Chapter 18
Gianna
My eyelids feel heavy as I slowly open my eyes, blinking away the remaining sleep. I stretch my stiff body, and I can feel some cracks. I roll from my side to my back, looking up at the beautiful chandelier above. The sun has disappeared from the sky, and I'm all alone in this room.
The chandelier is bigger than the one in my room here and the one in the Rosso estate.
It looks like so many falling stars, arranged delicately in layers, scattered across the night sky like glitter.
It casts golden hues like that of a sunset across the room, but my eyes are fixed on the ceiling, tracing the faint patterns of light reflecting off its crystals.
I blink and slowly look away, turning towards the side of the bed.
That memory disappears when the man's screams play in my head.
I try to focus on anything else, anything but that interrogation room.
All the brutal details play in my mind, and the worst part is the secret I'm holding onto.
I lied to Finn, and the guilt gnaws at me like a parasite I can't get rid of. I swallow hard, my throat dry.
I slide out of his bed and walk to the floor-to-ceiling window. The glass meets my palm as I lean into it. Finn made it clear that I shouldn't leave and to tell the truth. I'm not sure I want to leave either. I don't want to face Declan or anyone.
I look up at the sky, watching as the moon sits pretty.
The stars twinkle across the night sky, and the clouds move unbothered.
It looks beautiful, almost as beautiful as Finn.
I look down at the city, watching the world go by.
Life goes on down there, regardless of what happens up here.
After a few minutes, I peel my eyes away from the glass.
I take a good look around Finn's suite. For a man like Finn, everything about his space is restrained. Clean lines. Dark wood, polished floors. A subtle cologne lingers in the air, masculine, sharp, and familiar. That tropical scent that smells like him.
Curiosity tugs at me before guilt can protest. I shouldn't be snooping, but something about being alone feels too intimate to resist. Like maybe, here, I could learn more about the man who's risking everything for me.
My eyes move to his closet first, a tall, beautiful thing built into the wall. I walk toward it and pull open one of the doors. Rows of shirts, all neatly hung and organized by color. My brows lift slightly. Black, deep greens, charcoal grey, navy blue, and many white shirts.
I trail my fingers across the fabrics, pressed cotton, rich linen, silk blend.
I make a mental note to tell him he needs more color in his wardrobe.
Closing the closet softly, I turn to explore more.
Off to the side, there's a small door that opens into a connected space, his private office.
I caught a glimpse of it the last time I was awake.
I step in, expecting more coldness, but instead I find warmth. The lighting is soft. There's a large desk in the center, a leather chair behind it, and a single frame sitting on the desk. It catches my eye immediately.
I walk over and pick it up. It's an old photo, maybe ten or fifteen years ago.
Finn is younger. He stands near Declan on one side, their arms slung casually around the third boy, taller with chestnut curls.
Kieran. Beside Kieran is another. He looks different from them.
His hair is black, and his eyes are blue.
I think I've heard Finn mention something about him before.
Liam. Yes, that was his name. I heard he's dead.
I set the frame down gently and look at the papers spread across the desk.
I skim through them. Invoices, shipment records, plans for Costello Motors.
A logo stamped in red ink. They're all safe information, nothing I can report to Vito.
Next to his desk is a drawer. I hesitate, then slowly pull it open.
Watches.
At least twenty of them, resting on velvet cushions like sleeping animals.
Black, gold, stainless steel. All of them are classic, elegant like everything else in this room.
I pick up one, feel its weight in my palm.
Beside the watches are ties. Folded carefully into neat rows.
Mostly black, deep green, and the occasional burgundy.
God, this man really does avoid color like it's a plague.
Suddenly an idea comes to me. I should ask Finn to teach me how to knot a tie. I never really learned.
I smirk and close the drawer, glancing one more time around the room. A few books rest on the shelf, most of them about politics, economics, and history. There's a single novel tucked in the corner. I pull it out and blink. The Picture of Dorian Gray.
A dark classic. Finn doesn't really like fiction. I know that about him already. He used to tease me about the romance books I read.
I place it back, running my hand slowly along the polished wood as I make my way back into the main room. I push the door to the bathroom open and step inside, needing to see what I look like. The moment I enter, I'm hit with the scent of spice and something tropical.
The space is beautiful in that dark, understated way just like him.
Black marble floor, matte-black fixtures, and a large mirror above a black granite sink.
His things are lined up neatly: cologne, a leather grooming kit, a silver razor.
Everything is tidy. I walk to the mirror, hesitating before I look.
My skin is pale. There's a shadow on my cheek, dirt or maybe just the stress of what happened clinging to me. My hair is a mess, strands out of place like they gave up trying to look decent.
I glance at the shower. The idea of warm water sounds like heaven right now. I could just step in and wash it all away, including the memory, but then reality hits me. I don't have any clothes here, no toothbrush, no underwear. Nothing that belongs to me.
I sigh and walk out of the bathroom. I just have to wait till Finn gets back. As I step into the main room, something vibrates against my skin. Then, it hits me—the burner phone. I reach inside my shirt, digging my hand in the middle of my bra to pull it out.
Shit. I totally forgot it's with me. I keep it with me just in case Vito calls, and so no one can find out about the phone. I look around his room for any camera, but it's clear. Great.
I immediately pick up the call and bring it to my ear. "Hello," I whisper, my eyes going to the door.
"Hey, Gianna. Are you okay?" Marco's voice cracks through the line, hushed but urgent.
"Yeah, I guess so," I murmur, scratching my brow. It's nice to know someone cares about my well-being.
"Is Vito there too?" I ask, my tone dipping into suspicion. It's odd that Marco's the one calling.
"Any update?" Vito's voice comes through. Update? That's all he cares about. My chest tightens and I don't know when the words leave my mouth.
"Are you serious?" Perhaps I'm just too angry or what I'd gone through today. I've just had it.
"I heard what happened today. What you had to do," Vito says. I raise my brows, a bitter laugh stuck in my throat. So, he knows exactly what Declan made me do, and he still doesn't care.
"That must have been tough. Are you okay?" Marco asks.
That's the second time he's asked me. Not because I have something he needs, but because he actually gives a damn. I can't believe someone who's not my blood cares more than Vito.
"I think we should get her out," I hear Marco say to Vito. I hold my breath, waiting for Vito's response. I know he hardly shows emotion, but he should see that things have gotten out of hand. My eyes flick toward the door and back to the phone, my heart thrumming against my ribcage.
"No. She keeps going," Vito says, and I can imagine his cold look over the phone. He doesn't fucking care what happens to me as long as I get him what he wants. My heart thuds against my ribcage. "It's already getting dangerous. You know what Declan is capable of," Marco argues.
"You also know nothing good comes without risk," Vito argues, and I scoff in disbelief. I grab a fistful of my hair as I listen to them argue.
"It's not worth risking her life, okay." Marco's voice is sharp and clear. "Gianna is not trained for a situation like this."
"She'll learn. I'm sure she expected this much would happen when she agreed to be a mole," Vito counters.
Oh my god. Heat rises to my cheeks, moving to my head. This time it's from anger and hurt. I feel so bitter.
"We've confiscated their weapons. Declan will suspect her and continue to. We need to pull her out."
"We're not doing that. She made her choice when she betrayed her family for an Irish boy."
I bite my bottom lip and clench my fist, barely containing the anger I feel. "Listen, Gianna. You're going to continue this mission and gather useful intel."
"I've had it with you, Vito. You treat me no better than a stranger," I bite out, my chest rising and falling from all the emotion storming in me. "At this point, there's no difference between you and Declan."
"Gianna..." Marco's voice cuts through the line, but I don't let him talk. I'm beyond pissed. "I don't need you. I don't need or want your help, Vito. I can handle this on my own."
I hang up the call and sit on my knees, trying to push back the tears brimming in my eyes. I bite my lip, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I don't need him. I don't need him," I whisper to myself like I'm trying to convince myself it's true.