Chapter 35 Raven
RAVEN
Iremain fixated on the flames. Each lick of fire devours another piece of my life, another memory, another link to my mother. My hair reeks of smoke, and my throat still feels a bit raw from the smoke I inhaled.
Gio hasn't let go of me once, his arm a constant anchor around my shoulders. We've been standing here for what feels like forever, watching as firefighters battle the blaze that was once my family's gallery.
"It's contained to the first floor now," one firefighter tells another as they pass by us.
I watch them direct high-powered streams of water through the shattered front windows. Glass crunches underfoot as emergency personnel move about. The water pools black with ash on the sidewalk, carrying charred fragments of canvases, frames, and documentation.
Gio's fingers tighten on my shoulder as we watch another section of ceiling collapse inside. The sound booms through the street, sending a fresh plume of smoke and sparks into the sky.
"I don't think there's much we can do right now. Let me take you to my house," Gio says suddenly, turning me away from the sight. "My real house."
I nod numbly, letting him guide me toward his car. He opens the door, and I slide into the leather seat, my body moving mechanically.
The drive passes in a blur. My eyes feel scratchy and dry from crying and smoke exposure. I stare out the window as the city gives way to sprawling suburbs, then to expansive, manicured estates. We turn onto a long, private driveway lined with cypress trees, and suddenly, it comes into view.
A massive Mediterranean-style mansion stands proudly against the night sky, illuminated by tasteful landscape lighting.
The facade features elegant columns and archways, with multiple wings extending in different directions.
It looks like something from a painting, not a real home where people actually live.
"You live here?" I ask, clearing the hoarseness from my voice as we pull up to the circular driveway. "Why the hell did you stay at those apartments?"
Gio shoots me a look, one eyebrow raised.
"Oh. Right. Me."
The car stops, and Gio helps me out. My legs feel weak beneath me as I take in the grandeur of his home. Stone steps lead to massive double doors that a staff member is already opening for us.
The foyer is breathtaking—soaring ceilings with a massive crystal chandelier, marble floors, and a sweeping staircase that curves elegantly to the second floor. Renaissance-style paintings hang on the walls, and I recognize several of them.
"Something tells me these aren't reproductions," I say, stopping to examine one.
"No," Gio says simply, guiding me forward with his hand on the small of my back.
We pass a billiard room, a sitting area, and walk through a formal living room with plush furniture that looks barely used. Then we pass a study lined with leather-bound books. Everything is immaculate, a perfect blend of old-world charm and modern luxury.
Gio leads me into his kitchen, and it's larger than my entire apartment was.
Gleaming copper pots hang above a massive island with a marble countertop.
Two industrial-sized refrigerators stand side by side, and a twelve-burner gas range dominates one wall.
The cabinetry is custom, hand-carved mahogany with subtle gold accents.
Floor-to-ceiling windows look out onto a terrace and pool area beautifully lit in the night.
"Take a seat," Gio says, pulling out one of the leather-upholstered barstools at the island.
I perch on the edge, feeling out of place. Gio fills a crystal glass with water from a dispenser in the refrigerator door and places it in front of me.
"Here," he says, his tone warm. "Your throat must be raw."
I sip the water gratefully, watching as Gio pulls out his phone and steps a few feet away.
He presses it to his ear, turns away, and talks sternly in a low tone into the phone. After a few minutes, he hangs up, and takes my hands in his.
"It was the Russians," he says without hesitation. "A contact at the fire department found accelerants. Multiple points of origin. Professional job."
My stomach drops. "You're sure?"
"Who else would it be?" Gio's jaw tightens. "It was deliberate, Raven. They're sending a message."
I stare out the window. "I'm starting to really fucking hate them."
Gio nods in approval.
"I'm going to make them pay. Every last one of them."
He squeezes my hands, drawing my attention back to his face.
"If that gallery was your mother's dream," he continues, "I'll make sure it comes back bigger and better than ever. But what's been destroyed..." He shakes his head. "I can't bring back what's gone. But I can ensure they never touch anything you love again."
I realize now what I'm seeing in his eyes isn't just anger—it's guilt. He blames himself for not preventing this.
"It's not your fault," I say.
"I should have had better security on the building after the kidnapping. 24/7 surveillance."
"You couldn't have known they'd do this." I reach up to touch his face. "None of this is your fault."
He catches my wrist, pressing a kiss to my palm. "Either way. Let's rest now," he pauses, "Tomorrow, I'm tearing open Chicago and bringing the wrath of hell to those motherfuckers."