Chapter 15
GIOVANNI
The papers in front of me are a mess of names, numbers, and dates, each one tying into the meeting I have tonight.
The summit is necessary, though I don’t enjoy the theatrics that come with it.
Various Mafia groups, all with their own agendas, will gather at one of my clubs to discuss business and posture, and make the usual veiled threats. It is as tedious as it is important.
I close the folder and set it aside, already planning the evening in my head. My hand drifts toward the phone on my desk, hesitating for only a second before I decide I will not be going alone.
I stand, straightening my cuffs, my mind already on the next step. Tonight is important, and I know how I want to walk into that room.
Liliana will go with me.
I leave the study, crossing the hall toward her room.
The door is open just enough for me to see her.
She is seated near the window, the book in her lap catching the low light of the afternoon.
Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, her profile calm, her presence a stillness I find myself drawn to more than I should admit.
She looks peaceful here, untouched by the world I walk into every day. Which is exactly why I want her with me tonight.
She looks up when she feels me in the doorway, her eyes lifting from the book in her lap. The sunlight catches in her hair, the faint curve of her shoulders framed against the quiet of the room. There is a question in her gaze, soft and unspoken, one I have learned to read without words.
I step inside, my shoulder brushing the frame as I lean there for a moment, letting myself take her in. She’s fucking glorious. Every time.
My hands move in the space between us, measured and calm. How are you?
Her fingers pause briefly on the page before she closes the book. She signs back, a faint spark in her eyes. I’m well. And you?
My mouth curves slightly at her return question. My hands shape the reply with ease. Better now that I see you.
Her gaze softens, the faintest shift in her expression pulling something low in my chest.
I let the moment linger for a breath before my hands move again. I have a summit tonight.
Her brow shifts slightly, that subtle tightening I know well. She’s listening, already curious.
At the club, I add, crossing the room toward her. My movements are smooth, certain. I want you to come with me.
The smallest flicker of surprise crosses her face, her fingers lifting gracefully. Why?
I stop a few steps from her chair, my hands slipping into my pockets as I hold her gaze. Because it’s necessary. And because it’s time. My eyes remain on hers, letting the words settle before I sign again. I want to introduce you properly. As my wife.
Her lips press together, her expression caught somewhere between uncertainty and thought as she rubs her wrist before lifting her hand. Her fingers move more slowly this time, the shape of them deliberate. I don’t belong there.
You do, I sign back, my movements sure. You will be at my side. There is no need to be nervous. You will fit in, cara. You were born to rule beside me..
Her gaze lowers for a moment, the quiet between us stretching as though she is turning it over in her mind.
I take another step closer, my movements easing, my hands shaping the words with more care. Part of me being patient with her is to not force her into what she doesn't want. I tell her as much.
I will not force you. If you truly do not want to go, you can stay here. But I would like you there with me tonight.
She doesn’t answer immediately. Her fingers rest in her lap, still, her eyes lifting to meet mine again after a long pause. The faint crease remains between her brows, but there is something steadier now in the way she looks at me.
Her hands move at last, the signs deliberate, her gaze holding mine. Fine. I’ll go.
The words settle in me. The corner of my mouth lifts slightly, not a smile, but close enough to touch it. I step forward, the space between us narrowing until I can feel the soft rise of her breath against me.
I lean down, my hand brushing lightly over her hair as I press my lips to her forehead. I linger there, the warmth of her skin against my mouth sinking into me in a way that is both grounding and dangerous.
The quiet of her presence, the faint scent of lavender and something warmer beneath it, folds into the moment until everything else falls away.
Her breath catches almost imperceptibly, her body still beneath my touch. She doesn’t pull back. Instead, there is the slightest tilt of her head, as though she is letting me stay there a fraction longer. I feel it, the shift, subtle but real.
When I draw back, her eyes lift to mine, steady but not untouched. I hold her gaze, my hands moving slowly. Good. We leave in three hours. Maria will help you choose something.
Her chin dips in a small nod, the motion quiet but sure. There is something in her eyes, something that feels like a thread pulling taut between us.
I take a step back, not because I want to, but because if I stay, I will not leave. The air in the room is still warm from where she sits, carrying the faint echo of her presence with me as I turn and step away.
Three hours later, I am standing in the sitting room, dressed in a dark suit, the cut sharp, the fabric crisp against my shoulders. The tie is knotted tight, my cufflinks in place. Tomasso waits near the door, his expression patient, though I catch the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes.
Then she steps into the room. For a moment, I forget there is air around me.
Liliana steps into the room, her posture straight, shoulders drawn back, every line of her composed.
But I see the nerves she tries to hide—the slight way her hands brush over the fabric of her dress as she moves, as if grounding herself.
The dress is black, fitted at the waist, the skirt moving fluidly as she walks.
The neckline is modest, but the way it frames her collarbones pulls my eyes without effort.
Her hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders, catching the light in a way that draws every part of me to stillness.
I was right to choose this dress for her. It is elegance in its purest form.
Tomasso looks at her, then at me, and the smirk that curves his mouth is deliberate. He doesn’t even try to hide it. “You lucky bastard” he whispers for my ears only.
I take a step toward her, my gaze holding nothing back. “You look…” My voice comes out low, steadier than I feel. “…perfect.” The word settles heavier than I mean it to, but I don’t care.
Her eyes lift to mine for only a moment before they drift away, color rising faintly in her cheeks. Her fingers twitch subtly at her sides, the smallest motion, as though she wants to sign something but decides against it.
That restraint does something to me.
I close the distance in two steps, taking her hand in mine. Her fingers are cool at first, then warmer as they fit against my palm. “You’ll stay close to me tonight,” I tell her quietly, my voice firm enough that she understands it’s more than a request.
She nods, her chin dipping once, composed, even though I can feel the slight tremor in her touch.
Tomasso clears his throat. “Car’s ready,” he says, his tone threaded with something I know is aimed at me more than at her.
I glance at him briefly, then turn back to her. I don’t let go of her hand.
Her lashes lift when I step closer, the air between us shrinking to nothing. My other hand finds her jaw, my thumb brushing the soft curve of her cheek. For a heartbeat, she goes still. Then I lower my mouth to hers.
The kiss is not quick. It is not polite. My lips move over hers slowly at first, coaxing rather than taking. Her breath hitches, the faintest sound breaking against my mouth. I press deeper, my hand sliding to the back of her neck, holding her there, her hair soft beneath my fingers.
She leans into me, just enough to close the space between us completely.
Her lips part under mine, and God help me, they're willing.
I take the opening, deepening the kiss until I feel her fingers press lightly into my chest. The small sound she makes is quiet, almost lost, but it drives me to linger, to taste every moment of this before I pull away.
When I finally lift my head, her eyes are still closed for a breath before they open. There is a flush across her cheeks now, a softness in her expression that wasn’t there moments ago. Her chest rises faintly with her breath, controlled but not entirely steady.
I watch her for a long moment, my thumb brushing her jaw one last time before I let her go.
Tomasso’s voice cuts in, dry and unhurried. “If you two are done, we really should leave. Though, Liliana…” His smirk sharpens faintly as he glances at her. “You wear the dress better than I imagined. Perfect choice, boss. She might be the most dangerous weapon in the room tonight.”
Liliana’s gaze drops, her blush deepening. My hand tightens gently around hers, the faintest thread of satisfaction curling through me.
Without looking at Tomasso, I answer, my tone deliberate. “She’s always the most dangerous thing in any room I walk into.”
Her eyes lift to mine at that, a flicker of something passing between us, quiet but strong enough to settle in my chest.
Tomasso shakes his head, still smiling as he turns toward the door. “Car’s ready,” he says again, and this time, we follow.
I keep her hand in mine as we step out into the evening air.
The temperature has dropped slightly, the coolness brushing over us as the low hum of the engine from the waiting car fills the quiet.
I open the door, steadying her as she slips inside, then follow her in.
The leather seats are cool, the tinted glass shutting out the city’s noise as the driver pulls away.