted in conquered territory. His remaining eye stares vacantly at the ceiling, forever frozen in that last moment of terror.
My hands are coated in blood, warm and sticky as it begins to dry. As I look at his lifeless body, it all feels so different than usual. That’s because it was.
This wasn't business. This was personal. For Raven.
No remorse surfaces, only the certainty that this man deserved exactly what he got. In my world, there are lines you don't cross. Betraying family is the worst sin of all.
I pull out my phone and dial Jay.
"I need another cleanup," I say firmly. "Gallery basement."
"On it, boss," he replies without question.
"Also, find out what we got on Mikhail Petrov and Viktor Sokolov," I say and hang up.
As I turn to head upstairs, I pause, looking back at Frank's corpse one more time. Something about Raven’s art tool delivering justice to the man who damaged her the most seems almost worthy of a painting in and of itself.
I leave the basement, closing the door behind me. Frank Carvello is no more. Soon, the Russians who dared to try and take what’s mine will join him.
But first, I need to go to Raven. She needs me now more than ever.