42
SERAFINA
“ Y ou remind me so much of her.”
I freeze.
Is he…? Did he…?
My brows furrow, still unsure whether I just imagined it. The longer that time stretches between us, the more uncertain I become until the only thing I can do is confirm my suspicions.
“What?’
Slowly, I turn to find Giovanni staring at the photograph in his hands. His lips are tightly sealed, but his eyes are glazed over, like the image in front of him brings back too many memories to handle.
“You’re stubborn, determined,” he says, and I don’t miss the smooth way he rolls his r’s. His voice is raspy, no doubt from the lack of talking and the fact he has been out of it for the last few days, and it does something to me that I never thought it would. “You’re also fiercely loyal.”
My breath hitches, drying my throat instantly. I can’t count the number of times I’ve wished I could hear his thoughts, listen to his words. He holds a depth that I’ve never been able to fathom, and even now, as he starts listing all the similarities between myself and someone else, I’m hit with a newfound admiration .
Giovanni traces a finger over the image, a single tear beading in the corner of his eye.
“Who?” I ask softly, cautiously stepping towards the bed. Right now, Giovanni is like a wild deer. I need to tread carefully if I’m going to get a conversation out of him. He’s so unpredictable, so untamed that one wrong move could result in me being shut out again.
I don’t want that. Not with the way his accent flows like smooth silk, his Italian heritage shining through the lilt in his words.
“My daughter,” he eventually says. The fondness in his eyes only increases, a small smile pressing his lips that takes my breath away. It pulls me closer to him, almost mindlessly, until I’m perched beside him on the bed.
“You have a daughter?” I manage to choke out.
“Gabriella,” he answers proudly.
My heart swells at the way his eyes light up at the mention of her name. It’s unmistakable how much love he holds for his daughter, the way fathers should. I still feel the angry pinch of guilt clutching at my chest, because the whole reason we are in this situation is because of what my own father said to me.
Three days have passed since that moment on the dance floor and my father has spent those days calling every hour to attempt to speak to me. I’m thankful that I have Levi to screen my calls, but that only seems to piss my father off even more.
“Where is she now?” My heart sinks a little as I ask the question, realizing he has spent the last couple of months by my side. I know he hasn’t seen his daughter, and I’ve never heard him speak to her. Unless the phone calls I know he has been taking are from her? I never get to hear how the conversations go, I would never invade Giovanni’s privacy like that, but I’m still intrigued to know about them.
Giovanni’s eyes soften. A level of sadness frames those green orbs, and I’m instantly regretting my question. “She was taken from me.”
“Is that why you’ve always been… silent?” I rasp, reaching for his hand.
He shifts to prop himself upright, but the injury to his stomach is still fresh. He must have forgotten because he winces and groans, fighting through it until he’s propped up against his pillows.
“Where is her mother?” I know how often this situation can happen, especially in broken families. I’m thankful that my parents were never subject to that kind of sadness, but it doesn’t mean I don’t understand it. If anything, I’m more aware of it. Women who resent their husbands for trying to do their best by them, always end up making them suffer. Money, children, lives, they all change.
Giovanni shakes his head, allowing an eerie silence to fall between us. It sits heavy like a blanket, threatening to suffocate us. I swallow back the fear that laces my next words. I need to know what happened. I need to understand why Giovanni remains silent all the time. I have to find out how I can help him because his sadness is something I hate seeing. I’m used to the stoic bodyguard, the guy who can give you a look and suddenly all your doubts and worries fade away.
I want to be that for him.
“Where is Gabriella?” I want clarity, I need to know how I can help him. He looks so damn broken, like no matter how much you try to glue those pieces together, he’s one slip up from falling apart. How has he gone so long with this lingering over him? Losing a child, in any circumstance can’t be easy. I need to know more. I need to heal the guy who’s spent months protecting me, only to end up this fragmented soul.
“Gone,” Giovanni says under his breath.
I squeeze his hand, and he reciprocates. Even in the buttery glow of light, his turmoil still makes him astoundingly beautiful.
“I’m sorry,” is all I can muster. Anything else would feel empty and meaningless.
He nods with certainty, but I sense from the way he’s looking at me that he is done with answering my questions. I’ve already overstepped and edged past the invisible boundary that sets us apart as boss and employee. But I’m still magnetized to the man that stepped in front of a bullet for me, the guy who stared me right into the eyes when he fired a shot at my captor .
His thumb strokes delicate circles over the back of my hand. It’s absentminded, but filled with unspoken affection.
I smile up at him, wondering what is churning up in that head of his. Of course, the reminder of his daughter could be at the forefront, but I’ve realized there are many more layers to Giovanni that I want to get to know.
“Your voice isn’t how I imagined,” I chuckle lightly.
“Is that a bad thing?”
I shake my head. It’s anything but that. His voice is like a new kind of music that I’ve only just experienced, one that has my whole body moving towards it. My ears are attuned, my heart skips, beating heavier in anticipation to hear more. It’s a whole new addiction, one that I want to lose myself in.
“Where did you grow up?”
He frowns at me, and I laugh. Sue me for wanting to get to know him. Now that I have the opportunity and he trusts me enough to speak, I want to know everything.
I turn my body on the bed so that I’m leaning against the headboard beside Giovanni. With our hands still entwined, we let the silence envelop us. It’s just like it always has been between us, comforting silence, blissful silence. A quietude that seems so effortlessly natural that I know wouldn’t get this kind of feeling with anyone else.
Eventually, that silence is broken by Giovanni’s sigh. He spreads his hand, flexing his palm, then wraps his fingers around mine over and over again. “Sicily,” he finally answers.
“That answers a lot,” I laugh.
“ Taci, Principessa ,” he smirks, his tone playful.
“ Principessa ?” I gasp, slapping the back of my hand against his chest, careful not to hurt him further.
He grabs my wrist, bringing my hand to his lips. I’d be a liar if I said that the connection between us doesn’t spark fireworks, but this is neither the place nor time for those errant thoughts to emerge.
Regardless of what I tell myself, my eyes still drop to the delicious curve of his mouth. It’s almost automatic, a subconscious reaction. My chest stutters with apprehension, oxygen getting caught in my throat the longer my gaze sits there. I’ve thought about it, time and time again. Those moments where Giovanni is there to provide me the strength I need to chip away at the wall I’ve only allowed Luca and Levi to get past. I’m so close to the edge of giving in to this man and forgetting who I am to him. So close, ready to plummet into the vast chasm of the unknown; Giovanni.
But he pulls away, almost like he’s suddenly all too aware of the cavernous drop that threatens to change our dynamic.
I tilt my head towards him, my brows knitting together.
“Why is Luca mad at you?” he asks, placing the photograph on the table beside his bed.
It’s my turn to go silent now, holding back my worries and doubts that my father somehow managed to coax out of me a few days ago.
“Serafina,” Giovanni huffs. It seems that now we are on speaking terms, Giovanni is using that to get answers out of me that he wouldn't be able to otherwise. And I can guarantee that I wouldn’t be voicing them openly.
But there’s something in his gaze that always leaves me feeling safe and comfortable, like it doesn’t matter what I tell him, because it would never go past these walls.
“My father,” I answer, but it’s vague and he picks up on that.
He frowns, still trying to figure out how one led to the other. “I saw your interaction. What did he say to you?”
My eyes land on my lap, watching the way my fingers rub against one another. Giovanni reaches across and takes one of my hands, giving me that comforting squeeze that always weakens me.
“My father doesn’t trust me to lead the family,” I sigh. Though it’s only half of the truth, it still hurts to say the words out loud.
“Is that it?”
My brows contort as I lift my gaze to his. “He told me to end things with Marchese and Fontana before they destroy me.”
“Ah…” Giovanni relents. By now, he is more than aware of the situation between Luca, Levi, and I, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest by that dynamic. “So Luca is mad about that? ”
I shake my head, feeling the burn of guilt well in my eyes. “He doesn’t know. He’s angry because of what happened after. It could have been me, Gio. And he just thinks I was leaving the party early to get away.”
“Why haven’t you told him?”
I shrug. In all honesty, I’ve asked myself that countless times over the last few days, but I keep coming back to the same answer; I don’t want my fathers words to sow seeds of doubt in anyone’s mind. It’s already started to weed my own, I don’t want to give Luca or Levi another reason to think this might not work between us.
“Tell him,” Giovanni encourages.
I admire his strength. While there’s clearly something blossoming between us, he’s urging me to fix things with Luca instead. It’s selfless and only makes me want him more. After days of being by Giovanni’s bedside, not knowing whether he would make it or not, I’ve answered a question that lingered in my mind not that long ago.
The truth is, I don’t think I could live with myself if anything happened to Giovanni, and that’s only the first layer of my guilt.
Finally, I nod in agreement, sliding down the bed to resume my earlier position. This time, Giovanni leaves a gap between his arm and chest for me to slip into. The gesture is sweet, the moment feels natural, and together, our strength becomes exhaustion as we fall back to sleep in each other’s arms.