Chapter 8
Gianna
Maybe I was wrong about Finn. I know family will always come first for us both, but maybe he does care about me beyond a superficial level, and maybe I do too. The feelings I had that night at the chapel were too strong. Perhaps he was right. Maybe I am a coward.
You have to focus, Gianna. You can't get distracted.
I wait for what feels like too long, and I start to shift from one foot to another. I need to use the restroom. Finn will have to forgive me for this one. I walk down a hallway and finally locate the bathroom.
I'm halfway to the bathroom when a waitress bumps into me, sharp and sudden, like she isn't even trying to avoid the collision. I barely catch my balance when she leans in close. Her voice is a quick whisper that rushes into my ear.
"Stall three. Check under the stand. There's a package for you." Then she's gone, just like that.
I don't even get a close look at her face. No name, no look back, just the scent of citrus cleaner and something faintly floral trailing behind her as she disappears down the hall. Who was she? She's definitely talking to me because there's no other person here.
I hesitate outside the bathroom door, my heart already beating too fast. My hand hovers near the handle, then pushes it open. Inside the bathroom is empty, clean, and too quiet, which makes sense because there are fewer women in the bar compared to men.
The sound of a single leaking faucet echoes against the tiled walls like it's trying to fill the silence. I walk in slowly, counting the stalls as I pass.
One, two, three. I pause in front of it. I glance down, and nothing looks unusual, just stainless-steel walls and a faint reflection of my own nerves staring back at me. I reach out and push the door. It's empty, but I kneel anyway.
My fingers brush beneath the metal stand, and there, taped just under the curve of the toilet paper holder, is a small, black object wrapped in a paper towel.
My heart thrums against my ribcage as I peel it away. A burner phone. It looks cheap and basic. It has no case or markings, just one of those generic prepaid phones you'd see in a spy movie.
I stand, listening to see if anyone is coming before locking the stall behind me, the phone burning in my palm like it has weight beyond plastic and wires. I turn it on, and immediately, it boots. I go to the contact list to find one single number saved with an initial R.
R as in Rosso.
I dial the number, and it rings once before Vito's voice comes through. "What's the update, Gianna?" he asks, and I peel the phone from my ear, a scowl itching at my lips.
He doesn't ask if I'm okay. "I'm safe and still alive, thanks for asking," I say, rolling my eyes.
"I have eyes everywhere, Gianna. I know you're safe," Vito says and continues after a beat. "What's the update?"
"Well. Finn trusts me, but Declan doesn't... yet," I begin, and he cuts me off.
"That is only normal. Anything else?"
"I'm practically treated like a prisoner. I have someone following me every step I take. Oh, and I also attended some meetings today."
"What were the meetings about?" Vito asks, and I can imagine him with a raised brow and concentrated look over the phone.
"Nothing worth reporting. Just talk about businesses. The legitimate ones. I was told to leave after some time, so I didn't get anything," I answer truthfully.
He remains quiet for a second. "Is that all?"
"Yes, I think," I answer as I keep listening for footsteps. No one can know I'm speaking with Vito. If Declan finds out, I don't know what he'd do. Sure, Finn would try to protect me, but Declan has more power than him.
"I don't want you to guess, think, Gianna," Vito says, and I remember what I overheard James say as I was about to enter the booth.
"I heard something about weapons. I don't have all the details yet, but it definitely sounded like they were planning something."
"Alright, do not get distracted, Gianna. When you get solid intel, reach me through this phone," Vito says.
"Oka..." I don't even finish my sentence before he hangs up.
It might be a little too late for his advice.
I use the restroom and step out of the stall before washing my hands in the basin. I turn off the tap and stare at myself in the mirror, my hand reaching to feel the sore on my scalp.
The struggle with William flashes across my mind, and I swallow, looking away from the mirror. I'm not fine. I hate Declan. I hate all those men as they watched him get handsy with me, and all they did was laugh. I hate that I'm in this situation, but I know I have no other choice.
I have to see this through.