Giovanni

by Natasha Knight

  “I have a job, you know.”

  “You can take time off. I want you there.”

  I study him, and he studies me back. As much as I pretend to be annoyed by it, I like his dominance. It makes me feel safe.

  “I’ve never been to Italy.”

  Epilogue 2

  Giovanni

  The trip to Calabria is a necessary one. It’s not a vacation, not for me. And this place, there are memories here. Ghosts of the past.

  When I met with my father after things settled down for Emilia, I learned some things. Amazing what you can get out of a man who is desperate to keep all his limbs—and for the record, he didn’t. Because he needed to learn once and for all. Because being made to sit in a fucking wheelchair didn’t teach him.

  I need to be here to settle some rumblings, cement loyalties. Not everyone was happy about how I took over the Santa Maria family. My father can spin an incredible tale, and his lies turned many against me.

  My father had been head of the Santa Maria family until shortly after Franco Benedetti’s death. In fact, it was soon after he pledged our allegiance to Dominic Benedetti that I learned the truth about Angelica. That letter she wrote me before she jumped, he’d taken it. Hidden it. But he should have destroyed it.

  She’d reached out for help, and when I hadn’t come, she’d assumed I’d abandoned her too. That’s why she’d killed herself. And it makes it doubly my father’s fault.

  When I learned the truth years after her death, it took me right back to that time.

  But I avenged her by putting him in that wheelchair. By taking his family from him. By taking everything from him and leaving him powerless.

  Now I’ll be sure to put an end to anyone who challenges my authority, both in the States and in Italy. I’m not a good man. I know who I am, and I don’t pretend to be anyone else. But I’m not a liar. I don’t steal souls, and I don’t hurt innocents.

  “This is so beautiful,” Emilia says. She’s sitting beside me as we ride up the rocky, narrow road to my house. The house is situated on a steep cliff a little outside of Tropea with spectacular views of the sea.

  “It’s one of the most beautiful places in the world.” I take the turns easily, driving a little faster than I probably should, but liking it. I spend most of my time in the States, but my heart is here.

  The house comes into view a few minutes later, an ancient stone structure. It’s huge and has been in my family for generations. It’s always passed on to the first-born male heir. Sexist, I know, but these are the rules and there is enough money to go around.

  “Wow.”

  I glance over at Emilia. She’s got her face plastered to the window, taking in everything she can. The sun is high. She’s wearing a pretty summer dress and flip-flops and to anyone looking on, we’re a normal couple here on vacation.

  We pass through the old iron gates, and a few minutes later, I stop the car in front of the house. Remy, the man who runs the household, steps out the front door before we’re even out of the car. I come around to open Emilia’s door, watch his face as he does a double take. Remy has been working for my family since before I was born, and he knew Angelica. He quickly schools his features, though, and greets us. I introduce Emilia, and we head inside.

  The house has been updated over the years. Although it’s been kept in the traditional style, it contains all of the comforts of modern life. From the entrance, the foyer opens up into a huge circular hall with stone stairs leading to the second level on either side and, straight through, two large doors that lead to the terrace stand open, where deep purple bougainvillea hang like a canopy overhead, filtering the sun.

  “Wow.”

  “I’ll show you,” I say, unable to hide my own smile. She’s impressed. Anyone who is invited into the house is.

  I lead her out onto the terrace, which spans the length of the house. She walks to the farthest point and peeks over the stone railing. The sea is below, the color a deep turquoise.

  “You’re going to have to learn how to swim.” I turn and take out my phone to check messages.

  I reply to the message, confirming the time of the meeting, and tuck the phone away.

  “Work already?”

  I wrap an arm around her. “Not yet. Not until tomorrow. Just have to make a call. Go change into a swimsuit. I’ll meet you by the pool. Remy will show you our room.”

  Remy, ever attentive, is already there.

  Her face loses its smile for a moment, but she relinquishes and disappears up the stairs. I head to my study to make the calls, arrangements for tomorrow’s meetings. There will be two, one for those loyal to me, and one for those still loyal to my father. It’s the latter that worries me. I want those men rounded up and present. I’m not wasting my time here, and they’ll be asked exactly once if they’re in or out. I assume it will take one example of “out” to cement allegiance. Some people just need a nudge to make the right decision.

  Once that’s done, and before I go out to meet Emilia, there’s one other thing I want to do. Taking a handful of the flowers from the vase in the foyer, I head upstairs, all the way upstairs to the attic. The last time I did this was after what happened with my father. Before the arrest. I still had splatters of my father’s blood on my shirt then, the betrayal fresh. I still felt something when I walked up these narrower stairs to the dark room used for storage.

  The door at the top of the stairs is locked, but the key is above the door frame. There’s not much need for anyone to come up here, and I know the maids think her ghost still haunts it. But I don’t think that’s true anymore. It did, but it doesn’t anymore.

  I walk inside. The heat here is stifling. I clear a cobweb out of my path and make my way to a tall, narrow door leading to a small balcony. It creaks open, the hinges rusting. I’ll need to make sure that’s repaired.

  I step out onto the balcony and look down over the cliffs and into the sea. Without a word, I toss the handful of flowers out and watch them as they fall through the sky.

  “What are you doing?”

  I turn to find Emilia watching me. She’s wearing a bikini with a sarong wrapped around her hips and flip–flops. She’s holding a wide-brimmed hat and a book in one hand.

  “You’re sneaky.”

  “Not sneaky. Just quiet” She studies me, peers over the balcony. “Is this where she…”

  “Yes.”

  Again, she watches me, and I watch her.

  “Is it weird I’m here?” she asks as if she read my mind.

  I thought it might be strange having her here. Here in the same house where she looks so much like the ghost who only recently left the premises. But it’s not.

  I look her over, the turquoise suit matching the sea, accentuating her olive skin. My hand looks enormous when I set it against her stomach, push her gently backward into the wall. I kiss her.

  “You’re where you belong. With me.”

  “But—”

  “The past is dead, Emilia. You’re my future. And I don’t plan on wasting one minute of it.”

  The faintest smile softens her features and when I take her into my arms, she melts into me, her body molding to mine.

  “I love you,” I tell her.

  “I love you, Giovanni.”

  The end

  Sample from Captive Beauty

  Killian Black has his own story to tell in a book titled Captive Beauty. You can read a sample here.

  Prologue

  Cilla

  He’s watching me. I know he is. He has cameras everywhere. Why wouldn’t he have one here? In this, the “special” room? He told me he likes to keep an eye on his things. And that’s what I am. A thing. A possession.

  His.

  Fucking his.

  And today I fucked up.

  Today he’ll take it out of my skin.

  I shudder with the thought. With the knowledge of what I know is coming.

  I’ll fight him. I wonder if he expects me to. Wants me to, even.
All I know is I can’t submit to him. I can’t let him break me.

  But I am breaking. Little by little.

  I wonder if that’s why he took me.

  This is a game to him. My life is a game.

  I hug my knees to myself. This room is so cold, unlike the others.

  I pull the blanket up around me, as much for the cold as for protection. It’s not like I can hide my fear. He knows. He knows the real truth. Knows everything now.

  My dress is torn and I’m barefoot. He took my shoes away when he put me here. I guess the heels could be used as a weapon. As if I could somehow manage to overpower him.

  I try to swallow but the lump in my throat makes it impossible. I’m scared and I hate it. I don’t want to admit it. Not even to myself.

  Tears wet my eyes but before they have a chance to fall, I cover them with my hands and rub them away. I don’t want him to see my weakness. He gets off on it.

  I did this. I pushed him. And I can survive this. I fucking have to.

  It’s when I’m giving myself that ridiculous pep talk that I hear his footfalls in the hallway. Hear his voice, muffled so I can’t make out what he says. Probably dismissing Hugo, his fucking henchman. Like he needs one.

  Every hair on my body stands on end when he slides the key into the lock. When he turns it. And when he pushes the door open, it takes all I have not to crumple. Not to cave.

  It takes all I have to stand and ready myself for battle against this beast of a man.

  Buy Captive Beauty Now!

  Thank You!

  Thanks for reading Giovanni. I hope you enjoyed Emilia and Giovanni’s story and would consider leaving a review at the store where you purchased this book.

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  Also by Natasha Knight

  Sergio: a Dark Mafia Romance

  Salvatore: a Dark Mafia Romance

  Dominic: a Dark Mafia Romance

  The Benedetti Brothers Duet

  Captive Beauty

  Unhinged

  Disgraced

  Dishonorable

  Deviant

  Beautiful Liar

  Retribution

  Theirs To Take

  Captive, Mine

  Alpha

  Given to the Savage

  Taken by the Beast

  Claimed by the Beast

  Captive’s Desire

  Protective Custody

  Amy’s Strict Doctor

  Taming Emma

  Taming Megan

  Taming Naia

  Reclaiming Sophie

  The Firefighter’s Girl

  Dangerous Defiance

  Her Rogue Knight

  Taught To Kneel

  Tamed: the Roark Brothers Trilogy

  Pierced

  Acknowledgments

  Cover Design by PopKitty Design

  Editing by Ann Curtis

  Cover Model Domenico Armento

  About the Author

  USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance, Natasha Knight specializes in dark, tortured heroes. Happily-Ever-Afters are almost always guaranteed, but she likes to put her characters through hell to get them there. She’s evil like that.

  www.natasha-knight.com

  natasha-knight@outlook.com