Chapter 9
Finn
My rage is barely contained as I walk into the booth. I'm already pissed that Declan made Gianna come to the bar, confused about why he wants her here in the first place. But it all makes sense the moment I see William laying his filthy hands on her.
Declan brought her here to humiliate her, and I'm not going to stand for that.
Declan's face remains cold and sharp; his expression carved from stone as he stares me down. William sits beside him, hunched forward with a bloodied napkin pressed to his nose, glaring at me like a wounded animal.
He should be grateful Declan stepped in when he did. I was ready to do far worse. I want him to hurt. I want to leave a mark he's never going to forget.
"I'm leaving with Gianna," I say. The room goes still for a beat. I can't stand to be in the same room with William without tearing into him again.
Declan pinches the bridge of his nose, then exhales, interlocking his fingers as he leans forward. "Why are you acting like a hormonal teenager over a girl?" he says dryly. "We have things to discuss. Plans to make and you're what... leaving?"
Declan still doesn't get it. To me, Gianna is the only thing that matters right now. I don't care how I look or what anyone thinks.
"James can brief me about the meeting. But I have to leave, now," I say.
I turn my back, ready to walk out, but the weight of everything presses against my chest and won't let go. My jaw tightens, fist clenched. Before I can stop myself, I spin around. My eyes lock on William.
"If you so much as touch her again, or even look at Gianna the wrong way," I say, my voice low and cold, "your nose won't be the only broken thing." I mean every single word. I want the threat to bury itself under his skin.
I walk away from the booth and back to where I told Gianna to wait, but I don't find her there.
I look around the bar, my eyes scanning every single person.
Did she leave already? I remember telling her to wait for me, but then again, it's Gianna; she never listens.
My gaze lands on the bartender. Gianna sat up there for quite some time. Maybe he saw where she went.
I ask him, and he points me in the direction of the restroom. I walk down the hallway and see as Gianna leaves the bathroom. Her eyes are down, and she looks deep in thought as she moves. She must be in shock at what happened. I clench my jaw, thinking about William grabbing her hair.
I close the distance between us and grab her hand. She flinches, startled, her eyes wide as they land on me, but eventually relaxes. "Let's go," I say, tugging her gently towards me.
Her brows furrow. "Where are we going?" she asks, her voice laced with hesitation.
"Somewhere quiet and less crowded."
I fix the helmet on her head, adjusting the strap beneath her chin. She watches me, her brows raised slightly in curiosity. A small smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, one I didn't realize had formed until I see the way her eyes narrow slightly, playful suspicion in them.
"What?" she asks, looking up at me with those beautiful eyes.
My smile twists into a smirk. "Nothing, you just look cute," I say, stepping back and swinging my leg over my motorcycle. I settle in and glance over my shoulder at her, one brow raised.
"What are you waiting for?"
She narrows her eyes at me, crossing her arms across her chest. "Since when did you ride a motorcycle?"
"There's a lot you don't know about me, Gianna. Come on, let's go. I promise not to crash us," I tease with a smirk.
She rolls her eyes. "You better not," she mutters, climbing behind me.
"Hold on tight," I warn, flicking up the kickstand.
Her arms wrap around my waist, warm and steady. I glance down at her hands, swallowed up by the sleeves of my jacket, and my smile grows.
I twist the throttle and move the bike forward into the street, and I feel her tighten her hold just a little. The wind hits fast and clean, tugging at my loose collar, pushing against my chest like it's trying to test me. But I welcome it.
The city opens up ahead of us in all its chaotic glory—lights, horns, shadows, flashes of neon cutting through the night.
I catch a glimpse of Gianna in the mirror.
Her eyes are closed, head tilted back. Her lips part just enough to let the wind touch her like she's letting herself feel everything, and I can tell it in the way she holds me; she isn't scared. She trusts me.
We weave through traffic like we belong to the night. I know exactly where I'm headed, hoping it settles the tension that's been brewing between us.
"Oh my god," Gianna gasps, her lips curving into the widest smile I've seen on her in a long time.
Her eyes light up as she takes it all in.
"This is..." she trails off, words failing her.
I reach for her helmet, unbuckling it before helping her move her hair out of her face and behind her ear.
She doesn't waste time as she moves towards the building.
I smile, letting my eyes linger on the structure.
The old building looks almost exactly the same.
Peeling walls, rusted edges, cracks that have deepened over time.
Still, it feels like stepping into a memory.
I follow behind Gianna as she pushes open the weathered doors.
The hinges groan in protest. The air inside is musty, heavy with dust and nostalgia.
I put on my phone flashlight, but Gianna doesn't need it; her feet know the way. She moves with certainty, climbing the old staircase, floor by floor, until we reach the rooftop.
The moment we push through the final door, the night air rushes past us.
It catches Gianna's hair, lifting it like a wave.
It's like nothing has changed. The cracked concrete is still scattered with old beer caps and sun-bleached flyers curled at the corner.
Even the crooked chair is still there, leaning to one side.
I walk towards the ledge, hands in my pockets, staring at the jagged skyline.
The blinking tower in the distance still pulses like a heartbeat.
Gianna lets out a breath, almost laughing. "I can't believe it still looks the same." She looks around in awe. "Not one thing has changed." But she's wrong. One thing has. Us.
She joins me at the ledge, slowly taking her seat with her legs dangling over the rooftop. I sit beside her, wishing I had brought a drink to reenact old times.
Back then, this place was ours. We would sneak up here and drink, talk, laugh, and share our struggles. We became so close that we were practically inseparable. What started as spite grew into something more.
I raise my head to the sky, taking in the view above us. Stars are scattered like glitter across the black sky, and the slow drifting clouds only add to its beauty.
A comfortable silence settles between us as we both sink into our thoughts, but the stillness shifts when my hand accidentally touches hers.
She pulls away immediately, and a sting of hurt flares in my chest. I push it down. I don't want her to shrink back into her shell. I don't want her to build another wall between us. I want things to go back to how they were, so I ease the tension.
"Remember when you got so drunk I had to carry you all the way back to campus," I break the silence with a chuckle.
Her head turns slightly, and I can see the faint smile tug at her lips. She closes her eyes like she's reliving this moment. "Oh god, I remember. I was so embarrassed to face you the next day. I was a total mess."
"Yes you were, and you were always so cute when you got drunk.
I got to see your goofy side more often," I say, remembering how close we were.
How we matched in every sense. How we could make the most mundane thing fun.
We never had to worry about our family or the business.
Those memories will forever live in my mind.
"Those were simpler times," she says, her voice low and sad. "I never had to worry about my family when I was with you."
"I'm sorry about this morning and yesterday," I apologize. I know she's still carrying the weight of her family's rejection, and I hate that I added to it. She didn't deserve more pain.
"Apology accepted," she replies, offering a faint smile. "I needed this escape. Thank you for bringing me here."
"This place holds the best memories of my life, and it was because you were in it," I say honestly. Gianna's gaze settles on me, soft and searching, like she's looking for something behind my words. Her eyes soften, and a small smile graces her lips.
"We can't go back to how things were. But maybe we can move forward without arguing every second."
Gianna chuckles and runs her fingers through her hair. "Sure."
After a few seconds, I ask. "Do you remember where we had our first kiss?"
Gianna turns her head to me, and I meet her eyes, slowly. We remain like that for a second, just gazing into each other's eyes, like we're stripping down layers we've both built up.
The silence stretches, not awkward, but electric.
"Yeah, it was here," she whispers, and my gaze drops to her lips.
Her eyes move to mine, and suddenly the cold air is filled with tension.
I raise my hand to touch her face. First, just lightly.
My fingers brush her jaw, and she looks up at me, already knowing what's coming.
But I don't rush it. Something about the way she looks at me makes me want to take my time.
When I finally lean in, our lips touch in the softest way.
Barely a touch, but even that makes my chest tighten.
So, I kiss her again, slower this time. Deeper, like I need to remember the exact shape of her mouth.
The night at the chapel comes rushing back, the way she moaned against my lips, the way her hand fisted into my shirt.
Gianna leans in, hell, she melts, and I feel that familiar ache that only she can stir in me. I don't want to stop; I don't want to rush either. I kiss her like time has stopped just for us, like we have all the time in the world.
When I finally pull away, our foreheads touch, and her breath dances over my lips, shaky and warm.
I kill the engine and roll the motorcycle into the garage, parking it beside a line of sleek cars.
The low hum of the bike fades, replaced by the hush of the late-night silence.
Gianna gets off the bike and I follow after, turning to her.
I unhook her helmet and lift it off gently, her hair spilling out in waves.
She runs her fingers through it, trying to shake it back into place. She looks at me, a question already forming on her lips, but I reach for her hand and tug her along, away from the elevator that would have taken us directly to our floor.
"Where are we going?" she asks, her voice low, but curious.
"Let's go," I say simply.
I don't want anyone to see us together this late at night. I lead her to the far end of the garage where a nondescript wall waits. I tap twice on the metal panel beside it, then press in the passcode. With a faint hiss, a slim section of the wall slides inward and to the side.
"What the..." she gasps, locking eyes with me.
We step inside. The interior of the secret passageway is dim, mirrored, and sterile. And instead of the usual panel of numbered floors, there are only three buttons: 10, 14, and 15. Gianna stares at them, confused. "Only three?" she asks.
"Fewer eyes between those levels," I mutter, pressing 10.
She frowns. "Where does ten lead?"
I glance at her, knowing I shouldn't show her things like this. The passageway is only known to close members of the Costellos, but I trust Gianna. "A hallway that splits into the old south wing. No guards there this late. It'll take us back to our floor."
"And the fifteenth?"
"That leads directly to Declan's room," I say. The elevator shudders softly and begins to rise.