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By the time I manage to shower, shave, dress, and go downstairs, I find Gianna already at the breakfast table. She looks pale and tired, like she didn’t sleep well either, but then again—I can hardly blame her. Not only has she lost her father, but now there’s a man who might as well be a stranger living in her home, and she’s facing impending marriage to someone who will be only slightly better than a stranger when they’re wed. In the face of that, my concerns and guilt are nothing.
She looks up at me as I sit down with a small, tired smile. “Good morning,” she says, her tone a little more formal than it was yesterday. I wonder if she’s intentionally trying to put distance between us. I couldn’t blame her if she was—and it’s better for us both, truthfully, if she does.
“Good morning.” I clear my throat, sitting down, and reaching for the tongs to add bacon from a platter in the center of the table to my plate. This experience is one I haven’t had in some time—having breakfast served like this by staff instead of picking it up myself or by an assistant on my way to whatever morning meeting or task I have…or just downing a protein shake before the gym. There’s bacon, eggs, thick toast with small ceramic pots of jam, butter, and honey, a steaming tureen of oatmeal with more small dishes next to it full of cream, raisins, dried cranberries, and brown sugar, sausages, and miniature quiches. Gianna has a quiche and a piece of dry toast on her plate, and I resist the urge to ask her if she shouldn’t be eating more. I can imagine she doesn’t have much of an appetite, with all that’s happened.
I realize she’s looking at me, watching me with an almost appraising expression on her face, and I glance over at her. “Is everything alright?”
“You seem…” she pauses, her teeth catching on her lower lip, and I have to look away. What I imagined this morning with my hand around my cock still feels all too close, and I don’t know how I could live with myself if I sat here at the breakfast table imagining her mouth on me. “--off,” she finishes, and I can still feel her eyes on me.
“Just the first night in a new place,” I say quickly, in an effort to change the subject as I reach for a piece of toast. “Or at least, a place where I haven’t spent the night in some time. That’s all.”
“You didn’t come up to check on me last night.” Her voice sounds almost piqued, as if she’d hoped that I would. “I thought you might be upset with me. That I said or did something—”
“I wanted to give you space to be comfortable with my presence in the house,” I tell her quickly, not wanting her to think that I’d been angry with her. “I thought if you wanted to see me, you’d come and seek me out. Otherwise, I thought taking it slow might be best.”
“So what now?” Gianna is picking at her toast now, shredding it between her fingers rather than eating it. “What happens?”
I pause, considering as I cut a piece of sausage. “What would you do if your father were still alive?” I ask, hoping the question won’t come off as insensitive. “What were you planning for? Anything? Was there anything coming up—”
“College.” Gianna bites her lip again, and I see that glossy shine in her eyes. “We talked about whether or not I wanted to go to college—he was going to have me go and enroll. With plenty of security with me, of course,” she adds quickly. “And he did specify I would still live at home. But that was what we talked about, the night he—”
Her voice breaks off, and I reach out without thinking, touching her hand again. She doesn’t pull away this time, her gaze lifting and meeting mine, and I see the tears trembling on the edges of her lashes.
Even grieving, she’s still stunningly beautiful.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her quietly, unsure of what else to say. “It was your birthday, wasn’t it?”
Gianna nods. “I’m going to think about that every year now. Every year I get older is one he won’t. It feels so unfair.”
“Well, I can promise you that he would have rather that than the other way around.” I don’t know how reassuring that is, but it’s the truth. “The circumstances of your father’s death are suspicious, Gianna—which I’m sure you’re aware of. I know the other bosses in the city are already looking into it, and I plan to use my own influence and resources to do the same. If there was something amiss, I’ll find out about it. I promise you that.”
She swallows hard, nodding. “I trust you,” she says softly. “I know if there’s something wrong, you’ll find out.”
“And in the meantime, everything that can be done to keep you safe, will be.” I slip my hand away from hers, no longer able to keep touching her without my thoughts wandering, as guilty as that makes me feel. “I don’t want to stop you from taking classes, but there will have to be more of a security presence than you might be comfortable with, given the permissions and accommodations we’ll certainly have to get from the college to have that significant of a presence with you. And, of course, your future husband—”
“You’re not going to say that I have to get permission to keep going to college.” Gianna’s eyes widen. “My father wouldneverhave wanted that—”
“I was going to say that he’ll certainly want his own security with you as well, I’m sure, once a husband is chosen for you. But no, Gianna. Any man who is against you getting a degree for your own pleasure is one whom I would disapprove of. But I will say that I wouldn’t expect much use to come of it. Mafia wives don’t work, Gianna. They aren’t professors or doctors or anything else you might be thinking of.”
“I could be an author.” Gianna shrugs. “I wanted to take literature classes. Poetry, maybe. That’s something I could do on my own time. In between whatever—” Her teeth sink into her lower lip again, hard enough that I want to lean in and kiss away the sting she must feel. “Whatever it is that I’m supposed to be doing as someone’s wife.”
The thoughts that flood my mind in an instant, one after another, are entirely inappropriate. I banish them as quickly as I can, refocusing on the conversation, but for a moment, they’re there—the idea of Gianna as a wife, tending to her husband’s needs, on her knees for him or bent over a bed, of cum leaking out between her soft folds, pearly white and pushed back into her with long fingers that make her squirm and moan, intent on getting her pregnant as soon as possible. Gianna, soft and round with a child from that, her skin flushed and radiant—
In all those thoughts, I’m the one she’s kneeling for, bending over for, my cock and fingers inside of her, my child she’s carrying. All I can do is hope that she sees none of it on my face as I try to collect myself, cursing myself for even thinking of it. I’m hard all over again, my cock twitching and lengthening against my thigh, and I won’t be able to stand up for a few minutes at least until I can get myself back under control.
“You’re sure you’re alright?” Gianna is peering at me anxiously again, and I clear my throat.She’s so innocent that she can’t even tell that she’s turned you on. She has no idea what an aroused man looks like. This is what you’re fantasizing about.The guilt burns hot and thick in my chest, and I let out a breath, looking down at my plate.
“Like I said.” I force a smile. “Just not the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while.”
After breakfast, Gianna excuses herself, and I go to the office that I requisitioned for myself yesterday, a room that has a view out to the pool at one side of the house from a large bay window in front of where I’ve situated my desk. I spent most of the afternoon yesterday getting the room organized to my liking—putting up bookshelves and arranging my books and files, and personal items that I like to keep in my office space. There’s no fireplace in this room, which is an unfortunate step down from the other, but there are plenty of other rooms in the house with fireplaces if I want to have a drink and read in front of one. For the most part, the room is exactly as I’d like it, and I sit down to start the day, putting Gianna as firmly out of my head as I can.
Which is easier said than done, considering one of the tasks I’ve set for myself is to call Luca and discuss the issue of Giacomo’s death with him.
Luca answers the video call from his office in the high-rise in New York, which I already feel a stab of nostalgia for. The Mancini mansion is beautiful, well-appointed, and luxurious, with everything I could possibly need—but it’s situated a bit outside of the city proper, and I already miss the noise and constant movement of Manhattan. Everything is in motion there, all of the time—everyone has somewhere to be, something to do, giving the feeling of being constantly swept up in a tide of urgent humanity, all in a hurry to live their lives as fully as possible. There’s a richness to the city that I miss that isn’t here, on the outskirts of Chicago.
“How is she?” Luca asks as he picks up the call. “And Chicago?”
“It’s as good as can be expected. The same goes for Gianna.” I let out a slow breath. “I know Fontana isn’t going to wait long before he starts suggesting potential matches for her. I promised her that she’d have time before she’d be pushed into a betrothal. They promised her that time, but you know how Fontana is. He won’t have as much respect for her grief as we’d like to think.”
