37. Giovanni
THIRTY-SEVEN
GIOVANNI
I reached home around midday.
After my meetings with Mateo and the Omertà, I bolted, leaving him to deal with upcoming drugs and arms shipment’s logistics. Usually I’d remain with him, but my attention was constantly robbed by my wife, who I’d left sleeping in our bed this morning.
I stepped into the house, eager to go looking for her, when my steps faltered. There, bleeding all over my white marble floor, was my unconscious brother. I shouted for the guards, keeping my sights on him as I slipped my jacket off and bunched it up, pressing it against his wound.
Where in the fuck were my men?
“Giovanni?” My brother’s hesitant voice reached me and I lowered my eyes to his face. His skin was paler than his usually tanned complexion.
“What’s going on, Cristiano?” I kneeled next to him. “Did something happen to Lia?”
“I came looking for you and…”
“And what?”
“I caught her in your office. I thought she was snooping around.” He paused, then continued in a distressed voice. “I swear, I barely touched her, her sheet fell off, and she…”
“You touched her?” I growled, my gun suddenly in my grip and pressed against his temple. “I swear to God, Cristiano, I’ll?—”
“I just tugged her arm so she would stop walking, and then she stabbed me.”
A relieved sigh tore from my mouth. Lia wasn’t in danger.
“She doesn’t like to be touched,” I explained.
My brother’s brows scrunched. “Are you telling me your marriage is platonic?”
I helped him up before answering. “I can touch her, nobody else can.”
He muttered a few curses under his breath. “Listen, Giovanni, I have to tell you something very?—”
“You called, boss?” a voice cut in.
“Later,” I told Cristiano.
One of the guards appeared out of nowhere and I gave him a terse nod. “Take my brother to our surgeon on-call and have him stitched up.”
Without awaiting his response, I headed down the hall. I loosened my tie as I ascended the stairs, then turned the knob of our bedroom door.
The scene that greeted me was total fucking chaos. Every single piece of furniture was upturned, the mattress shredded like a wildcat went at it. The mahogany side tables in their current state were only fit to become firewood. If that. The lamp was in pieces all over the room like it had been smashed in a fit of rage.
Clothes, both mine and Lia’s, were thrown on the ground, shredded beyond repair.
“Lia?” I called out.
When there was no answer, I stepped inside. I’d made it barely a few steps when something shattered against my skull. Lia darted behind me, but I spun and grabbed her by the wrist, careful not to hurt her.
“You fucking asshole,” she screamed, thrashing against me, her blonde locks flying in all directions. She was back to wearing black Chanel, the clean lines of her slacks and blouse in such contrast to this room and the wild look in her eyes.
I grabbed both her wrists and moved her against the wall, overpowering her.
“What the fuck, Lia?” I gritted. Her golden eyes were full of angst, and the redness surrounding her pupils told me she’d been crying. “Cristiano didn’t mean to touch you. He didn’t know?—”
She spat at my face, breathing harshly. “I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not. We’re going to talk about this.”
This couldn’t be her reaction to Cristiano touching her, surely. There had to be more to it, and if my brother lied to me and did more than just touch her arm?—
I had to blink the red mist out of my vision.
“If you don’t let me go, you’ll regret it.”
“Is that so?”
“Don’t underestimate me, Giovanni. I’ve been training far longer than you. I can destroy you. Kill you.”
“Then do it,” I challenged, her breathing still chopped and uneven but her eyes blazing with sheer determination. I didn’t doubt for one moment she meant those words. “If I must die, it might as well be by the hand of the woman I love.”
Her eyes misted. “Wh-what?”
Our gazes locked. “I love you, Liana. You’re my home. My heart. My soul. I love your vulnerability. I love your independence. Every single stubborn piece of you. I’ve done plenty of dumb and unforgivable shit in my life, but having you as my wife isn’t one of them. Maybe I should have done it differently, but I don’t regret it, because you’re mine and I’m yours. Now take a breath and tell me what’s really the matter.”
“No, no, no.” A choked sob slipped between her lips. “I can’t stay here.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.” Her voice broke, the sound cleaving my heart in two.
“What about us?”
“There is no us.” My voice cracked, right along with my heart. “Just you. Just me.” Me without you. Fuck, that hurt more than anything else. “Please… please, let me go, Giovanni. Please!”
“Never.”
The words no man obsessed and in love with a woman ever wanted to hear came out of her mouth. “I don’t love you. I never will.”
Fuck, that felt worse than a bullet through my chest.
My fingers sunk into her hip and I gripped her harder than I intended. “You can hate me all you like, but I’m not letting you go.”
“I’ll kill you. Kill your family.”
A slow smirk tilted my lips. “Fucking do it.”
“Our story ends here, husband.”
She snatched a hand free, then out of thin air produced a gun and clocked it against my skull.
Everything turned black from there.