by L. K. Shaw
Chapter 26
Giovanni
* * *
“Are you ready?” Dino asks from by my side.
“As I’ll ever be,” I answer. There’s no turning back. We’re here. Petrosyan disregarded Jacob’s warning and it’s come to this. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and say a short prayer to a God I’m not sure I ever believed in.
The sun has long since set. In its place, the moon hangs high in the sky playing hide-and-seek behind the few passing clouds that manage to drift in front of it. The streets of the Spring Creek neighborhood are absent of a single pedestrian walking around. It’s as though they’re anticipating the danger the night brings. That we bring.
Adrenaline buzzes inside my veins, ramping up my heartbeat. Can the men around me hear it? it thumps like a drum beat in my head, pounding a steady rhythm within my ears. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. My leg still throbs, but it’s almost an afterthought. The rest of my body is numb with anticipation.
I exit the vehicle half a block away from our intended destination. The rest of the men spill out of cars like a swarm of ants. I scan the area and pull the semi-automatic weapon looped over my shoulder by its strap around and palm the grip and muzzle. We’re all on high alert. I’m sure the Armenian’s don’t anticipate our arrival, but we need to make sure we’re not caught off guard.
A dog barks in the distance, and I nearly jump out of my skin. As a single unit, we stride down the deserted sidewalk toward the building that houses a small contingent of Armenian soldiers. Pierce had gotten the intel from one of his many sources. No one seems concerned about the police interfering. The Italians have nearly half the force in their pocket.
The three story-house looms in between two brick commercial buildings, set back off the street with a small wrought iron fence marking the property line. Faint light illuminates a few windows on each floor as well as a large, picture window at ground level. Someone is definitely home.
Jacob leads our faction of men, with Pierce only paces behind him. The rest of us fall in line as he opens the gate, the metal grinding against itself and generating a screech that sends a cold shiver down my spine. Pierce takes the lead, marching up the steps before he pauses only feet from the door.
Only another single heartbeat of silence passes and then the rat-tat-tat of gunfire fills the air as bullets rip through the front door of the house and chaos erupts inside. Pierce kicks in the door with one powerful slam of his foot, and we rush inside like cockroaches escaping the light.
There’s gunfire and men shouting. Footsteps pound above me. I look around, keeping our men in my sights as I run through the house and up the stairs. A body rushes me. In a single move, I raise the gun, aim, and fire. The Armenian crashes to the floor, his weapon bouncing out of his hand before landing with a thud.
Men holler. Gunfire continues. Footsteps slow until the last out is snuffed out. I take in the bodies lying haphazardly around me, blood pooling beneath each one. Unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling. My heart is nearly bursting out of my chest and my breathing is ragged.
I glance around the room, still riding the adrenaline high, and make sure no threat remains. Nero stands nearby. His attention is on the dying man at his feet. Movement just over his shoulder catches my attention.
“Get down,” I shout, raising my gun and firing several shots.
The Armenian collapses to the ground with a cry of pain, and his gun clatters to the floor. Jacob steps into the room and kicks the weapon away. Nero’s gaze bounces between me and the man who’d been seconds from shooting him. He turns to me, and the distrust he’s only ever shown slips away. He nods in appreciation before stepping over the body and continuing to check and make sure there aren’t any more surprises.
Jacob approaches. “Nice job. Let’s get ready to head out.”
As quickly as we arrived, we leave the house and get back in our vehicles. On the return trip, he rides with me. My body is still buzzing. What happens next?
“We’re going to assemble at the body shop,” Jacob says as though reading my mind. “Check any non-life threatening injuries. We didn’t lose anyone, which is good. How are you doing?”
“Good. Good.”
He chuckles. “I expect you’re going to crash hard in the next hour or so. It happened to me on my first raid. I’d been so jacked up—high on adrenaline. And then, boom, I was out for the count. Slept for twelve straight hours.”
“Did you kill anyone that first time?” I ask.
Jacob nods. “Bullet straight to his face. I’d been aiming for his chest.”
“Do you remember how you felt afterward? I don’t mean the adrenaline rush. I mean about the fact that you took someone’s life? You were probably a lot younger than I am.” It hasn’t really hit me yet.
“Sixteen,” he says. “And I remember. I’m not sure anyone wouldn’t. It’s not an easy thing to do. Or to forget. Not at any age. There was a brief moment where I thought I was going to be sick. But our father said something to me that I’ll never forget. He said: if you’re old enough to pick up that gun, then you’re old enough to use it. The enemy doesn’t see you as a boy. They see you as a threat, and if you don’t kill them, they’ll sure as hell kill you.”
I don’t say anything to that. My father’s words were true. I try to picture a sixteen-year-old Jacob with a gun in his hands and a dead body in front of him. I imagine the same intense expression on his face that he always wears. I’d respected the elder Mr. Ricci. I’d been in awe of him as well. But for the first time, hatred leaks through the cracks.
“Do you hate him?” I ask, unable to stop the question from forming.
Jacob’s questioning gaze meets mine. “Who?”
“Your—our—father. Because I do. For thirty years I’ve been alone. My mother isn’t any kind of mother, and I washed my hands of her fifteen years ago. Hell, even before then,” I scoff. “We could have been brothers all this time. You could have taught me how to shoot. We could have gotten to know each other. Become friends. Instead, he stole the opportunity from both of us. I’m not sure that’s something I can ever forgive him for.”
There’s been so much bitterness brewing inside me that I hadn’t acknowledged until tonight. Ever since I learned Salvatore Ricci had been my father. I wish I could bring him back from the dead and ask him why. Why he refused to acknowledge me. Kept me a secret. I could understand why he’d done it while his wife was alive. But after? It reeks of cowardice.
“My father and I never had a good relationship. It had always been my mother and I who shared a special bond. We did everything together. After she died, a part of me died with her,” Jacob says quietly. “Pierce has always been there for me—protecting me—but he doesn’t show his emotions. Not to anyone but Mila and Francesca, and on the rare occasion, me. It would have been nice to have had a brother to lean on during that difficult time in my life.”
Emotions rise up inside me, but I choke them back down. All I can do is nod. And think. Neither of us speak again until we reach the body shop. It’s a quick meeting, no more than fifteen minutes. Everyone is hale. No injuries to speak of.
I’m coming down. Hard. I’m wrung out. Exhausted. I’m also feeling oddly…not vulnerable, but something like it. Almost fragile. Unlike myself. I leave the meeting and then I’m parking in front of Francesca’s house.
I shouldn’t be here. Yet I climb out of the car, into the lingering humidity, and walk up the pathway. I knock and wait. The light inside flips on a few minutes later, and Francesca’s face appears through the blinds before disappearing. She flings the door open.
“Gio?” Her voice is full of sleep.
“I know it’s late, but can I come in?”
Chapter 27
Francesca
* * *
Something’s wrong. I can tell by Giovanni’s expression and tone of voice.
“Of course you can,” I snag his shirt, pull him inside, and close the door.
He lets me l
ead him into the living room, and he nearly collapses on the couch. His gaze is unfocused as though he’s lost in his thoughts. There are lines of fatigue, and something else, on his face. I hurry into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. He takes it from me and drinks the whole thing dry.
“Thanks,” Gio says, passing it back. He sags into the cushions and closes his eyes with a weighty sigh.
I set it on the coffee table and sit down, turning to face him. He’s scaring me. “Is everything okay?”
The tense silence between us is thick and nearly chokes me.
“I killed someone tonight,” he says in a flat monotone. He doesn’t even open his eyes.
My heart drops. Oh, no. I swallow. Violence is a part of this life. We’ve both seen our fair share of it. That doesn’t mean it gets easier.
“Is this the first time?” I bet it is.
Gio nods.
“I’m sorry you had to do that.”
He blows out a breath. “Yeah, me too.”
What else do I say? Is there anything I can say? I’ve never been in this position before. Having to comfort someone. Pierce never came straight home after a night of business. He’d gone to his mistress's house. Mila’s the one who takes care of him these days.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Gio says quietly. “I’m not sure what there is to talk about. We raided a building full of Armenians, and I killed one of them. The end.”
Not knowing what else to do, I scoot to the other end of the couch and gently draw him down until he’s on his back with his head in my lap. Not once since he sat down has he opened his eyes. My heart hurts for him. I can’t imagine what he’s feeling. I run my fingers through his hair, threading the silky curls between them.
Gio sighs, and it’s filled with so much emotion. I don’t want to push him to talk if he doesn’t want to. That thought sticks with me, because it’s the same advice I gave Mila about Anya. It’s what Theresa did for me. All I can do is be here for him. Let him know I care. If, and when, he’s ready, I’ll be here to listen. So, we sit in the darkened room—silent—while I continue to stroke his scalp lightly with my fingernails.
Time passes. So much that my eyes grow drowsy. Is Gio sleeping? I don’t want to wake him if he is. He probably needs the rest. I shift the tiniest bit, just to get a little more comfortable, and he jerks. At last, his eyes open, and he stares up at me. Even with only the light from the lamp on the side table, the pain in his gaze is impossible to miss.
I want to do whatever I can to ease it, so I lean down and brush my lips across each eye. His lashes flutter shut. Then a kiss to his nose until I feather flittering touches along his mouth. I keep them gentle. Soft. Putting all the care—all the love—I can into them, and hope he feels it.
I sit upright and palm his cheek before slipping out from under his head and coming to my feet. He rises to sitting and gazes up at me. There’s no thought to what I’m doing. My heart is making all the decisions tonight and overruling my head. I reach out a hand, and then Gio’s grasping it. With the barest tug, I pull him to his feet and head for my bedroom, not stopping until we reach my bed.
I release my hold on him, and a moment later there’s a soft click. The darkness is broken up by the light of the lamp. Half of him is in the shadows. Still, he’s beautiful. A combination of light and dark. Past and present. Two parts that make up a whole.
With a deep breath, I reach up and begin to unbutton his shirt. His hands close over mine and that intense expression on his face deepens. “You don’t have to do this.”
Yes, I do. “I want to.”
Giovanni holds onto me for several more heartbeats before he drops his hands at his side, and I continue my task. With each inch of skin I expose, my mouth grows drier, until every button is undone. Then, I push the fabric over his shoulders and tug it off his arms. I toss it onto the floor, my gaze never leaving the dark curls covering his chest. They appear soft and springy and my fingers itch to touch them.
On his left side, right above where his heart lies, and partially hidden beneath that patch of hair, a delicate crown is inked into his skin. The Brooklyn Kings crest. A symbol of loyalty to the organization. I remember seeing it on my father’s and brother’s chest. Rumor has it that if someone betrays the syndicate, Jacob burns it off their body before they bury them. I shiver at that.
“Are you sure about this?” Giovanni asks quietly.
My head jerks up and I meet his gaze. I smile to reassure him. “I’m positive. I was just thinking about your tattoo,”—my fingers finally connect with his skin and trace the pattern there—“and what it means.”
He’s warm to the touch. I can only imagine how much hotter he’ll get before the night is over. Another shiver travels down my spine, but this one settles low inside my core, bringing Gio’s heat with it. A throbbing begins deep down.
“The day I got this was one of the best of my life. It meant I finally belonged to something. I’ll never regret becoming a Brooklyn King.”
There’s something in his tone. “But?” I ask.
He jerks the tiniest bit as though he can’t believe I heard the hesitation in his voice.
“But there are times I wonder if it’s worth all the things that come with it. The violence. The killing. The worrying that those I care about the most could be taken from me in a heartbeat. It’ll never end. There will always be someone who wants to take from us,” Giovanni says tiredly.
“It’s not easy being a member of this family. I don’t just mean being related to Jacob. I mean the entire syndicate. It comes with more risks than a normal one. There’s pain and suffering. But there’s also hope and love. There’s good and bad with anything in this world. Regrets are wasted. Instead, we need to focus on what brings us the most happiness.” I rise up on tiptoes and loop my arms around the back of his neck. “I don’t regret you becoming a King. We may not have ever met otherwise.”
Giovanni’s hands go to my waist, his grip strong and firm, yet gentle. He pulls me tighter to him, crushing my breasts against his chest. “Nothing on this earth would have kept me from finding you. We were always meant to be together. Whether I initiated or not. Our paths would have crossed somehow no matter what. Deep down, I know this.”
I’ve been falling for him for months, but with his heated declaration I’m lost. Completely and utterly. Gio owns my heart. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he replies, his voice gravelly with emotion.
Whether he moves first or I do, I’m not sure, but our lips meet. He claims my mouth with the same gentle firmness in which he holds me. It only serves to increase my arousal. My nipples harden against his chest, and I rub them across his skin generating friction to try and soothe the ache. Giovanni’s hands grip my hips and the hard line of his cock presses into my stomach increasing the burn inside my core. I need him like I need to take another breath.
His tongue glides along the seam of my mouth, and I part it for him. He takes control of the kiss, deepening it and drawing more and more arousal from me. I’ve given him my heart—my love— and before the night is over, he’ll have my body, too. The fear is still there. How can it not be? But the love we have shines brighter than any dark tendrils of the unwanted emotion. Fear can try and snuff out the light, but it won’t win. I won’t let it. Neither with Giovanni.
With a gentle touch, he slips his fingers beneath my shirt hem. Cool air rushes across my belly. He raises the fabric more, past my breasts, and over my head. Next comes my bra, and my upper body is as bare as his. Gio’s gaze is hot, his eyes nearly black as he stares down at me. Every place his gaze touches, my skin burns with a fire only he can put out.
He palms my breast, cradling it ever so gently. The hardened nub tightens even further. A string from there to my core vibrates sending pleasure from one end to the other.
“I can still smell the coconut from the day by the pool,” he says with a note of amusement. “
It’s my newest favorite scent. Do you taste like it as well?”
Feeling bold, I cup the back of his neck and pull him down to whisper against his lips. “Feel free to find out.”
Giovanni groans, the rumble adding to the throbbing beat of sensation raging through me. Goosebumps scatter down my arms. He lowers his head and takes my other breast into his mouth, latching his tongue around the pebbled tip and sucking. I clutch him tighter to me as flames of desire shoot straight to my center. Wetness pours from me.
He makes a sound of appreciation before releasing my nipple with a small pop. “Exactly how I imagined you’d taste.”
My flesh heats. “I want to taste you, too,” I say with a mix of boldness and shyness.
In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted anything more. I imagine Gio tastes like smoke and fire. An earthy combination. One that grounds me. Reminds me who’s touching me. Kissing me. Loving me.
“I’m yours,” Gio says gruffly. “Take whatever you need from me.”
I caress his chest, running my fingers through the mat of hair. It’s manly, and I love it. The muscles are hard beneath my touch, and they ripple with each pass over them. I scratch my nails lightly over the skin, and he shudders. I close the small space between us and flick my tongue over his small nub, lapping up his flavor. He taste exactly how I imagined, only better.
The need to explore more of him grows. With barely shaking fingers, I unbutton his pants, and before I lose my nerve, I push them down, taking his underwear with them. I keep my gaze averted from his cock. I’m not ready just yet. I look at his face. One I’ve come to love so much. It’s familiar and comforting. I quickly remove my own pants and then crawl into the bed, holding the covers up for Giovanni.
“Join me,” I invite him.
He moves, sliding in next to me, and I throw the sheet over us, as though wrapping us in a protective cocoon. Just the two of us, with no thoughts of the outside world intruding. Together, we move as one, and once again are in each other’s arms. It feels as though I’m coming home. Hands glide over skin, his and mine. Hard and soft. We fit together like puzzle pieces.