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My mouth drops open in anger and indignation, but no words come out. As Giovanni squares off with me, his face cold and his tone harsh, it dawns on me he’s not on my side. He’s on Romano's. He really doesn’t understand.
“You used to be more optimistic,” he says. “Now you are obsessed with finding everything wrong. But your temper tantrums won’t be tolerated, Falynn. You heard Romano—you must be weened off those medications before another treatment can be—”
“I don’t want any more treatments!”
“We’ve discussed this!” he yells louder. “We’ve agreed!”
“I’m changing my mind. I told you. I don’t want to do it anymore.”
A growl noise emits from the deep cavern of his chest and he pins me from across the room with a forbidding glare. “You will listen to the doctor’s orders. I will not have you making yourself sick in some stupid protest like you usually do.”
A rough knock pounds on the door and interrupts our argument. Giovanni snipes at the security guard on the other side, telling him to come in.
I’m partially grateful for the interruption if only for a second to force air into my lungs and remember how to breathe. The progress we made last night is gone. I’m hollow and hopeless again.
My fault for ever thinking Paris would be different.
Marino has entered to tell Giovanni about a security risk.
“It’s best we go, Boss,” he says. “We don’t know how real the threat is.”
Giovanni grits his teeth. “We’re not going anywhere. There’s no conceivable way it would reach us all the way over here.”
“Our intel says Luca Lovato could be working with the Rastelli’s from Sicily. We don’t know for sure.”
“Well, find the fuck out! What are you doing coming to me with incomplete information?” he roars.
I edge closer to where Giovanni and Marino stand. What is Marino talking about the Rastelli’s from Sicily? Are we in danger?
Giovanni turns to me once Marino is gone with his new set of orders. Darkness ebbs from him, the coldness electrifying in his gaze. There’s no doubt what’s changed in a matter of seconds—he’s in Mafia boss mode. He’s checked out of our marital vacation and returned to his throne as Mafia King of his empire.
“Go pack now,” he orders. “We have to go.”
