11. Gio
GIO
The alarm sounded as I was wrapping up dinner with Francesca. She was talking through the details of the upcoming luncheon with the Romanos and asking pointedly if my new bride would be joining us.
I was downing another glass of whisky and wondering how much fallout there’d be if I canceled the fucking thing entirely.
Too much, it turns out. Elio has confirmed he has a lead on the stolen cocaine. The source of the critical intel is none other than the Romanos. They’ve assured Elio they’ll have more details by the luncheon. So, it’s happening. The last one before the club opens.
As for Francesca’s questions about Viviana, I didn’t answer them. I was saved by the literal bell. A shatter alarm on an upstairs window.
When the guard told me, I did a double take. Made him check again.
The alarm was triggered in a room that hasn’t been used in years, up on the top floor. Right next to the room occupied by…
Viviana.
I’m standing in the doorway between her bedroom and the disused one, glaring at my captive bride. “What the fuck, Viviana?! What are you doing in here?”
She’s staring at me, pale and wide-eyed. Her hair is wild, her black dress covered in dust, her feet bare, and she’s clutching a white lump of something against her chest.
A lump that’s growing a stain, blood red. It’s slowly getting bigger the longer we stare at each other.
Viviana’s mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
I step forward, fingers digging into my hips. “I asked you a question.”
“Yes. Um. I—I heard a noise.”
“A noise?”
She bobs her head, red hair rippling. “Yes.”
I step through the gap in the wall. The door that’s been sealed for ages. “You heard a noise. Through a wall.”
“Yes,” she repeats, her voice wavering.
I take another step. She does the same in the opposite direction, narrowly missing a large shard of glass on the floor. Goddamnit. “Stop! Stop, Viviana. For fuck’s sake! Be careful of the glass.”
She freezes, looks down at the ground. She’s slightly more self-possessed when she looks back up. “A window broke. Because of the storm. Or because of the bird. I’m not sure. Either way…that’s why there’s glass.”
“A bird? What bird?” I scan the room. I don’t see a bird.
“This one.” She holds up the lump. The red stain is still growing. “I think it has a broken wing.”
A sad chirp erupts from between her hands. Holy fucking shit. She’s holding an injured, bloody bird. As if tonight could get any weirder. “And…what are you planning to do with the bird, Viviana?”
I’m not sure what I expect her to say. This isn’t a scenario I’ve mentally run through before. The three words that come out of her mouth do, in fact, turn out to be a surprise.
“Help it,” she says. “Obviously.”
No, my bride. It isn’t obvious. Not even a little.
I’m momentarily speechless. She’s going off script. Again.
Okay, not the breaking and entering part. That at least makes sense. So much so I’m not even pissed. So she found the old door, wrangled it open, and damaged a bunch of plaster in the process. So what?
From a security perspective, this room is as much a jail cell as her own.
The door—the real one—opens into an alcove that’s just beyond the entrance to her room.
Even if Viviana did pick the locks from the inside and get into the hall, she wouldn’t have gotten more than a few steps before the guard caught her.
But she didn't try to pick the locks. The alarm for the primary door hadn’t been triggered.
She wasn’t trying to escape.
She was snooping. And now she’s being kind and compassionate and wanting to save an injured wild animal? Can this woman not be predictable for one fucking second?
For fuck’s sake, it’s not even a kitten.
“Giovanni.” Her eyes keep darting between me and the injured creature. She chews her bottom lip, shifting on her feet as she tries to figure out what to do. “Can you help?”
Holy shit. She’s actually worried. Not for herself, but for the sad little thing she’s holding.
An uncomfortable sensation creeps beneath my skin. She cares about the tragic little thing. It snags something inside me. Triggers a glitch in the calculations I’ve been running since the blood-soaked morning I could do nothing to stop the bomb from going off and the car exploding.
It takes longer than it should for my voice work. “Help with what?”
“The bird. Its little heart is beating so fast. I think it’s scared. And in pain. We need to help it. I j-just don’t know how.”
Her voice catches and, for a moment, I forget to be calculating. Or suspicious, or even vengeful. Fuck, I forget to be Giovanni Marchetti. Not the adult version, at least. There’s a humming in my ears and a chill rushing up my spine and memories of childhood knock me sideways.
Long-lost moments running barefoot across the island, playing hide and seek in the trees, stealing tomatoes from the garden, sweet and warm from the sun. A different era, when I was allowed to savor life, not required to savage it.
I’m not a sentimental man. It’s far better for everyone if I lock away the past and stare down the present.
Feelings are dangerous. Unpredictable. And the more I’m around Viviana, increasingly hard to control.
I should leave. Wash my hands of all of this and send a groundskeeper up to deal with the bird.
I know I should, but I’m still rooted in place when Viviana asks, “Do you know what to do?” Her question is softly urgent, eyes pleading.
She’s looking at me like I have the potential to be the good guy here.
Not the cold bastard who stole her from her wedding.
Not the emotionless capo whose plans for her are anything but kind.
In this moment she’s not Viviana, and I’m not Giovanni, and I make the fatal mistake of feeling, not thinking.
I roll up my shirtsleeves and gesture to her to come closer. She hesitates, not sure if I’m serious. When she realizes I am, she rushes forward and unwraps the dust sheet, presenting the contents for inspection.
The bird is young, terrified, and definitely has a broken wing. “Hold it gently, but not too tight. And keep its eyes covered,” I tell her. “It will help keep it calm while I have supplies delivered.”
She stares at me. “You actually know what to do?”
“Sì.” It feels like a confession. One I have no desire to make. “A girl taught me. Decades ago.”
Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I snap a picture of the bird and send it to the night groundskeeper, along with a message detailing the supplies we need.
Wordlessly, I escort Viviana back to her room, giving the concealed door the evil eye before I pop it back into place. I send messages to my security and maintenance departments while we wait, updating them on the situation and what needs to be done.
Fifteen minutes later, there’s a soft knock from the hall.
The groundskeeper has arrived, drenched and dripping rainwater.
He hands over the requested items. I nod thanks and send him away.
As soon as he’s gone, I collect a stack of sketches that’ve blown around the room and move them out of the way.
Once there’s enough space, I establish a mini triage station on the floor and wave Viviana over.
She comes, her bottom lip now swollen and bruised from her teeth.
“Stop that.” I gesture to her mouth. “You’re hurting yourself. And for no reason. The bird is going to be fine.”
“You can’t know that.”
“You’re right. I can’t. But I’ve found that in matters of life and death, courage of conviction goes a long way. And I do actually know what I’m doing.”
Viviana doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t protest when I point at our newly acquired cardboard box and tell her to put both bird and sheet inside.
I scan the broken wing, confirm no bones are protruding. “I’m going to stabilize and wrap the wing. You poke holes in the box lid.”
She blinks, confused.
“For ventilation. The bird will stay calmer in the dark. The calmer it is, the more likely the wing will heal. But it will need to breathe. So…”
“Holes. Right. On it.” With a nod, Viviana gets to work.
She’s efficient, completing her task well before I’m done with mine.
She’s quiet while she waits for me to finish, watching every movement I make.
I haven’t done this in decades but, thankfully, I remember the steps well enough and the bird’s injured wing is wrapped and bound and the creature calm by the time I’m done and have the lid in place.
I move to pick up the box.
Viviana reaches for it at the same time. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to take it to the groundskeepers’ shed. They work in shifts around the clock; there will always be someone who can keep an eye on it until the wing is healed.”
“No, leave it. I’ll look after it.”
“Come, prego?!”
We study each other, searching for something neither of us seems to be able to find. Our fingers are a hairsbreadth from brushing. Viviana breaks the silence. “I don’t want you taking it away. I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s a full-time job, especially in the beginning.
Stress is more likely to kill it than the injury.
You’ll need to check regularly to make sure it’s still breathing.
You’ll need to give it water, food. On the bird’s schedule, not when it’s convenient for you.
You don’t want to be responsible for that. ”
“I’m the one who wanted to save it. I’ll be the one who takes care of it. I don’t care if it’s convenient or not.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Why would you do that?” There’s real confusion in her voice. Real hurt too.
“Because I can.”
“Yes. You can. But why?” Her lip is between her teeth again, the tender flesh starting to swell. “Is it to punish me? To hurt me?”
I don’t answer.
“Why?” She repeats, pained curiosity radiating off every pore. “Why are you doing this?”
We’re both still clutching the box. Viviana sways, adjusts her grip as she catches her balance. Her hands land on mine. Gentle, warm. So much smaller than my own. Lightly calloused and capable, and awareness ricochets through me.
A dreaded bolt of feeling.
She’s staring at me with guileless eyes, and I do everything I can to drag the two-year-old image of her to the foreground. To superimpose that violent woman on top of the one hovering so close I can feel her breath tickle my skin.
Careful, Gio. You cannot believe this version of her. She’s dangerous, destructive. She’s ruined lives before. She can do it again.
The knowledge is there, stamped in my brain, but it’s getting blurry along the edges. A blood stain that’s slowly fading away. I need to leave before it vanishes completely.
I step back, break contact. The box wobbles before Viviana holds it tight.
“Fine. Whatever. Keep the fucking bird.” I fist my hand, feel the ring on my little finger cut into my skin.
“I don’t know what you were thinking breaking through that wall, but let me make this explicitly clear: you aren’t escaping this island, Viviana.
You’re never escaping me. You try bullshit like this again, your sister will be dead the next day. ”