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ChapterTwenty-Nine
Enzo
Icouldn't get enough of Gia. I soaked her in, enjoying the warmth of her body as she slept. I took in every inch of her with the tips of my fingers. I touched her as if it would be the last time I could, because recently, it almost had been. I had to push that thought away or the guilt would eat me alive, piece by piece, until I disappeared.
My face was healing and looked more normal by the day. My ribs still hurt like fuck, and I had to fight the pain with every breath. Nothing could be done for them. They just needed to heal. Like we all did.
What happened with the Irish could have—and should have—been much worse. They'd have killed me, but they would have kept me alive until they caught Gia and made her pay for my sins. They'd have made me watch them desecrate her, and that would have been a fate worse than death. But things didn't end like that, because Gia came in like a wildfire, willing to burn everything around us. She would rescue both of us or let usallget burned.
It had been a long time since I saw Gia in fight mode. Not since the subway, when she killed like a cold-hearted bitch. She had no fear. I never expected that from a woman, especially when she was so much younger back then. She looked just as hard when she burst through the door to the basement as she did in the shootout with my family.
I had tried so hard to keep her out of the lifestyle. I held her back, keeping her from the fray, the danger. What I saw that night showed me what Gia was capable of if I let go of my hold on her. By holding her back, I punished us all.
She even got my biggest enemy—her father—to join in on the big rescue. He probably wanted to leave me for dead. In fact, I was sure he would have. He didn't think I was good enough for his only daughter. I probably wasn't, but I loved her, and that had to be enough because I wouldn’t accept any other answer when I asked for his blessing.
I stared at her while she slept, letting my eyes dart to her healing gunshot wound. If I had any chance of getting her father's blessing, it was gone the moment Gia got shot. No matter what, he'd see it as my fault, and it kind of was. But I never would have let Gia come in like the goddamn SWAT. If she died trying to save someone as destined for hell as I was, I wouldn’t have forgiven myself. Losing myself was better than losing her. I’d have been dead; I wouldn’t have known any different. But losing her while I still had breath in my body? Now that was hell. Not the eternal damnation, the demons, or the fire. It’d be returning home to an empty bed with an icy longing in my chest that made me pray for hell’s fire to warm me.
My phone chimed. I reached over and checked it. It was a text from Bullseye's sister. I couldn't help but smirk as I read it.
It was the goddamn Irish.
Gia was a fucking genius. I hadn’t even thought about the phone since I brought it back to the city, completely ignoring the nuclear problem that would eventually blow up in my face.
I squeezed out from under Gia's arm and got out of bed. I had a quick job to do, and I was sure Atheist was whining at the door by now. I tugged on my wrinkle-creased slacks and tucked the hem of my sleeveless t-shirt into them. I went over to Gia's side of the bed and kissed her forehead before leaving. The sun blinded me as I stepped outside, and I shielded my eyes as I walked to my car. A guard leaned against it.
“Get your ass off my damn car. So help me god, if there's one scratch, I'm going to cut your balls off and use your sack to buff it out.”
The man pushed off my car. “Mr. Silvani wants to see you.”
“Oh joy,” I quipped as I leaned over and checked my car for scratches. “Looks like you can keep your nuts.”
“Follow me,” he said, annoyance furrowing his brow.
I followed him inside. I half expected Sylvester to yell at me for parking right out front. Wouldn't want to be seen harboring a Viglione, no doubt. God, what would people think if they found out hesavedone? I was still amusing myself with these thoughts when the guard opened the office door and let me inside. When I saw what was behind the door, I sobered, tightening my expression. He was letting me into his office? His actual office? The most intimate place for a don. The library was where you conducted business, but the office was where youcreatedit. He was allowing me access to the deepest part of his home.
I stopped at the doorway and peered into the room. A fancy wooden desk, the same color as the dark hardwoods it sat on, stood near a far wall. Sylvester's perfectly coiffed salt-and-pepper hair peeked above the back of a dark desk chair. A football game played on the big screen TV, and it had his full attention.
I cleared my throat, and he swiveled his chair to face me. I couldn’t read his blank expression.
“Thank you,” he said to the guard before waving him off. He turned his attention back to me. “Do you want a drink?” Sylvester walked to the glass fridge beneath the bay window. Frost licked at the glass and turned into smoke as he opened the door and rifled through bottles.
“It’s noon on a Tuesday, sir,” I said. It felt wrong to drink with him, and not because it was a Tuesday afternoon.
“Nonsense,” Sylvester said, grabbing a bottle of bourbon and two glasses. He set them on the table and poured the rich, dark liquid. The glasses fogged from the chilled liquor. He handed a glass to me before sitting in his chair again. He took a long pull of his drink and placed it on a coaster.
I took a sip. Once it hit my lips, I fought the urge to chug it, thinking the alcohol might help ease the uncomfortable silence. He’d called me into his office, so he needed to speak first. He was testing me, trying to gauge my intentions.
“Mr. Viglione,” he finally said. His voice was cool and nauseatingly calm, and that made me more uncomfortable. He should have yelled at me for drawing his daughter into a battle that wasn’t hers. “Is it true? About Ugo?”
I patted the pocket of my slacks, feeling for my phone. I pulled it out, brought up a picture of Ugo, and slid the phone toward him. He raised his glasses and looked at the image of Ugo—tied up and bloody, but alive.
“Scroll over one,” I said.
His mouth gaped as he saw the next picture. It was Ugo, very much dead and no longer a threat to Sylvester.
“Why?” he asked before lowering his glasses and returning my phone.
“For Gia. She won’t marry me without your blessing,” I said.
