22. Gianni
Chapter 22
Gianni
I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles white as I flick my eyes to the dashboard. The digital clock blinks at 6:43 PM, October 15th. My stomach churns. It's around the same time and exact date as when I first entered the forest. How long were we really gone? It’s as though time itself came to a standstill.
"Genoveva," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Do you see-"
But she doesn't respond. Her gaze is fixed out the passenger window, her profile etched in the moonlight. The silence between us stretches, heavy and oppressive.
I clear my throat. "Are you cold? I can turn up the heat."
Nothing. Not even a blink.
My mind races, searching for the right words. "I know it's a lot to process. Coming back, I mean. If you want to talk about it..."
Genoveva's lips part slightly, but no sound comes out. She closes them again, a small furrow appearing between her brows.
I want to reach out and touch her hand, but something holds me back. The distance between us feels insurmountable.
"Remember that time in Capri?" I say, desperate to break through. "When we snuck onto that yacht and-"
"Please," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "I can't... not now."
I nod, swallowing hard. The road stretches endlessly before us, dark and empty. Just like the void, I feel growing in my chest.
Soon, we approach our sprawling estate. The wrought-iron gates loom ahead, and I can already picture the curious eyes of the house staff, their whispers echoing through the halls. Not tonight. Not when Genoveva's so fragile. There will be questions I don’t have answers to.
How can I explain that my wife was dead but now walks beside me? No. For now, I must keep her hidden until we find answers to impossible questions.
"We're almost home," I murmur, stealing a glance at her. "I'll take you straight to our room, okay? No need to deal with anyone else."
Genoveva's eyes flicker to mine for a brief moment, a ghost of appreciation in their hazel depths. It's enough to ignite a spark of hope in my chest.
I pull up to the side entrance, killing the engine. "Wait here," I say, quickly circling the car to open her door.
As we step into the cool night air, I place my hand gently on the small of her back. The familiar touch seems to ground her, and she leans into me ever so slightly.
"This way," I whisper, guiding her through the shadowy corridors. My senses are on high alert, listening for any approaching footsteps. We pass by Lorenzo, one of the newer guards, and my heart pounds when he looks in our direction.
I give him a sharp look that silences any question forming on his lips. Perhaps, I think to myself, he doesn’t recognize her. After all, he came after her death.
"Almost there," I breathe, my lips close to Genoveva's ear. She nods, her steps becoming more hurried.
Finally, we reach the sanctuary of my room. I usher her inside, locking the door behind us. Only then do I allow myself to exhale.
"You're safe now," I tell her, my voice thick with emotion. "Whatever you need, I'm here."
Genoveva turns to me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Gianni," she whispers, her voice cracking. But she never really finishes what she has to say to me.
She shakes her head and turns around. I watch as Genoveva's gaze drifts across the room, landing on her belongings. Her silver hairbrush still lies on the dresser, exactly where she left it. The book she was reading remains on the nightstand, its bookmark untouched.
"It's... all the same," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I nod, swallowing hard. "Nothing's been moved. I couldn't..."
She approaches her vanity, fingers trailing over the surface. "It's like I was always here while I was..." Her voice catches, and she doesn't finish the thought.
"Genoveva," I say softly, stepping closer. "You're home now. You're safe."
She turns to me, her hazel eyes swimming with an emotion I can't quite place. "Am I?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly.
I feel my smile falter, the hope in my chest dimming. Her silence, her distance - they speak volumes. I reach out, wanting to comfort her, but she flinches away.
"I'm sorry," I murmur, dropping my hand. "What do you need? What can I do?"
Genoveva shakes her head, turning back to stare at her reflection in the mirror. "I don't know, Gianni. I don't know anything anymore."
The weight of her words hangs heavy in the air between us. I watch her, desperately searching for a sign - any sign - that the woman I love is still in there. But her expression remains distant, locked away in a place I can't reach.
"I'm here," I say finally, my voice rough with emotion. "Whatever you're going through, whatever happened... I'm here."
She nods but doesn't turn around. And in that moment, I realize that bringing her home was only the first step of a much longer journey.
“How about you settle in,” I tell her, “while I go check on the staff?”
She nods. I leave the room, quietly closing the door behind her. Maybe right now, what she truly needs is some space.
An hour later, I return. The moon rises behind the skyline, painting the room in silver hues. I clear my throat, breaking the heavy silence that's settled between us.
"Genoveva, would you like to join me for dinner in the private dining room? No one will be there. I had the chef prepare your favorite – osso buco."
Her shoulders tense, a barely perceptible movement. "No, thank you," she says, her voice flat. "I'm not hungry."
I take a step closer, my hand hovering near her shoulder but not quite touching. "You need to eat, cara mia. To regain your strength."
She turns, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment. “I said I’m not hungry, Gianni.”
The firmness in her tone stings, but I nod, swallowing my disappointment. "Of course. Whatever you need."
As night descends, I return to her room, a tray of food in my hands. “Just in case you’re hungry.”
She's curled up in bed, staring out the window. I set the tray aside and sat on the bed beside her.
"Tell me about it," I say softly, keeping my voice steady despite the churning in my gut. "What you experienced... it might help to talk."
Genoveva's gaze remains fixed on the distant city lights. "There are no words, Gianni. None that you'd understand."
I lean forward, my elbows on my knees. "Try me. I've seen things in this life that would turn most men's hair white."
A humorless laugh escapes her lips. "This wasn't life, Gianni. It was... something else entirely."
The tension in the room is palpable, pressing down on us like a physical weight. I want to reach out, to hold her, to somehow bridge this chasm between us. But I know, deep in my bones, that one wrong move could shatter everything.
I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to push harder. My heart aches to see her like this, so close yet unreachable. I've faced down rival families and negotiated impossible deals, but this... this feels like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.
"Genoveva," I whisper, my voice rough with emotion. "I'm here. Can’t you see? I’m here. What do you need, my love?”
She turns to me, her hazel eyes hollow. The sight sends a chill down my spine. This isn't my Genoveva, not the fierce, calculating woman I've known all my life. It's as if something vital has been stripped away.
"You can't fix this, Gianni," she murmurs. "Some things... some experiences... they change you. Irrevocably."
I lean back, running a hand through my hair. "Irrevocably is too final,” I growl, unable to hold back. “The only thing irrevocable is this love we share. You protected me once, remember? Let me return the favor. Let me help you."
A ghost of a smile flickers across her face, gone in an instant. She shifts on the bed, her body mere inches from mine. The proximity is intoxicating, but the emotional distance might as well be miles.
"Hold me," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I comply, wrapping my arms around her. She's so fragile, so unlike the pillar of strength I've always known—the contrast tears at my heart.
"I'm scared, Gianni," she confesses into my chest. "Scared of what I've become."
I tighten my grip, wishing I could shield her from whatever horrors she's faced. "You're still you, cara mia. It's still my Genoveva. We'll figure this out, I swear it."
I watch Genoveva's chest rise and fall, her eyes fluttering beneath closed lids. Sleep eludes her, and I can't help but wonder what nightmares lurk behind those delicate eyelashes. My fingers itch to trace the curve of her cheek, to offer some comfort, but I resist. She needs to rest more than my touch right now.
The room is bathed in silvery moonlight, casting long shadows across the floor. I force myself to stay awake, my eyes darting between Genoveva and the door. Old habits die hard, and the need to protect her is ingrained in my very bones.
"Sleep, cara mia," I whisper, though I know she can't hear me. "I'll keep watch."
Hours pass, each minute stretching into eternity. My eyelids grow heavy, the weight of the day pressing down on me. I fight it, but eventually, exhaustion wins out. My last conscious thought is of Genoveva, hoping that in sleep, she finds some peace.
I jolt awake, disoriented. The room is still dark, but something has changed. Genoveva is sitting up, her silhouette stark against the window. When her eyes meet mine, they are bottomless pools of sorrow.
"Genoveva?" I murmur, reaching for her.
She doesn't flinch away, but her voice, when it comes, is barely a whisper. "It's like I've forgotten what it is to live."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I struggle to breathe, to form a response. "What do you mean?"
She turns to me, her face a mask of anguish. "Everything feels... muted. Distant. Like I'm watching the world through thick glass. I can see it, Gianni, but I can't feel it. Not really."
I pull her close, feeling her heartbeat against my chest. "Then we'll remind you," I vow, my voice rough with emotion. "Every day, if that's what it takes. You haven't forgotten, Genoveva. You've just... misplaced it for a while."
She doesn't respond, but her fingers curl into my shirt, holding on tight. It's not much, but it's a start. And for now, in the quiet darkness of our room, it's enough.