Jeniah
“ S top it, Milo,” I scold, shooing him from the pillow he knows is off-limits. Maybe he figures if I’m breaking all the rules, he can too. Staying in a strange man’s house, kissing him, exploring his mouth like an orthodontist. I can’t believe I was so bold. In the kitchen, no less. What was I thinking? Two days later, I’m still embarrassed but not ashamed. I promised myself I’d break out of my old life, but this feels like being shot from a glitter cannon at the circus. The desire that exploded in my belly when Gio’s lips claimed mine was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Raw. Intense. Consuming.
I want more.
Rolling out of bed, I pad into the en suite bathroom and give a Milo-worthy stretch. I study my reflection, from my tousled braids to my kiss-swollen lips. For the first time in years, I don’t see a frightened little mouse staring back at me. I look alive. I feel alive. Vibrant. Vital. I didn’t realize how guilt had tethered me to that house until vandals set me free. I hate what they did, mourn what I lost. I’m grateful Gio is repairing the damage. But I won’t ever live there again. When I was there, I didn’t live—I served. It was a service I was happy to give, but now Rapunzel has left the tower, and there’s no way I’m going back.
After a quick shower, I wander into the living room and find Gio sprawled on the couch, his phone pressed to his ear. He’s shirtless, his sculpted torso on full display, and I bite my lip to keep from drooling.
“…Yeah, I got it under control,” he’s saying, his voice low and authoritative. He glances up and catches me staring, his eyes darkening with something he’s yet to act on. The chaste goodnight kisses we’ve shared after each date don’t count. “I’ll call you back,” he mutters, ending the call and tossing his phone onto the coffee table.
“Morning,” he rumbles, his gaze raking over my body, drinking in every curve and dip. “Sleep well?”
I nod, suddenly feeling shy. “Yes, thank you.”
“Good.” He unfolds himself from the couch, his movements fluid and graceful. “So, where are you dragging me for your third date?”
“Am I dragging you, Mr. Gataki? Because I distinctly remember you insisting we visit Chicago’s best pizzeria. And the holiday parade was your idea, too.”
“You said you’d never watched it live.”
“There’s a lot I haven’t done. You can’t possibly give me all my firsts…” I swallow hard, wishing I could reel back the words. But like me, they’re out in the world now, refusing to retreat. “Er, um,” I clear my throat. “Skating. We’re going ice skating.”
Gio’s eyes widen at my suggestion. “Ice skating? Really? You do remember that I’m the guy who hates the cold, right?”
I nod, biting my lip to suppress a grin. “That’s what hats, boots, and gloves are for.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then laughs. A deep, rich sound warms me from the inside out. “Okay, gorgeous. Ice skating it is.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad? I want you to be happy, . If ice skating makes you happy, then that’s what we’ll do.”
We head to the rink hand in hand, the biting chill of the wind a welcome contrast to the heat simmering between us. I’m supposed to be the teacher, but it isn’t long before he’s gliding across the ice like he plays for the NHL. “You’re a natural,” I call out over the rush of the wind.
Gio grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I guess I just needed the right teacher.” We skate in comfortable silence before the cold demands we take a break. Gio’s shaky hands fumble with his skate laces when we step off the ice. “Here, let me help you with that.” I kneel and expertly untie the knots, my fingers gliding along his exposed shin. He inhales sharply at the contact, his eyes taking in my position before him. When our gazes lock, the heat in his eyes scorches me. “Thanks,” he says, his voice rough.
I stand up, dusting off my hands on my leggings. “No problem.” I glance around the rink, enjoying the twinkling lights and festive music. “This is wonderful,” I say softly, leaning into Gio’s side. “Thank you for bringing me.”
He wraps an arm around my waist. “Anything for you, gorgeous.” We head to the concession stand, grabbing hot chocolates to warm up. Gio’s eyes sparkle over the rim of his cup as we sip our drinks. Suddenly, he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the shooting gallery. “Let’s try our luck,” he says with a grin.
We take our places at the counter, eyeing the enormous stuffed animals lining the top shelves. Gio picks up the rifle, peers down the sights, and fires off shot after shot. He hits the bullseye three times in a row, and the attendant hands him a ticket. I burst into laughter when he exchanges his single ticket for a palm-sized trinket. His bewildered expression only makes me laugh harder. When the arcade manager explains he’ll need twenty thousand tickets to win the large prize, I laugh until my tears freeze.
Gio frowns good-naturedly as I giggle at his prize, but then grins and drapes an arm around my shoulders. “Guess we’ll have to come back another time to win you a bigger teddy bear.”
“Aww, are you saying I’m high maintenance, Mr. Gataki?”
“Nope, just worth winning over,” he replies easily, and my heart flips. I would have never pictured the surly gangster of a few days ago as a flirty charmer, but now I see right past the smokescreen of danger to the man inside. We finish our hot chocolates, then head back into the frigid night air, the twinkling lights of Navy Pier fading behind us as we walk hand in hand. The icy wind nips at our cheeks, but I barely feel it, too absorbed in the warmth of Gio’s body pressed against mine.
When we reach The Towers, Gio guides me to the elevator, his hand resting possessively on the small of my back. The doors slide open with a soft ding, and we step inside, alone in the mirrored space. Gio inserts the key card for our floor, then turns to me, his eyes darkening as they rake over my face.
“Your lips are turning blue,” he murmurs, raising a hand to cup my cold cheek. His thumb brushes over my lower lip, and I shiver, but not from the cold. “We should get you warmed up.”
“Yes,” I breathe, the single word heavy with anticipation. Gio leans in, his nose grazing mine, and I tilt my head up. Our mouths meet in a slow, deep kiss, tongues tangling lazily as the elevator rises. It’s different from our earlier kisses - less urgent, more exploratory. As if we have all the time in the world to discover every inch of each other.
When the elevator dings again, signaling our arrival, Gio reluctantly pulls back, his forehead resting against mine. “Is that the third date kiss,” he asks huskily, his breath fanning my face. “Or fourth?”
“I’ve lost track. But then, who’s counting?” A shadow passes over his face before he takes my hand and leads me inside. “After you, gorgeous.”
I shed my coat while Milo weaves between my legs in greeting, sniffing my boots to discover where I’ve been. Gio follows suit, his broad shoulders filling out his sweater in a way that makes my mouth go dry. Milo meows insistently against my legs until I bend down to scratch behind his ears. “Hey, buddy. Miss me?” He purrs in response, arching his back.
“I think that’s a yes.” Gio reaches a hand out to Milo, who turns his head in disdain. Gio shrugs and says, “At least he’s not hissing. Get used to me, Milo. I’m not going anywhere.” He gestures to my wet jeans. “Why don’t you get changed while I order dinner?”
I nod before heading to the bedroom. Milo follows, curling up on the bed as I rummage through my suitcase for something to wear. I settle on a soft pink cashmere sweater and black leggings. I tell myself I’m just getting comfortable, but I can’t help adding a light gloss to my plum-colored lips and twisting my braids into a sexy high ponytail.
By the time I return to the living room, Gio is setting out plates on the table. The aroma of Thai food makes my stomach growl. Our shared love of international cuisine is one more thing I have in common with the Greek mafioso. “Smells amazing,” I say, sliding into the chair he holds out for me. He’s had the table set in front of a roaring fire. There’s something deliciously decadent about the flames dancing on the wall while the world outside stands frozen.
“I can’t wait to try it,” Gio says, handing me a plate piled high with noodles and a spicy peanut sauce. “So, I was thinking… Since we’re sharing new experiences, maybe we could come up with a list of things you’ve never done but always wanted to try.”
I take a bite, savoring the rich, complex flavors, while Gio’s eyes remain glued to my lips. He’s so focused that I discreetly pat the corners of my mouth. Finding nothing, I ask, “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Starving.” The one word hangs between us for a minute before he turns to his plate. “Skating works up an appetite.” After he swallows a bite, he asks again. “So, what did young dream about between caring for mom? It wasn’t all just nursing, was it?”
“No, of course not. Gio, I wasn’t a servant. We had plenty of good times. We went to the movies when she had good days, binged, and chilled on the couch when she didn’t. There were more good days than bad for a long time. The doctors wanted to put her in hospice. Said she needed round-the-clock care and that she didn’t have long to live. That was when I first started homeschooling—”
“Wait a minute—your parents wanted you to be at home and watch her die?”
“No, you’re looking at it wrong. I wanted to be there for her. And she wanted me there as well.” He only lifts a brow, but I refuse to see the half-empty cup he’s implying.
“It was cruel, manipulative, and abusive. You were a young girl losing someone you love—that shit is hard enough. But to force you—”
“I told you, no one forced me.” The words blast from a well of anger I didn’t know I had. Where did that rage come from, and why was he the only person in my life who cared enough to see it? “I’m sorry.” Dammit, why am I apologizing? I have a right to be angry. “You didn’t know my mother. Mama was… she just was. A damn near perfect mother; patient, funny—she would make me laugh until I almost wet my pants. She knew every riddle that had ever been told. I could never stump her. On snow days, when I had to stay home, she would make hot chocolate from scratch—none of the packaged stuff. And then we would sit and color for hours or do puzzles. Puzzles were her favorite.”
Gio’s giving me the same intense focus that Milo does. “You don’t need a lot of physical strength to work a puzzle. It’s so hard to have a person’s mind alert and active while their body withers away.” Tears well in my eyes, and I look away, refusing to blink. “She was terrified of dying alone. I’d never seen her scared until they told her she wouldn’t have six months, and she made it almost five years. Every time they counted her out, she rallied. People think I get my strong will from my father but…”
“He was the weak one,” Gio correctly determines.
I sniff and nod, twisting noodles around my fork and untwisting them. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I’m not the only twenty-year-old who had to take care of a sick parent.”
He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I have never, not even for a second, felt sorry for you. I see the strength and the determination—not stubbornness.” He draws a smile from me that shores up the dam, holding my tears.
He pulls his hand back and freezes. “Wait, you’re only fucking twenty? And you let me serve you Sangria?”
I laugh at the stricken expression on his face. “I’ll be twenty-one next month. Besides, what’s the legal drinking age in Greece?”
“Eighteen, but we’re not in Greece. You’re so mature for your age. It never occurred to me. Tell me it wasn’t your first drink.”
“It was.”
He buries his face in his hands and groans. “, I’m going straight to hell.”
“That’s very possible, but I doubt it will be over this.”
“Only mango tea for you from now on.” He relents and adds, “Or at least for the next month.” I try to look chastened, but I’m not. “This brings us back to where we started. What other new experiences have you been dying to try?”
Do I dare say it? “I’ve never been to a club.”
“And you can’t go to one until next month.”
“Gio, please. I know you can make it happen. I don’t want to drink or do drugs—”
“Theé mou,” he mutters in what I assume is some kind of prayer.
“I just want to get dressed up and go dancing.”
“Like Cinderella, eh?”
“Like girls my age have done for decades. And speaking of age, how old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
I fake shudder. “Ancient.”
“Okay. Why not? The top floor of Sindicate Towers has Club Sin. It’s small and private. Very exclusive.”
I clap my hands and do a little wiggle in my seat. My excitement doesn’t wane when he adds, “But no drinking.”
I hold out my finger, and we pinky swear. The light and heat roars into a flame that gives off more warmth than the fireplace. Gio pulls his hand back with another muttered, “Theé mou.”