Gio
T he glass doors of Sindicate Towers part silently, revealing a doorman in a crisp black uniform, silver buttons gleaming under the soft lobby lights. His practiced smile falters for a heartbeat as he takes in the sight before him—me, stone-faced, and Jeniah, a trembling mess, clutching Milo’s carrier like a lifeline.
“Good evening, Mr. Gataki,” he says, his eyes darting between us. I jerk a nod, my mind too preoccupied to dig up his name. It doesn’t matter. Sindicate Towers pays their employees buckets of money to forget what they see and remember only what’s necessary.
I guide Jeniah past him, my hand hovering at the small of her back, not quite touching. The carrier swings in her white-knuckled grip. Milo mewls and scratches the silence between us. I can’t tell if it’s rage or terror that has her shaking, her jaw clenched so tight I swear I can hear her teeth grinding.
But she’s here. She’s safe. And right now, that’s the only fucking thing that matters.
I guide Jeniah across the marble-floored lobby towards the private elevators. With each step, her body tenses. I half expect her to bolt. The elevator arrives with a soft ding, its mirrored walls and brass fixtures gleaming an invitation.
As we step inside, Jeniah clutches Milo’s carrier closer. She gnaws on her lip as I press the button for my suite. The doors slide shut, sealing us in. Jeniah’s eyes dart around, probably searching for an escape that doesn’t exist. Finally, Jeniah’s whisper breaks the silence. “Why are you doing this? What do you get out of it?”
I meet her gaze in the mirror. “Because my family asked me to.” It’s the truth, but those words carry decades of guilt.
The elevator glides to a stop. As the doors open, Jeniah’s eyes widen at seeing dark leather furniture and priceless art. Cousin Cora’s idea of decor screams money. It’s not my style—I prefer understated beauty, like Jeniah’s. But when you tell a decorator money’s no object, then every object reflects money.
“Welcome to your new home,” I say, gesturing for her to enter. Her gaze flickers over the sleek furnishings and the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that frame Chicago’s skyline. It’s too dark to see the lake—which is the best part of the suite. When I’m homesick, I stand on the balcony, enjoy the waves churning into foam, and pretend I’m home with the sea wind blowing on my face.
Jeniah’s lips round and part as she turns in a circle, taking it all end. The snow outside has settled, creating an unforgiving layer of frost on the city roads. Enjoyable only from our safe, warm perch, far from their hazards.
“You live here?”
“When I’m in town. My family owns all the suites on this floor. Atlas’ suite is at the opposite end.” Why did I add that? She won’t be visiting him. Hell no .
Jeniah steps into the room, her boots leaving damp prints on the marble. She takes in the view. The city moves below us, slow, distant, like we’re untouchable. “It’s very… I don’t know what to say.” Her plump lip quirks up. “ Nice , doesn’t cut it.”
“It’ll do,” I say, shrugging. I try to see the suite through her eyes, but instead, I find myself looking into them. Instantly, I feel like the elevator doors opened, and I’m plunging through the shaft.
Falling.
Jeniah sets Milo’s carrier down, her movements slow and deliberate. The cat emerges, stretching before padding towards the leather couch. He rubs his chin along the edge, marking his territory. I catch his eye and glare. Daring him to scratch the expensive furniture.
When I look back at Jeniah, her expression has hardened. The initial shock of our opulent surroundings has worn off, replaced by a dawning suspicion.
Her lips flatten into a thin line. “I guess I’m safe up here,” she says, her voice laced with sarcasm. “But is it a coincidence that my house was destroyed while I was out with you? Were you distracting me? Keeping me busy so that you and my father could manipulate me into doing what you want?” Her sharp words pierce me like shards of glass.
I replay that foul shit for a few seconds before responding. For someone who wasn’t raised around violence, she packs a helluva punch. I stiffen, and my jaw works out several ticks before I speak. “Fuck. You.” Her head rears back, but I don’t give a damn. “That was unnecessary and untrue. I don’t work for your father. And I would never manipulate you. You said you didn’t want to go back home. Remember? I fucking honored your request. Your choice —a choice I pinky swore to always give you. This, too, is your choice. If you don’t want to accept my hospitality, I’ll put you up in a hotel. I can surround it with security. Again. Your choice . I know you’re American, so I’ll try to overlook the trash you said. But in Greece, when someone gives us an invitation, we don’t shit on it.”
She drops her eyes, biting her lip—remorse wells in her eyes before apologizing. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said… I just… I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
That hits harder than it should. I don’t blame her, though. How could she trust a guy who walked into her life not long ago and told her she’s a pawn in a deadly game? But damn it, I’m not her father.
I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I get it.” My pulse races, but I force it to slow with deep breaths – the same trick I use after a nightmare. “Look, you’ve been through hell today. How about a drink? Might take the edge off.”
“No… Thank you,” she amends, careful to let me know she’s not trying to insult me again. “I just… I just want to go to bed.”
I lead Jeniah down the hall, Milo trotting at her heels. Pushing open the guest bedroom door, we’re greeted by the scent of fresh laundry and cut flowers. A king-sized bed dominates the space; its thick coral and gray comforter promises a cozy nest from the city’s chill. Jeniah steps inside, her spine rigid, but I catch the slight tremble in her shoulders.
Leaning against the doorframe, I gesture to it with a tilt of my head. “Another door—another chance.”
Jeniah’s brows furrow, and she cocks her head in that adorable way. “I mean,” I continue, a half-smile tugging at my lips, “I’m sorry our… date ended this way. I was kind of looking forward to our first kiss on your doorstep.”
Her eyes widen, but before she responds, I kiss her forehead. Ignoring the warm print of her skin on my lips. I pull back, letting my words brush her skin. “For now, this will have to do.”
She gives me a small nod before she agrees with a half-smile. “ For now .”
“Goodnight, Jeniah,” I say, walking away while I can.
* * *
Hours later, I’m staring at the amber-colored alcohol in my glass when my phone buzzes. Leo . I brace myself.
“Xádelfos,” he says. Calling me cousin as both a greeting and warning.
I grip the fine crystal snifter. It’s seven am in Greece and he wants an update. “What’s going on with the girl? Why haven’t you married her and brought her to Kouris. We can better protect her here.”
I grunt. “I’m staying here.”
“Why? That doesn’t make fucking sense. You hate Chicago—”
“I promised her.” I cut him off before he can give me more shit.
Leo pauses, then barks a laugh. “You promised? You should do what I did. I didn’t ask Valentina. I fucking married her. Her family owed a debt and I took my payment. True, we got off to a rocky start, but look at us now.”
“Maybe I don’t want to follow in your footsteps. No offense, xádelfos, but not everyone wants to start their marriage with the bride hating the groom.”
“Well, since Valentina ended up loving me, maybe they should.”
I roll my eyes at the trash advice my cousin spews. Leo is crazy. Which is understandable considering the shit he went through with his first wife. I sigh at the demons we carry. “I promised her a choice, and so I’m giving her one.”
“Even if her choice means she’ll end up on Silvio’s auction block?”
I grip the threads of my control and grit out, “I will never let that fucking happen. Now, tell me about my new cousin. Do you even get a chance to hold her with Cora, Lyra, Yaya, and your mom around?” I change the subject before I crack my screen in rage.
“Iris is the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s what you said when Cassie was born.”
“And it was true. Is still true.” I hear the beaming smile in his voice. “I can’t believe I have two girls to guard. I will need a lot more backup to keep them safe.”
“Leo, you command an army.”
“Not good enough… Some fucker will try to get through me.”
“Then get busy making some boys…”
“Already working on it…Valentina’s the holdup. If it were up to me, she’d already be pregnant.”
“It’s not up to you?”
“No. Her body needs to rest. And we both want to enjoy our little Iris. The time goes by so quickly. Cassie is already in second grade. She came home crying because a boy in her class cut her hair. , I had to be restrained. Valentina told me I’m overreacting.”
“—as usual.”
“But since she won’t let me hold this kid down and pluck every piece of hair from his scalp, strand by bloody strand, I’m teaching Cassie how to kick his ass. It is the only reasonable alternative.”
“Sounds reasonable to me.”
“Laugh now. But wait until it’s the woman you love.”
I finish the call and my drink. How far would I go to protect my woman? I look down the hallway towards her bedroom. Despite mocking him, I admit. Pretty fucking far.
* * *
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeates the suite, mixing with the mouthwatering sizzle of bacon. Yet the enticing scents barely dent Jeniah’s wall of silence. She’s been quiet since she padded into the kitchen, her eyes heavy with sleep, her braids a wild waterfall down her shoulders and back. A look that makes her infinitely more tempting than anything I’m cooking.
“Hungry?” I ask, gesturing towards the spread laid out on the gleaming granite counter.
Jeniah nods, sliding onto a bar stool across from me. “Morning,” she mumbles, her fingers restlessly toying with her napkin, smoothing and refolding it.
“So, we’ve got a game plan for today,” I say, trying to break through her brooding. “First up: clothes.”
That snags her attention, and her expressive brown eyes finally meet mine. “My things? From the house?”
“Yeah,” I nod, spatula in hand. “Your call. We can head back, grab what you need, or we can set you up with new stuff.”
She tucks a wayward braid behind her ear, bites her lip, and then her words tumble out in a rush: “Why are you doing all this? Why me?”
Now it’s my turn to stall, stabbing at my eggs with my fork. How to answer? Brutal honesty or a sugar-coated version? In the end, I opt for the straight shot. “Because we’re getting married.”
“You said I had a choice—”
I raise a hand, cutting off her budding protest. “You do have a choice. I promised you that, and I’m not going back on it.” My voice is firm, my gaze steady, letting her see I’m not feeding her bullshit. “But we need to amend one thing about that promise.”
She narrows her eyes. Ready to argue. Ready to fight. But I lean across the kitchen island.
“When it comes to your safety?” My tone leaves nothing for her to argue. “There’s no choice.” Her lips part. But I power forward. “You didn’t get in the damn car last night when I told you to. That’s not an option. Not now. Not ever .”
She tries to cut me off, but I lean closer. “When I tell you to duck, you duck. When I tell you to run, you run. When I tell you to get in the fucking car, you get-in-the-fucking car. You got me?”
She’s ready to spit fire in my face for a moment, but then her shoulders droop. “Fine… I understand.”
Relief washes through me. If we’re playing a sport, then I’ve won the game—but not the season. I won’t claim victory until my ring is on her finger and her body is in my bed… I will have both. The order it happens—that’s the choice.
* * *
We return to the apartment after shopping for essentials. Shopping is fucking tiring. I don’t clue her in that I usually have people do this. I’ve never spent a day going in and out of stores. With one phone call, I could have had deliveries within the hour. But I want to spend time with her, and she needs the distraction. So, even though I have no plans to become a professional shopper, today was fun.
I also enjoy cooking for her. Nothing extravagant—pasta, garlic bread—but I wouldn’t be Yaya’s grandson if I didn’t know how to feed myself, and my woman. Jeniah leans against the kitchen counter, watching me slice a loaf of bread. “So… is this our second date?”
I move my hand just before I cut it, meeting her amused smirk. “Nah. I can do better than this.”
“What a shame. I was looking forward to our first real kiss.”
That shuts me down. The kitchen’s too damn small all of a sudden. Every breath rises and falls as if weighted by her words. I turn off the stove. Place the knife on the counter. Giving her plenty of time to withdraw her challenge, but she doesn’t. The distance between us vanishes, and before I know it, my fingers are trailing the line of her jaw, tilting her face toward mine. I’m drowning. She’s too close. Her breath mingles with mine, soft and tempting.
Then my lips find hers.
It’s slow, deliberate—every touch of our mouths setting fire to something deep I didn’t even know was there. Her breath catches, gasps, her taste frissons up my spine. Electrifying. I can’t stop. Won’t stop. My hand curls in her hair, pulling her closer, deeper. The sweetness of her lips envelops me—vanilla sugar—an intoxicating blend that sends heat coursing through my veins. The remnants of the mango sweet tea she drank earlier mingle with the warmth of her breath. I’ve never had iced mango tea—now I’ll never drink anything else. Our tongues dance, hesitant at first, then urgent, as if they’re trying to unravel the tangled tension threading between us.
When I finally pull back, breathing heavily, a fine sheen of desire coats her eyes. I search her expression. “God, Jeniah,” I murmur. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
She bites her lip and whispers, “I think it’s the other way around.” Her voice is a heady mix of mischief and sincerity. The way she looks at me, as if daring me to take the plunge, ignites a fire in my gut.
I step back, trying to regain some semblance of control. “We should eat before it gets cold.” My words are gruff from restraint. But she doesn’t move away.
“Wow,” she whispers, her fingers tracing her lips. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”
“You’ve… never kissed…?” Is she that innocent?
“I have.” A soft laugh lights her eyes. “In junior high, maybe. But trust me, it was nothing like this.”
“Junior high, huh? Sounds like a terrible first kiss.”
She slaps a hand over her face, laughing and groaning. “It was… very lizard-like.”
I let out a laugh, relaxing back against the counter. “My first was during a cousin’s wedding. Same age.” Her brow arches, encouraging me to continue. “It was awkward as hell. I tripped over my own feet and nearly knocked her into a punch bowl.”
Her smile widens and hits me in the gut harder than any punch ever could.
“Guess first times are supposed to be awkward,” Jeniah says, and I frown.
“Yeah,” I nod, trying not to think too hard about what she’s implying. “But it doesn’t have to be.” She looks down again, and I steer the conversation back to the food.
We eat at the marble counter, conversations light enough to float—but I don’t let my guard drop entirely. When she glances my way—curious, questioning—I answer it head-on. “Go to bed,” I say with a low laugh. She arches a brow, but behind the humor trails something deeper. Desire.
Milo meows by her feet as if he understands our conversation and the danger. He senses what she wants. He knows I want to claim her. But I can’t. Not yet. Not like this. Not until she understands and accepts what being mine means.
“Seriously, gorgeous,” I urge, forcing my body to listen to reason instead of the growing heat building between us. “Get some sleep.”
She heads down the hall, her soft gait carrying her away from me. She’s so damn small. Not small—short. I correct myself when I recall how she filled my palms with her curves. God, I want her so bad. Can’t remember the last time I wanted a woman this much. But I’m not going to fuck her unless she’s truly mine. Not just because I’ve decided. But because she’s made that choice, too.
Sighing, I head to the balcony, dialing Al Silvio.
He answers on the second ring. His smooth voice grating across the air. “I’ve been expecting your call.” He begins after I introduce myself.
I cut him off. “I’m sending you the bill for the damage you did to my fiancée’s house. Consider it a one-time pass since you may not have heard that Jeniah Reynolds is mine now.”
“Not yet,” he laughs. “And if there’s no ring, no paper, I’m coming for her. John Reynolds will pay for the trouble and embarrassment he caused me. I will hold her auction in ten days. If you’re married, send me the proof. If not, I have a claim that precedes yours. She’s collateral now.”
“If you think I’m letting that happen? You don’t know me.”
“Maybe. But you don’t know me either. If you did, you’d know I always get my due. And this won’t be any different. You have ten days.” Al’s laughs louder, more menacing. “Tick. Tock. Time’s running out.”
I hang up, fury pounding in my chest. I need to protect Jeniah. But I can’t pull a Leo and force her to marry me. I’m already falling for her. Craving her, and it’s only been three days. Can she fall for me in ten?
Ten days. The countdown has begun. And I know one thing for sure—I’m not letting her slip through my fingers. Not now. Not ever.