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I slowly come to, realize I’m lying on the couch in my father’s office, and stand up too quickly. The day, time…hell…even the month. None of it registers for a moment as I rub my fuzzy eyes, trying to see straight.
The second I see somewhat clearly, my father’s palm connects with my cheek.
I stumble to the floor from the force of his slap, my hand automatically flying to my cheek as I try to soothe the sharp sting.
“You go twenty-one years without disappointing me, and then only days before the most important union the Chicago underworld has ever seen, you decide to whore yourself out to none other than DantefuckingDeSantis?” He bends down to eye level with me and spits in my face.
I cower backward, simultaneously wishing I could stand up to him and knowing I can’t. My entire body tremors as I wait for the next blow.
“Have you gone mute, little bird?” Father yells. He uses one hand to swipe everything off the fireplace and sends it crashing down to the floor. Pieces of glass shatter and fly everywhere, one small shard landing next to my palm. “Your brother’s blood is on your hands, you ignorant little bitch,” he snarls before letting out a loud cry.
It sounds like a mixture of intense pain and absolute anger rippling from his lungs.
I don’t know how much my father knows. Does he know I killed Gabriel? He clearly knows why I was at the club. My thighs are sticky with the aftermath of Dante and me and what transpired between us.
“Had you not been giving away your pussy to my enemy’s son, your brother never would have been killed in that shoot-out.”
Okay, so he doesn’t know it was me.
Who am I kidding? If he knew, I’d be dead.
He comes near me again, and this time, he kicks me hard in the stomach, sending me flying backward. A noise I’ve never heard comes out of me, and I resist the urge to throw up. My entire body aches with the weight of that kick, my chest cracking as I move to sit up on the floor.
“You better hope Santiago doesn’t find out you’ve given yourself away to another man. If he even so much as thinks you’re not a virgin, you’ll just be sold into slavery like the rest of the whore bitches that get mixed up with the cartel. You stupid, stupid whore. Do you even comprehend how badly you’ve fucked me?”
I know better than to answer him. Know better than to try to come back with any kind of answer or reply at all, so instead, I just nod my head.
I can only assume how bad this looks for my father—for the rest of my family. I try to wrap my mind around everything that’s happened. I don’t even know how long I’ve been out. Nothing makes sense, and none of the puzzle pieces in my mind are snapping together.
“I don’t know what kind of bullshit you’ve been up to, Giana, but you’d do best to remember who I am. I am Gabriel Amato. I am your father, and I am the head of this family. We do not mix with the likes of the DeSantis family. You do not mix with anyone unless I tell you to. You are going to marry Santiago in just a few days. You are going to act like a little golden girl virgin on your wedding night. You are going to clench that pussy like you are the tightest little bitch in this city, and you are going to hope he is none the wiser. Do you understand me?”
I finally lose control of my stomach, and bile rises into my mouth. I have to choke it down so I don’t make things worse for myself.
I nod my understanding, and the moment my father turns his back, I let the tears I’ve been holding in fall, being sure to wipe them away before his attention is back on me once again.
“Fuuuuuck,”I growl as I come to. A bright light flashes in my eyes, forcing me to peel them open and then shut them again. “Whoever’s holding that flashlight is about to be a dead man.”
I hear a low chuckle as I wince. The pain radiating through the left side of my body is enough to snap my attention back to the present.
Giana.
I move to sit up, but two hands push me back down to a lying position.
“I don’t think so, Mr. DeSantis,” Doc says, shaking his head. “You’re not moving for a bit. We need to get fluids in you, and you need rest before you even think about standing up. We don’t need you passing out on us again.”
I look to my shoulder and see it’s patched up. White gauze and medical tape wrap around what I’m sure is a shitload of stitches.
“You scared the fuck outta us.”
I hear my son’s voice, immediately scan the room, and find him sitting in a high-back chair. The boy is my spitting image, save for nineteen years younger. I can only hope he doesn’t turn out to be such a fucking shit. I remember what I was doing in my late teens and early twenties, though. I wasn’t always the best man, and I sure as shit wasn’t prepared to be a father.
“Hey, son, I’m sorry. I’m good. I swear to you, I’m good. Doc always knows how to patch me up.” I look at Doc and nod my thanks just as he exits the room.
I have no doubt he’s leaving strict orders for me with somebody out there. Strict orders I don’t plan on following.
Antonio walks up to the bed and places his hand on my leg, patting it. He’s too pure for this world. So much more of his mother inside him than me. Julissa was soft. Beautiful and kind. He’s got my features, but where it counts, he’s Julissa, and I see it more every single day.
I just wish she were here to see it, too.
