30. Gianni
Chapter 30
Gianni
I sit at the breakfast table, my eyes locked on Genoveva. The morning sunlight catches in her dark waves, illuminating her like an angel. But we're far from heaven here.
"I'm ending this war with Paolo Greco," I declare. "He won't take you away from me again. Not ever."
Genoveva's hazel eyes meet mine and she takes a sip of her coffee, the delicate clink of china the only sound in the tense silence.
"And how do you plan to do that, amore?" she asks, her voice soft as chimes.
I lean forward, my hands clenching into fists on the polished wood. "By any means necessary."
She nods, a small furrow appearing between her brows. "I trust you, Gianni. But promise me you'll be careful."
My heart clenches at her words. How can I explain that I'd burn the world to keep her safe? That losing her once nearly destroyed me?
"Always," I murmur, reaching across to take her hand. Her skin is warm and alive. "You're everything to me, Genoveva. Everything."
She smiles, but her sadness makes my chest ache. It’s difficult to find common joy in the midst of Paolo's looming retaliation threat.
Just then, the door swings open with a bang, shattering the moment. My henchmen file in, their faces grim. Without hesitation, I rise to my feet, my eyes narrowing as I lock onto each of them in turn.
"Gentlemen," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. "I trust you're here to explain last night's... disappointment."
I can feel Genoveva's eyes on me, but I don't turn. The fury building inside me needs an outlet, and these men have volunteered.
"Boss, we—" one of them starts, but I cut him off with a sharp gesture.
"Save your excuses," I snarl, my words slicing through the air. I stalk towards them, each step measured and predatory. "Do you understand what could have happened if the compound had fallen?"
Their silence is damning. I lean in close to the nearest man, close enough to smell the fear-sweat beading on his brow.
"Everything we've built," I hiss, my voice dropping to a near-whisper, forcing them to strain to hear. "Everything we've sacrificed. Gone. In a single night. But beyond that, they could have taken MY WIFE! YOUR DONNA!"
My gaze sweeps over them, taking in their pale faces and trembling hands. Good. Let them be afraid. Fear breeds loyalty – or at least obedience.
"The next time you fail me," I continue, each word dripping with venom, "pray that Paolo's men find you first. Because what I'll do to you if anything happens to Genoveva..." I let the threat hang in the air, unfinished but unmistakable.
The henchmen exchange uneasy glances, their eyes flickering towards me but drifting away the minute they catch me noticing.
"Is there anything else?" I growl, daring them to speak.
They shift uncomfortably, gazes darting around the room.
“Leave,” I bark.
They nearly ran out.
I turn back to the table, catching a glimpse of my wife's face. There's concern there, yes, but also a fierce pride that makes my breath catch. She believes in me. And I won't let her down. Not again.
Five minutes later, Genoveva turns the page of the newspaper she’s reading. "Darling," she says, her tone smooth as silk, "Do you think I could trouble the staff for more coffee? Or are they petrified of you this morning?" She breaks into a smile, giving me a little wink.
"The staff’s shitting their pants, love," I chuckle, my voice softening. "I'll get it myself.”
I make my way to the kitchen. The weight of the confrontation still hangs heavy on my mind, and my jaw clenches tight as I replay the henchmen's fumbling excuses. They're idiots. They nearly cost us everything.
I push open the kitchen door, the smell of fresh coffee hitting me. But it's not the aroma that stops me dead in my tracks. It's the hushed voices of my men, their words slicing through the air like knives.
"...talking to her like she's really there. It's fucking creepy, man."
"Shh! You want him to hear you? The boss has lost it. His wife's been dead for months, and he's acting like—"
My blood runs cold. The mug slips from my grasp, shattering on the tile floor. Coffee splashes my shoes, but I barely notice. My world narrows to a pinpoint, their words echoing in my head like a twisted mantra.
"His wife's been dead for months."
No. It can't be. Genoveva is right there in the dining room. I just spoke to her. They just...
The men fall silent, terror etched on their faces as they realize I've overheard. But I can't focus on them. My mind is reeling, desperately trying to make sense of what I've heard.
"Boss," one of them starts, his voice trembling. "We didn't mean—"
I cut him off with a glare that could freeze hell itself. "Get out," I snarl, my voice barely above a whisper. They don't need to be told twice.
As the door swings shut behind them, I grip the edge of the counter, my knuckles turning white. What the hell is going on?
My chest tightens, each breath a struggle as reality crashes down around me. Genoveva, my Genoveva... dead? No, it can't be. I saw her, touched her, and felt the warmth of her skin just moments ago.
My men's words loop in my mind, a nightmarish record I can't shut off.
I scan the kitchen, desperate for something to ground me. The stark white cabinets, the gleaming stainless steel appliances – it all feels wrong, too sterile, too lifeless.
My gaze lands on the coffee pot, still steaming on the counter. I reach for it, my fingers curling around the handle with crushing force. The heat bites into my skin, but I welcome the pain. It's real, tangible, unlike the fog of confusion clouding my mind.
"She's real," I growl, willing it to be true. "But why the hell can’t anyone else see her?”
But doubt gnaws at me relentlessly. What if... what if they're right? What if I've conjured her from my grief, a desperate attempt to fill the void she left behind?
Impossible, her voice enters my head. You made that deal with Hades, my love. It was all real.
In my heart, I know she’s real. I know she’s back. I know everything that happened happened.
What I don’t know is why the hell no one else can seem to see her.
I force my feet to move, each step a battle against the rising tide of panic within me. The dining room door looms ahead, a barrier between the harsh truth I've just uncovered and the world I desperately want to believe in.
With a deep breath, I calm myself down. The door swings open silently, and I step through, my eyes immediately seeking Genoveva.
There she sits, radiant as ever, her hazel eyes lifting to meet mine. My heart constricts painfully.
"Here's your coffee, cara mia," I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside. I set the pot down before her, my movements slow and precise, buying time to study her face.
Genoveva's lips curve into a soft smile. "Grazie, amore," she murmurs, her voice as melodious as I remember. "You're always so thoughtful."
I can't look away from her, drinking in every detail. The delicate arch of her eyebrows, the light dusting of freckles across her nose, the way her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners when she smiles. She's perfect. Too perfect?
"Is everything alright, Gianni?" Genoveva asks, her brow furrowing slightly. "You look... troubled."
I swallow hard, torn between the urge to gather her in my arms and the creeping fear that my hands might pass right through her.
"Just... thinking about our next move," I lie, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. "Nothing for you to worry about, tesoro."
I sink back into my chair, my mind a whirlwind of questions. How is she here - in what capacity? What was the true cost of my deal with Hades? The weight of the underworld god's bargain presses down on me, an invisible shroud draped across my shoulders.