Jeniah
I visit a dead man. My father is alive—thriving, even—but as I sit across from him in the warden’s office, he feels as distant as Mama. The walls close in on me, constricting like the grip of a vise, and the faint scent of lemon polish hangs in the air, sharp and cloying. I battle love and rage, unsure which will overpower the other. Truth is, I’m lost; it’s been years since we were close. I have no reason to help him, no obligation to hear him out—hell, I shouldn’t even care. But still, the good girl wins out—she always does.
The warden stands at attention, deference in his weak posture as he hovers nearby, kowtowing to my father, who sits behind his desk. Wtaf? It hits me harder than it did at the trial. I don’t know this man. Why is he, a convict, occupying a position of power in a place meant to strip away authority? He looks comfortable, as if he belongs behind the massive desk rather than the cold steel of prison bars. But maybe it’s easier this way. I don’t have to see him from behind glass. I can pretend that his baby blue coveralls with the black numbers of his prison ID are just another suit.
“Why?” I ask as I struggle with the surreal scene. “Why does he get this treatment?”
He smirks before the warden can answer. “You’d be surprised what money can buy you in prison, ,” he says, his tone full of arrogance and bitterness.
The words fall between us, heavy with implications and cunning. A tsunami of rage rises within me—how can he sit there so comfortably? Reigning from a throne he built on lies and theft? Does he know how his actions ruined my life? His shit ripped away everything he was supposed to protect, leaving scars that run deep.
I break his gaze to accept the truth: I am face-to-face with a man who traded our lives for his ambitions. He stands and opens his arms. Fully expecting the hug of the dutiful daughter as if he’s returning from another day of work. I bite my lip and walk into the hug. But I can’t stop the wince when he kisses my cheek. The kiss burns through my soul. My eyes dart to Gio, who is cataloging my reactions—stripping me bare. Does he see through the loyal martyr to the burning fuse waiting to explode?
“I would be surprised because you told the court, the feds—me, that you had nothing left. I’m hustling every day, working from home, to pay our outstanding debts. The house is mine, but it’s also huge. Do you know how much it costs to keep the utilities going while you lounge with the warden in your new luxury home?”
“Hardly luxury,” he sneers before he remembers we have company. He resumes playing the loving father, giving me an apologetic shrug. “If I could have passed money to you, I would have. But the feds will be watching every transaction you make for years. So, unfortunately, I can’t help you financially.”
“It’s okay. I wouldn’t expect you to. That’s the sad part. The only thing I ever wanted was your help with Mama.”
“I did. Who do you think I did all this for? Did you think her medical bills paid themselves? I loved Joanna. She was the best part of my life—our lives. But loving her, taking care of her , was draining.”
“Well, weren’t you lucky that you could pass that responsibility off to your child—”
“Hardly, a child. You were very mature—”
“I had to be. I had to grow up fast because someone needed to be there for her.”
I can’t read my father’s expression. Does my rare outburst shock him? Something flickers in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by irritation. “I had to do it, sweetheart. Joanna’s medical bills—”
I interrupt his revisionist bullshit when he repeats himself. “You thought stealing millions was the best way to pay her expenses?” My voice rises, then falls sharply when he looks at the door. “Maybe you started with good intentions, but what happened? Don’t answer.” I flip my wrist up to cut his response. “I already know. You got greedy.”
“Watch your tone,” he snaps, the words clipped and cold. No longer worried about our audience. His lips flatten at my defiance. “I may be in prison, but you’re still my daughter, Marie.”
His fist waves, rising with his frustration, and Gio steps closer. Delivering a message—he has my back. A message he reiterates when he rests his palm above my hips. His fingertips curl into the crease of my spine. The warmth spreads to my core, and the strike of desire shakes my focus. He’s angled his body between us and left one arm free. I am strong enough to take on John Reynolds. But Gio, clearly, won’t let me fight alone.
My father slumps back into the seat. Is he backing down? Now, I’m the one in shock. He leans forward, hands trembling slightly as frustration clouds his features. “When your mother got sick, you have no idea how hard it was for me. I thought—”
“You thought what?” I cut him off, my heart racing. “That it was easier for me? You left me to care for her while you disappeared on your business trips—dropping in and out of our lives.”
He bristles, irritation boiling beneath his surface. “I’m not saying the situation was ideal. I didn’t want to put your mother in a nursing home, . She wanted you, not strangers. You always looked so… capable taking care of her.”
“Capable?” My breath catches, the bitterness bubbling over. “I was because I had to be. Had to be the adult while you acted like an irresponsible child.”
He runs a hand across his bald scalp, frustration erupting in his voice. “ Marie, I didn’t raise you to be disrespectful.” I grit my teeth instead of rolling my eyes. “I don’t need your attitude. I made mistakes, yes, but I’m trying to fix them. You should be grateful I didn’t leave you to the wolves.”
I can’t believe my ears. “Grateful,” I screech at him, but he raises a finger. Stopping me.
“I don’t want to argue with you. You may not believe this, but I love you. If for no other reason than you’re the last part I have of Joanna. You’re our baby girl.” His face softens, and he’s the man who walked me to the park, took me for ice cream cones on Sunday Funday, and to watch his team play baseball. I melt. I missed this part of my dad. Haven’t seen the good guy he could be in years.
Before I can accept his white flag, his eyes narrow. His sharp gaze reflects his hardened tone. “I owe it to your mother. I’m doing my best to set things right, but you need to cooperate. This is hard for me, too.”
“And how do you plan on making this right?” I challenge. His gall ignites a fire.
“I’m sorry it came to this,” he says, but there’s no conviction behind it. “Believe me, I never wanted this.”
My brow arches. He’ll have to say it. I won’t make it easy for him.
“I never wanted you to marry a stranger.”
The words linger in the air like poison. “Is it true, then? Did you steal from mobsters? From Al Silvio?”
The question hangs between us before he answers. “I did… I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to make enough to cover the medical bills, to make everything better. But it spiraled out of control…”
There it is. The confirmation I asked for—although was there really any doubt? If Gio had told me the same thing last year—I would have laughed him out of the house. But after the revelations in court, nothing about John Reynolds surprises me. The insomnia isn’t the only reason I’m exhausted.
“Doing this—marrying into the Gataki family—means safety,” he insists when I tune back in. “I swear, I’m doing this for you. You have to trust me.”
I stand up and walk to the door. “No,” I say as the epiphany hits me. “I don’t.”
Delete Created with Sketch.
The car hums as we head to Chicago. The prison was a three-hour road trip, and I brood down every mile. Gio glances at me. The side of my cheek warms as his gaze brushes it. “You okay?” He asks when I don’t meet his eyes.
“I don’t know.” Silence follows my simple answer, compelling me to fill it even though I don’t feel like talking. Even with my world falling apart, I’m polite. “I thought I was strong. But after seeing him…”
“You held your ground back there. You’re strong—a survivor. You’ll get through this, too.”
I let out a shaky breath and face him. He doesn’t say much. Is he quiet out of respect, or is he just the strong, silent type? I don’t have a read on him yet. He’s got the strong square chin Superman would envy. But despite his gruff exterior, his night-dark eyes have been kind. A quiet kindness that doesn’t ask me for anything—other than marriage… I sigh. I can’t forget that everyone wants something.
“I don’t want to go home.” The words spill out before I can catch them.
Gio hesitates, then asks, “Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere but home.” My stomach rumbles, giving its loud answer. We share a half-grin. “I guess somewhere to eat.”
“No problem. I’m hungry, too. What’s your favorite restaurant?”
I blink. “I don’t know,” I shrug. “After my mom was put on bed rest, I rarely left the house as a teenager.”
“Seriously?” I ignore the way his brows touch his hairline. “What did you do all day? What about school? Friends?”
“I switched to homeschooling when I was fourteen. Most of my friends kind of faded away. My responsibilities made it kind of hard to hang. After she passed and the trouble with my father—I just never had a chance.”
He stares at me for so long I’m afraid we’ll crash. But the car never wavers. The sun is slowly descending when we pull up to a small Greek restaurant. The marquee is missing a letter, and the open light flickers instead of blinking, but it looks clean. “Well, we’re going to start fresh right now,” Gio says, opening my car door. The aroma wafting through the door has my stomach rumbling in appreciation. Gio smiles at the sound. “Welcome to Athena’s, the best Greek food in Chicago.”
I step inside, the warm air enveloping me like a comforting embrace. Intricate mosaics of vibrant blue tiles reflect the sun-drenched skies of the Greek photographs on the walls. The smell of grilled lamb and herbs dances through the room, a melody of spices that has my mouth watering. Dimly lit chandeliers sway overhead, casting a gentle glow that feels intimate, almost like a secret shared between two souls.
“What do you want?” Gio asks, scanning the menu. I glimpse his jaw tightening, his muscles coiling with tension. Is he nervous?
“Surprise me,” I say.
He does—when he orders in fluent Greek. His English is flawless. I didn’t expect him to slide into the mysterious- sounding language so effortlessly. But then everything about him is a mystery. Why did he agree to marry me? Why show up now in the middle of the night? I’m so lost in the tangle of unspoken questions that I jump when he says, “Your mind’s going so fast, I can see the wheels spinning in your head. What are you thinking about?”
I hesitate, biting my lip. “Honestly?” I shrug when he nods his head. “Running away. Despite what you and my father said, I doubt Mr. Silvio would bother coming after me.”
“That’s fear talking. You can’t throw away your life and pretend it’s a solution.”
“Why would he even care? I’m nobody.”
Gio’s gaze sharpens, cutting through my self-doubt. “If that were true, I wouldn’t be here. It’s not just that your father took his money—money that’s already been returned. He embarrassed and outsmarted him. If John Reynolds can take from the Silvios, why can’t someone else? He can’t let your father get away with his crime. The only way he can save face is if another family shields you. Running won’t solve anything. You can’t hide from your father’s mistakes. You have to face them.”
My throat tightens. “But… after everything he’s done, how do I face that? I gave up my freedom once for love. I can’t do it again.”
Gio relaxes back, but his intense focus doesn’t lighten. “Then let’s redefine what freedom means. Tonight, you’re not just John Reynolds’ daughter. You’re , a woman who can make her own choices. You can choose to enjoy a wonderful meal and a night out.”
I swallow hard. “And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow can wait.” Gio toys his fork but sets it back down. His kind eyes, the ones I drown in, submerge me, again. “But , if you’re asking if you’ll have choices tomorrow… I promise. I will always give you a choice.” I don’t know how to respond to that. He’s here because of a promise to my father. How can he keep both? Doubt must show on my face because he takes my hand and hooks our pinky fingers together. “I swear.” Water fills my eyes when he offers a small smile that breaks through my clouds. I nod and let my guard slip a bit. The server arrives with a feast of roasted lamb, saganaki, and a rainbow of mezes. The food looks as appetizing as it smells.
“You know, this is my first real date,” I admit while drinking a peach Sangria with fresh mint during a lull in the conversation. I don’t know if it’s the wine or the company—but I’m mortified when the words slip out. I cover my face and wish that melting through the floor was a real thing.
“Really?” Gio grins, his dark eyes glinting. “You’re telling me I’m your first?”
I peek through my fingers, hiding from his gaze. “Well, technically, yes. If you can call this a date.”
“Oh, it’s definitely a date. “The food’s fantastic, the conversation flowing, and I’m sitting with a beautiful girl—so I’d say we’re off to a good start.”
“What if I’m terrible at it? What if I embarrass myself?”
“Then I’ll tell you it’s my fault. Even if we both know it’s not,” he says smoothly, laughter lighting his eyes and making my stomach flip. “But don’t worry, I’ll bail you out before you bomb.” He pauses, leaning forward slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious. “But seriously, just be you. That’s more than enough.”
We ease back into the soft rhythm of our date. A date—I’m on a date. With a hot as hell guy who seems interested in me. True, he might be faking it to make me more compliant. But I’m not going to worry about that. Not tonight. Tonight, it doesn’t matter. I can focus on how we got here or on being here. It’s my choice. One choice is infinitely better than the other.
We drive back to the house in the bubble, made comfy by light conversation and Sangria. We don’t touch the heavy stuff. When he parks at the end of the driveway, I look at the house partially hidden by hedges. Its darkness seems ominous. Mocking me for spending time away from trouble. I hate for the date to end. Gio turns the key, shutting the car down, but doesn’t make a move to exit, even though we both know Cinderella has returned from the ball.
“So,” I say, gathering my courage, “is this the part where you try to kiss me?”
Gio’s eyes flick to my mouth, and my heart drops to my core, where it pulses and throbs.
“No,” he says, his voice low and husky. “That happens at the door.”
Once again, melting through the floor is not an option—even though he’s turned my spine to mush. I stumble a bit when he helps me out of the car. Fumbling my keys as we approach the front door. The night air fans my flushed skin.
Gio steps in front of me. Stopping me abruptly when I crash into his stiffened back. I look over his shoulder, “Oh, shit—” The motion sensor lights reveal the door is open. I see the destruction from behind the shield he’s become. I try to move him out the way but he’s stone.
“Go back to the car.” He orders in a voice that is the polar opposite of the soft, amenable tone he’s used all night. I step back, my heart racing. “I’ll call 911,” I say, reaching for my phone.
Gio’s hand clamps over mine, stopping me. “No,” he snaps, his eyes never leaving the open door. “We don’t handle problems with police.”
“What the hell? What are you saying?” Oh, shit. I’m so slow. He doesn’t explain. Doesn’t have to—not when he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun.
He unlocks his phone with a swift thumbprint before tossing it to me. “Get in the car and lock the doors,” he barks the command. “Call Atlas. He’s in my contacts. Tell him to send backup.”
I hesitate, torn between fury and fear. I can’t let him go in alone. He’s not the damn police. “No—” I start and stop the argument when he whirls on me.
“Get in the fucking car. Right damn now, .” I shrink away, but he doesn’t soften his words or turn back around until I retreat.
My hands are shaking so much it takes two attempts to dial Atlas’s number. Atlas stops his “Hey, cuz—” when he hears my voice. I picture him stone-faced and determined as he whips out questions, rapid fire. What happened? Where are we? And finally, where are his fucking men?
Gio has men? That one question—more than the gun, the refusal of police, and the skilled, disciplined response, tells me there’s another side to the Gio who teased me so sweetly during dinner. A side I’m not sure I want to know.
I pace the sidewalk until my feet carve a rut into it. Waiting for any sign of what’s happening. Fighting the image of Gio disappearing into the house, gun drawn and ready. He gives the all-clear, and I step inside and gasp. The destruction is devastating. Furniture overturned, papers strewn everywhere, and worst of all—my mother’s portrait lies shattered on the floor.
I sink to my knees before it, tears streaming down my face. Out of everything they destroyed, this makes me want to curl up beside it and wail like a banshee. Whoever did this wanted to plunge the knife in and twist. They planned to rip my heart out, and they did. Because it’s lying beside my mother, bleeding out.
Gio’s strong arms wrap around me, offering desperately needed warmth as the violation chills me to my bones. Once radiant and comforting, my mother’s smile now lies in jagged pieces on the cold floor.
“They knew,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “They knew this would hurt the most.”
Gio’s grip tightens, his breath warm against my ear. “I’m so sorry, . We’ll find who did this.”
I turn in his arms, burying my face against his chest. The scent of his cologne mingles with the acrid smell of destruction, grounding me in this surreal moment. “What do we do now?” I ask, hating how small and lost I sound.
He pulls back, cupping my face in his hands. His dark eyes, usually so guarded, now brim with anger and determination. “You can’t stay here tonight. It’s not safe.”
“Where can I go? I don’t have anyone else. This is my home. Was my home.”
Gio’s jaw tightens. “My suite at the Sindicate Towers. You’ll be safe there while I sort this out.” He softens, his thumb gently wipes away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. “I know it’s a lot. But right now, that’s the best option.”
I look around at the wreckage of my home, my sanctuary. Every overturned piece of furniture, every shattered memento, screams that this place is no longer mine. No longer safe. I meet Gio’s gaze, seeing not just the charming man from dinner but glimpses of someone far more dangerous—danger he’ll use to protect me.
“Okay,” I whisper, nodding slowly.
I take one last look at my broken home as we leave. The place I grew up in is now a trove of ruined things. My heart aches, but I know I can’t stay. Atlas arrived with some men, but Gio didn’t introduce us. Instead, he assures me he’ll return it to normal.
Gio’s hand finds mine and gives it a gentle squeeze, entwining our pinkies. He’s trying to comfort me—but we both know things will never be normal again.