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His jaw is still clenched, but there’s a different look in his eyes. It almost looks like he is enjoying himself, having fun for the first time.
I place one hand on his chest and run the other through his dark curls. The corner of his lips moves up slightly. A smile begging to be released.
“We can enjoy this moment a little while longer,” I insist. Not even just for myself, but for him. I like seeing him relaxed.
He lifts me off the ground and throws me over his shoulder. The swift motion makes me dizzy, but I kind of enjoy it.
He takes his hand and pulls my dress down. A light snicker escapes my lips as he walks toward the exit. I lift my head up to look around, and everyone is staring at me.
Giovanni isallman. Full of determination, a true alpha. Maybe it’s him everyone is looking at.
We exit the building, and I notice two girls to the right of me trying to get the security guard’s number. I don’t know why I find this amusing, but I do. The guard is almost double their size, looking past them as if they don’t exist. That has to crush their spirits, but it doesn’t seem to.
They are very persistent.
11NINA
Giovanni is pissed. Back to his “normal.”
His veins pulse with rage as his knuckles begin to turn white from the grip he has on the wheel.
Each turn he takes looks unfamiliar. The street he turns onto doesn’t look the safest. The street is filled with trash; it overflows the gutters.
The car lights up every time we drive under one of the streetlights, bringing my attention to just how nice his car is. He drives the same car as my brother does, but this one is newer. The entire interior is black leather, with a couple of silver panels lining the dashboard.
His smell is comforting. A deep inhale and a mixture of mint and teakwood overflows my senses.
I get tired of the silence that roams effortlessly between us, so I reach for the radio—but he grabs my hand, stopping me.
He doesn’t let go of my hand; he just moves it onto my leg. His arm stretched across the middle console, he glares down at me, showing no emotion on his face, not a single crease in any of his facial features.
His hand is still holding mine. I begin to feel overwhelmed.
I never should have had as many drinks as I did tonight, but I’m getting the feeling the shots I took before I was taken away are about to make an appearance.
I lean my legs toward the car door as I roll the window down, feeling the warm summer air flowing through my hair. I don’t know the science behind rolling the window down when I don’t feel good, but the fresh air always works better than any medication for nausea.
Gio rolls the window up after a quick twenty seconds.
I take my attention off the road and turn to him. I move my hand out from under his and rest my head on his shoulder.
“Where are we going?” I finally ask the question that has been lingering in my head this entire ride. It takes me a moment to realize what I just did. I feel safe with him, and that alone is bothersome. But I can’t help but like the feeling of resting my head on him. I feel connected to him.
“I need to take care of some things.”
“What are these things you need to take care of?” I ask.
“Not anything that would interest you.”
His words make me question what he is up to. Are these random trips at night when he takes care of people?
“And what if it does interest me?” I ask hesitantly.
I’m never allowed to ask questions like this—questions that refer to the work I am supposed to know nothing about. Mama used to tell me that all I need to do is sit there and look pretty.
When Papa once came to visit us from Italy, I asked him why he doesn’t spend time with us. He never answered that. The next question I asked him was if killing people was more important than his family. I dug myself into a deep hole that night, and I’ve never been able to get out of it.
That was the last question I ever asked about the work the men in my life do—until now.
