19. Gio
GIO
“You really need to stop staring.” There’s a frown notched between Francesca’s brows. “You’re ignoring your guests.”
Around us, the club is alive. Drinks are flowing, bodies are writhing, and the bass line beats like a second heart beneath our feet.
Eclipse is a raging success. And, no matter what I do, I can’t stop staring at Viviana.
“I thought you weren’t bringing her,” Francesca says, clearly put out. “It’s not as if she adds any value to the party. I still don’t understand why you married her. Of all the women?—”
“Francesca.” One word that cuts through the noise, stops her short.
She goes still, barely a ripple from the champagne in her flute.
“We have known each other for a long time. We trust each other. I wouldn’t have moved you to the island otherwise.
We are family. We share a past, share hopes for the future, especially where Aurora is concerned.
But when it comes to my private life, it is exactly that—private.
I don’t give a fuck if you understand why I married Viviana, but if you want to keep living how and where you do, you will fucking accept it and move on. ”
Francesca has gone pale, her lips pressed into a punishing line. But she’s not going to defy me. The consequences of being evicted from the villa and l’Isola di Lisca Bianca aren’t worth the risk.
That’s one of the things I like about Francesca. She thinks like I do. Risk and reward. Actions and consequences. She knows that if she disobeys me, especially on this, the consequences for her will be dire.
“Sì, Signore. I understand.”
“Good. Now go enjoy the fucking party.”
She does, weaving through couture-clad bodies and jewel-choked throats. A sea of beautiful people, and there’s only one I’m able to see.
Viviana is in the corner of the room, nursing a glass of champagne and picking at the stuzzichini, the finger foods my staff keep delivering to her.
I don’t think she’s actually eaten a single one.
She’s watching the crowd nervously, keeping herself to the outskirts of the party as much as possible.
Francesca’s right. I wasn’t going to bring her. Having her here is a complication. A distraction I don’t need. But recent events have made it necessary.
After the clusterfuck that was the lunch with the Romanos, Elio has been tracking down our missing cocaine. The kid has proven his mettle. He’s also taken over dealing with Lucia and Edoardo.
As much as I wanted to send them over the cliffs once and for all, the most efficient solution to our problem was to get the names from Lucia’s source. No sense creating more work for ourselves when the clock was ticking.
Lucky for the Romanos, the information her source provided was legit, and Elio and a handful of men went to Naples, liberated my product from the fuckers stupid enough to steal it in the first place, and left them in a state that guarantees they never try that bullshit again.
The hit to our bottom line has been avoided, but the timing really fucked us over. With so much product to distribute so quickly, I needed my best men working day and night to ensure the shipments went out on schedule.
My most trusted men, including Vampa and Elio, need to be here tonight. With nothing but a skeletal staff on the island, I couldn’t leave Viviana at the villa.
There were a dozen different scenarios I could envision her getting into if left on her own, all of them bad. Fuck, there was no way of knowing if I’d return to find a menagerie of injured animals overrunning the villa.
So, here she is, dressed in a black gown and matching heels. Her hair is down, red silk sliding against lightly flushed skin. It looks heavy, hot, sticking to her as body heat pours off the dance floor.
She always wears her hair loose or in a long braid. The only time I’ve ever seen it styled in any way was at the wedding.
Now that I think about it, that’s the only time I’ve seen her wear makeup either.
Her bathroom is fully stocked with more products than I can identify; I made sure she had everything she might need when I decided she was going to be at the club tonight.
But she hasn’t touched the stuff. She hasn’t attempted to style her hair, either, though it’s clearly pissing her off.
She flicks a thick chunk of it back. The movement sends a waft of her shampoo my way. A scent that, after our unexpected encounter in my suite, is permanently burned into my brain.
Fuck.
My mouth waters. My dick twitches. I toss back a full glass of champagne, doing my damndest to drown the impulse to go over and fucking taste her.
“You look awful for a man who has just launched the most successful club on the continent.” Vampa takes the empty champagne glass from my hand, depositing it on a tray as a server walks by.
“And you,” I gripe, “sound like a man who is wasting his breath talking when he has more important things to do.”
“Well, fuck.” My sottocapo looks at me with genuine surprise before he reapplies his standard blank expression. “Everything is under control, Signore. I’ve confirmed with Elio. The product has reached all the distributors on schedule. No glitches, no delays. Deliveries begin tonight.
“Grazie,” I mutter. A server makes a lap with tray laden with champagne flutes; I grab one so forcefully they all wobble.
For a moment, the server looks panicked. But he rights the tray before the champagne spills and I force out an apology as the kid vanishes back into the crowd.
When we’re alone, Vampa grabs my free arm and propels me backward until we’re standing against the wall. Just a few meters down from my wife.
He watches my head twist in her direction then gives me a hard jerk, yanking my attention back to him. “What the fuck, Giovanni? What is going on? What has gotten into you?”
Doubt. That’s what.
I look at my second in command, the man who has been a second father to me since the day I was born, and drain my glass. Then astonish us both when I give him a real answer. “My wife.”
Vampa reacts as if I’ve just punched him.
“What?”
“You’ve never called her that before. Not like you mean it.”
“Well, that’s what she is.”
“Only because it suited your purpose, Giovanni.” He gets closer, voice lower.
“Only because getting that Valori piece of shit out of the way and taking his bride achieved two critical objectives. You were able to kidnap her during the only window of opportunity you’ve had in years, and you were able to do it in a way that no one would have a reasonable claim to steal her back, not even her worthless fiancé.
You avoided inciting an international mob war.
You limited the amount of risk to the target’s safety.
You had an objective, you executed a strategy, and you were successful, Giovanni.
You exchanged marriage vows with Viviana so you could get one step closer to satisfying the deal you made with the Pazzis. One you orchestrated. But?—”
Vampa jerks my arm again, dragging my wandering eyes back to his face. “You didn’t take Viviana so she could be your wife. That’s not part of the plan, Gio, and you never deviate from the plan.”
Yeah, well. Tell that to the wet dreams I’ve been having for six nights running.
Irritation and something else—something far more ruthless—burns in my chest. I shake free of Vampa’s grip, square my shoulders, meet him eye to eye. “Is the scolding over?”
If he had his way, it wouldn’t be. I can tell he has more to say, but I don’t give him the chance.
“You’re correct, sottocapo. I don’t deviate; I’m true to my word.
I never break a deal.” Neither my pride nor my neuroses allow it.
“The plan for Viviana has been strategic from day one. That’s not the problem. ”
“So, what is?”
I answer his question with one of my own. “Do you remember the terms of our agreement with the Pazzis?”
He scoffs, justifiably so. As if either of us could forget.
When Aurora’s parents were killed two years ago, I became her legal guardian, per their will. The kidnapping attempts started a few weeks later. The first on the afternoon of her father’s funeral.
The scum that would stoop so low? The Pazzis.
And, fuck, they kept going lower. Targeting Aurora at nursery. Attempted carjackings when she was surrounded by my guards. Stalking her and her nanny at playdates.
I did everything in my power to protect Aurora from them. Regularly changed the car she rode in. Never took her on the same route to nursery twice. Vetted her group of playdate friends down to the smallest, most trusted number.
But, as I’ve learned, children thrive on routines.
Constantly changing hers was causing the little girl so much stress.
It was painful to see how much it was impacting her sleep, her growth, even her development.
She needed safety, security, especially after losing both parents, first her mother, then her father a few days later.
That didn’t matter to Gennaro Pazzi. The kidnapping attempts kept getting more vicious, more violent. The Pazzis wanted their granddaughter. And I wasn’t going to let them take my niece.
Aurora’s mother was destroyed by that family. I refuse to let them do the same to her.
I was going to kill them. It was the most efficient way to completely eradicate the threat. I was hours from executing Pazzi and his wife when I received the warning.
It takes a lot to turn my blood cold, but, cazzo, Pazzi knew the right button to push. If Pazzi and his wife died, his lawyers had explicit instructions to instigate a complicated custody battle that would last years and force the courts to put Aurora in court-appointed care in the meantime.
We’d be separated. She’d lose her family a second time. The Pazzis would be dead, but Aurora still wouldn’t be safe.
So, back against the wall, I did what I should’ve done from the very beginning. I offered Gennaro Pazzi something that, to a carogna like him, is even more valuable than his granddaughter.
I offered him revenge. Occhio per occhio. An eye for an eye.
The terms of our arrangement are simple: I deliver the person who killed their son, Aurora’s father. In exchange, they relinquish all claim to Aurora. They won’t try to see her, talk to her. They’ll cease all attempts to kidnap her.
They’ll get their retribution. I’ll ensure my niece’s safety and well-being. Protect the future of my family.
And the perpetrator I’ve agreed to turn over is none other than my bride. Viviana.
The Pazzis weren’t in Sant’Angelo the morning their son died.
I was.
I saw him park the car. Saw the figure approach. Saw her drop the bag, saw it explode, taking out the car and the only passenger in it: Matteo Pazzi.
The killer had long, fiery red hair. A plush mouth. An innocent expression. A girl no more than eighteen, blithely, casually assassinating the only son of my family’s longest-standing rivals. My brother-in-law.
The Viviana I saw that day was calm and vicious and cruel. She committed murder without blinking an eye.
The Viviana who has been living under my roof for the past three weeks?
She’s an entirely different person. There’s no hint of homicide in her veins, and I feel like I’m losing my mind.
Because I know what I saw, and it’s becoming impossible to reconcile the Viviana of the past with the Viviana of the present
“I know the terms,” Vampa presses. “As clearly as you do. What’s your point?”
I scrub a hand down my face, more frustrated by the second.
“Right after the attack on Matteo, we constructed a profile on the assassin. Brash. Reckless. Willing to commit murder in the bright light of day. And when we got the records from the convent, when we saw why she’d been sent there in the first place?—”
“It confirmed what we already knew,” Vampa says. “Your wife is a killer. Sacrificing her to the Pazzis is a no-brainer, especially if it keeps Aurora out of their hands.”
“But what if she’s not?”
Vampa’s brows drop a millimeter. “She is.”
“Merda. I’m not sure anymore.” I grip my champagne flute so hard the crystal cracks. “I can’t be sure anymore. Not after what I’ve seen.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Vampa sounds angrier than I’ve ever heard him.
“What? That you want to call off the arrangement, change the plan? That you want to keep ‘your wife’ and move Aurora back to the villa? That you’d risk letting that sweet girl live in the same house as the woman who killed her father? ”
“Her father was a vile fuck.” I spit.
“Aurora was three when he died. I don’t think she remembers him that way.”
Fuck.
Vampa’s brows drop another millimeter. As good as a glare.
“Pazzi’s medical condition is improving.
He’s not conscious yet, but the reports are positive.
The doctors are projecting a full recovery.
You’ve got to sort your fucking head, Giovanni, and kill those doubts fast. Viviana Salviati is exactly who we think she is.
Nothing more, nothing less. A killer. The woman responsible for murdering Matteo Pazzi.
And as soon as Gennaro Pazzi is conscious, you’re going to turn her over to him exactly like you promised. ”
His voice takes on a harsh edge he’s never directed at me before. “I have avoided saying this, but you need to hear it. You failed your sister, Gio. I won’t stand by and let you fail her daughter, too.”