31. Genoveva
Chapter 31
Genoveva
I’m sitting at the desk, going over the weekly grocery list, which I shall soon pass to Gianni to send over to the kitchen. But as I do, my eyes linger over the date on the corner of the paper: 19th December.
I trace my writing with a manicured nail, processing the passing of time. The house is silent, save for the ticking of the antique clock in the foyer. When was the last time Gianni took me out? The realization hits like a slap—weeks, maybe months.
My fingers curl around the pencil. The memory of impromptu shopping trips, stolen lunches at hidden cafes, champagne toasts at fancy date locations—all faded like old photographs. Now, I'm here, mostly always alone, while Gianni's world goes on without me.
Suddenly, the chores he seems to trust me with seem to become a burden. He tells me what to do but always acts as a messenger. He’ll let the maids know what I want, he says. He’ll bring me lunch, he says. He’ll pass on this message or fetch that item.
And I now begin to figure he’s only kept me busy, so I don’t find the time to question why he’s working so damn hard to keep me away from people.
The isolation within these walls grows thicker, and the air around me is heavy with unspoken truths as a realization dawns on me like a cruel joke. Does he know what I’ve always felt? From the first day back, people’s confused glances would flicker over me as though they were trying to see what it was that held Gianni’s attention.
If Gianni believed that people were diplomatic and discrete, then perhaps it is I who have become a mere ghost.
And could it be that he now sees this truth I’ve always felt?
I close my eyes and sink back into my chair, allowing this moment to pass. If he, too, sees what I’ve believed all along, then that changes everything about our relationship. For how long can we live together in this house? A man and his ghost?
I take a deep breath, and it comes out as a shudder. My mind now spins in a million directions, and I feel I’ll go absolutely insane if I let it. Perhaps before I let my thoughts run too wild, I need to hear Gianni’s truth.
Because if not, I’ll find no comfort or answers.
I find Gianni in his study, broad shoulders hunched over a stack of papers. He doesn't look up as I enter.
"We need to talk," I say, my voice steady despite the tremor in my chest.
Gianni's pen stills. He turns, dark eyes meeting mine. "What is it, cara?"
I perch on the edge of his desk, crossing my legs. "Why don't you take me out anymore? No lunches, no parties... It's like I've become invisible."
His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath his olive skin. I watch the hesitation dance across his face—the slight parting of his lips, the way his mouth opens, then closes again.
"Genoveva..." He reaches for my hand, but I pull away.
"Don't 'Genoveva' me," I snap. "Tell me the truth. What's changed?"
Gianni's gaze drops, and for a moment, I see a flicker of uncertainty. When he looks up again, his eyes are filled with a sadness that tells me he knows. That fleeting look wrenches my heart into a painful knot and momentarily, I forget to breathe.
"It's not that simple," he says, voice low and gravelly. "There are... complications."
I lean closer, the scent of his cologne—spice and sandalwood—filling my senses. "Then uncomplicate it for me," I whisper, my lips inches from his ear. "Make me understand."
Gianni pulls away and stares into my eyes before he rises slowly. He paces without looking in my direction, hands clasped behind his back, up and down the length of his study.
"Genoveva," he says, still staring at the floor. He wrenches his hands together and suddenly looks up. His eyes - tortured, resigned - scutter across my face before his brows turn inward in anguish.
"I didn’t know how to tell you that the world... it can't see you." His voice carries with it the anguish of having kept a secret far too burdensome for one shoulder alone.
I blink, the words registering yet not quite processing. It sounds like he’s saying what I’ve always known, and to hear these words should offer some form of collective solace. Yet, it does no such thing. "What do you mean, 'can't see me'?"
He sighs, closing his eyes in tandem with a deep breath for strength. "You're invisible to them. To everyone but me."
The confession hangs heavy in the air, each syllable laden with sorrow. Memories flood back—the waiter who never took my order, the shopkeeper's eyes sliding past me, and the utter lack of acknowledgment from Gianni's associates. It all makes a terrible kind of sense.
I expected to feel devastated and shattered. Instead, an eerie calm washes over me. My mind races, piecing together the implications of his confession. I wasn’t crazy this whole time. We both could sense the truth, but we kept it hidden from ourselves and one another for as long as we could to simply pretend that life was perfect again.
"Is this because... because you brought me back?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Gianni nods, his usual stoic facade crumbling. "I never imagined... I didn't know..."
I take a step forward, legs surprisingly steady. "No one ever could," I say, more to myself than to him. "There's always a price for cheating death."
As the full weight of my situation settles in, I find myself oddly detached. Perhaps this numbness is another side effect of my resurrection, or maybe it's just my mind's way of coping with the impossible.
I meet Gianni's gaze, seeing the torment etched in every line of his face. "Well," I say, a hint of humor creeping into my voice, "at least I won't have to worry about what to wear to your next gala."
The joke falls flat, hanging in the air between us. Gianni's eyes darken, his jaw clenching.
"This isn't funny, Genoveva," he growls. "What if... what if I die before you? What then?"
The question hits me like a sucker punch. I hadn't thought that far ahead. "I... I don't know," I admit, my voice small.
Gianni paces, his movements sharp and agitated. "You'd be alone. Truly alone. No one to see you, to help you. Christ, you wouldn't even be able to buy food. Your death would be excruciating. That is,” his face pales as he looks up in fear. “If you’re capable of death.”
My mind reels, imagining a never-ending life without Gianni, a world where I exist for no one but myself. Hell, it sounds like a better proposition. "Maybe I'd just... fade away," I suggest, to comfort us both.
He whirls on me, eyes blazing. "No. I won't take a risk for us to continue living like this, hoping for the best outcome. I'll go back to Hades myself if I have to. I'll make this right and demand certainty in terms of what happens next."
Gianni crosses the room in two long strides. He pulls me into his arms, his grip almost painful in its intensity. His lips crash against mine, desperate and demanding. I taste salt—his tears or mine, I'm not sure.
"I'll fix this," he murmurs against my mouth. "I swear it, Genoveva. Even if I have to tear the underworld apart."
I want to believe him. God, how I want to. But as I cling to him, feeling the solid warmth of his body against mine, a part of me wonders if there are some things even Gianni Montagna can't control. I wonder if I want him to be able to.
Would it be so bad for me to go back to where I came from? To put an end to this wretched uncertainty?
The thought, dark and depraved after all Gianni has done for me, courses through me like a slithering snake. Guilt follows in its wake. To push it away, I instead focus on him and how he makes me feel.
His kiss deepens, and a fire ignites within me. I respond with equal fervor, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I press myself against him. The world narrows to just this—his lips, his hands, the heat of his skin through his shirt.
"Gianni," I breathe, my voice husky with need.
He growls low in his throat, a sound that sends shivers down my spine. His hands slide down my sides, tracing the curve of my waist before cupping my ass. In one fluid motion, he lifts me off my feet.
I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, gasping when I feel his delicious bulge between my legs. He carries me, slamming me eventually against the wall. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, but I barely notice.
Gianni's mouth leaves mine, trailing hot kisses along my jaw and down my neck. I tilt my head back, giving him better access. "God, I need you," I pant.
His response is to grip my ass tighter, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. I don't care. I want him to mark me, to prove that I'm real, that I exist.
His mouth reaches for the button of my blouse. He rips it off, and I clench my legs around him tighter, my body balancing between him and the wall, and he frees one hand from beneath my ass, ripping off the rest of my shirt. The cold air hits me in welcome sensation, and by the time his hand cups my ass again, my shirt is off.
When I look up, he’s staring into my eyes.
"Tell me you're mine," Gianni demands, his voice rough with desire.
I meet his gaze, seeing the desperation and love swirling in those dark depths. "Always," I whisper. "I'm yours, Gianni. Forever."
He growls in approval and his head ducks low, grazing over my breasts. I mewl, clutching at his neck as he teases and nibs at my nipple over my bra.
He stops, his eyes flashing with fierce possessiveness. In one swift motion, he carries me towards his desk. He slams my back on its surface, letting the papers, pens and paperweight fall to the floor. The world loses focus and turns into a blur of colors.
My breath catches as he comes back above me, pinning me beneath his solid weight.
"You're everything to me, Genoveva," he growls, his calloused hands roaming my body.
I arch into his touch, craving more. "Show me," I breathe.
He doesn't hesitate. With a sharp tug, my bra tears away. I gasp at the sudden exposure, but it turns into a moan as his fingers find my breasts. The roughness of his palms against my soft skin ignites a fire within me.
"Gianni," I whimper, threading my fingers through his hair.
His mouth replaces his hands, tongue swirling around my nipple. The sensation sends jolts of pleasure straight between my legs. I can feel myself growing wetter by the second.
As if reading my thoughts, Gianni's hand slides lower. His fingers brush against me as he hikes up my skirt and follows the path down through the thin fabric of my panties, and I buck my hips involuntarily.
"Please," I beg, not caring how desperate I sound. “I want more, now.”
Gianni's eyes meet mine, dark with desire. "Patience, love," he murmurs, but I can hear the strain in his voice. He's as desperate as I am.
With a swift motion, he tears my panties away. He brings a finger to his lips and wets it before trailing down to the landing of my pussy, trailing further down until I feel his tip at my entrance. He slides a finger between my folds, feeling how slick I am for him. A small, satisfied grunt escapes him as he pushes further inside me, making me moan in response.
The feel of his finger there is almost too much to bear, reminding me of what’s more to come—all of him. I buck my hips as he glides it in and out, tapping the top of my walls. I clench my pussy, wanting more.
He flicks his thumb against my clit, his finger now curved, and I buck off the desk. “Please, fuck me,” I moan.
He doesn’t listen, sliding in another finger.
I reach down and grab his shirt, pulling him closer to me. "Now, Gianni," I plead, my voice laced with urgency. "Please."
He doesn't need a second invitation. He groans, his self-control snapping. He pulls out his fingers and positions himself at my entrance, our bodies aligned perfectly before he rips off his clothes.
The sight of his naked body above me alights me with a whole new degree of desire. His chiseled abs, defined biceps and the hard length of his cock leaves me breathless.
"Spread your legs for me," he commands.
I do as he says without hesitation.
For a moment, he looks at me, his gaze flickering over my naked, open form. Then, without warning, he thrusts forward, burying himself deep within me in one smooth move. The moment he enters me, my world explodes into a thousand pieces—heat, desire, and longing course through my veins.
I cry out, my back arching off the desk as pleasure courses through me like wildfire.
"Gianni," I moan, my eyes fluttering closed.
His hands grip my hips tightly, his fingers digging into my skin with just the right amount of force. He starts to move, his thrusts hard and rhythmic. Each one sends shivers of pure bliss cascading through me. I wrap my legs around him tighter, pulling him deeper into me, begging for more.
He moves slowly at first, allowing me to adjust but quickly picking up speed. The sensations consume me, my mind blanking out save for the feel of him filling me, stretching me, and absolute bliss.
"I've missed this," he growls, his voice raw with emotion. "You."
"Me too," I manage to gasp out, my nails digging into his back.
He releases my hips and glides his hands over the dip of my love handles, measures his hand against my belly, and moves up until he’s cupped my breasts in his palms.
He stares appreciatively like I’m a piece of art. I blush, and he notices his lips curving into a smile. He gently rubs his fingers against my lips.
We move together faster and faster, our bodies a symphony of passion and pent-up longing. The room around us dissolves, leaving only the two of us connected in the most primal way possible.
His hips now crash against mine with a force that threatens to send me over the edge.
"Harder," I pant, digging my nails into his biceps. "Fuck me harder!"
He obliges, slamming into me so hard the desk trembles. I'm lost in a sea of sensations: the way he fills me, the look in his eyes, the way my body clenches around him.
"That's it, love," he grunts, his voice thick with lust.
A climax starts to build within me, like a storm gathering strength. "Gianni," I moan, my nails raking down his back. "I'm—"
"Scream for me," he growls against my neck, his thrusts becoming even more frenzied. "Let me hear how much you want me."
I curl my toes, scream his name and close my eyes. I feel that out-of-world sensation begin when his cock hits me, slowly spreading until it reaches my head.
"Genoveva," he moans, his grip on my hips tightening. "I'm—"
"I know," I breathe, my orgasm building, coiling in my core. "Me too."
With a cry, I shatter, my entire body convulsing around his cock. He roars, his grip on my hips like iron and with one last, hard thrust, he follows me over the edge with my name on his lips.
For a brief moment, we're suspended in time, joined together in the throes of passion. Then, with a shudder, he collapses against me, his heart pounding against mine.
"I love you," he whispers into my hair, still catching his breath.
I lift my chin to look at him, my chest heaving. "I love you too.”
The afterglow envelops us like a warm blanket, our bodies intertwined and glistening with sweat as we lie naked on his office couch. Gianni's strong arms cradle me against his chest, his heartbeat a soothing rhythm beneath my ear. I trace lazy patterns on his skin, savoring the quiet intimacy of this moment.
"You're thinking too loud," Gianni murmurs, his gravelly voice vibrating through his chest.
I tilt my head to meet his gaze, those piercing eyes softened in the aftermath of our passion. "Can you blame me?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "After everything..."
Gianni's fingers trail along my spine, sending shivers through me. "What's on your mind, cara mia?"
I hesitate, weighing my words carefully. "What happens now, Gianni? With us, with... everything? With the world not knowing I exist?"
His body tenses slightly, and I watch as his expression shifts, the tenderness giving way to a familiar hardness. "Paolo Greco," he says, the name like poison on his tongue.
"He's still a threat," I state, not a question.
Gianni nods, his jaw clenching. "He won't stop until he has what he wants. Or until I put him in the ground."
As Gianni speaks of protection and facing threats, a strange hollowness blooms in my chest. His words should ignite a fire within me, but instead, I feel a chill. My thoughts drift to the underworld, its shadowy embrace calling to me like a siren's song.
"Genoveva?" Gianni's voice cuts through my reverie. "Are you listening?"
I blink, forcing a smile. "Of course. I'm... processing."
But the truth is, I'm not here. Not really. The world of the living feels like a faded photograph, colors bleeding at the edges. My fingers absently trace the scar on my abdomen, a constant reminder of my journey to and from death's door.
"We'll need to be careful," Gianni continues, his brow furrowed. "Lay low for a while, maybe."
I nod, but the future he's planning feels distant, unreal. The present moment slips through my fingers like sand, and I find myself longing for the quiet stillness of the afterlife.
"What are you thinking?" Gianni asks, his eyes searching mine.
For a moment, I consider telling him everything: the pull of the underworld, the growing disconnect I feel from this life. But as I look at him—his face etched with worry and love—I know he could never understand.
"Nothing," I lie, my voice soft. "Just tired, I suppose."
Gianni pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Rest, then. We'll figure it all out tomorrow."
I close my eyes, nestling against his chest. But as his breathing evens out in sleep, I remain awake, caught between two worlds. The unspoken truth hangs heavy in the air, a chasm growing between us with each passing moment.