"Have you never thought about running away?" I throw the idea out there, even though I know it to be impossible. No one gets out of this life. Not alive, anyway.
She chuckles at my question.
"Running away..." she snorts, amused. "Probably every day?" She angles her shoulders up in a lazy shrug. "It's certainly my fantasy. But I'm smart enough to know I have no way of getting too far. I'd need another identity, first of all, and the ability to move around unrecognizable. I've thought about it... so many times," she releases a sigh. "But I'd never be able to do it on my own. And if I did run away and my father caught me... let's just say some things are better left unsaid."
"You're very brave," I offer a sincere praise.
Over the years, I've seen many women succumb to the same fate as her. But there had been one major difference. They'd never fought it. My father had arranged a match for my sister the moment she turned eighteen. She'd been married off to a nobleman from Sicily. While he hadn't needed the money the match had brought to the table, he'd benefited from the connection with the aristocracy, which had ultimately given us more legitimacy in some regions.
Anna had been apprehensive about her marriage, since her husband-to-be had been at least a decade older than her. But she'd never once thought about defying our father. She didn't have Gianna's rebellious spirit, or her broad knowledge of the world.
She'd simply... settled. But was it really settling if it was all she'd ever known?
The same can't be said about Gianna, since Benedicto has been parading her in front of the New York high society since she reached her puberty, all in hopes of finding someone with enough resources to save his drowning businesses.
She's seen what the world has to offer, and she's learned how to think for herself. To take everything away from her and make her fit into an anachronistic mold is simply cruel.
And for a moment I feel grateful for my mission. Because once she's truly ruined she won't have any other choice than live her own life—for herself.
Her eyes widen at my praise, her brows shooting up as she looks at me with an incredulous expression on her face.
"What happened to spoiled, terrible, and whatever other names you used to call me?"
"It was the truth. For what you wanted me to see. Because that's what you want, don't you? For people to discount you as a spoiled bratty heiress."
"Easy, big guy," she laughs softly. "Let's not turn me into some kind of saint. I know my faults," she waves her hand dismissively.
"Why do you have to pretend, though? Why the mean persona?" I ask, trying to understand her better.
"Why indeed," she purses her lips. "Sometimes, the only way to survive amongst wolves is to learn to behave like one," she says quietly.
"You're quite the philosopher, aren't you, sunshine?"
Somehow, she keeps surprising me.
She turns to me, a silly grin on her face.
"Not really. Often, philosophy is just the idea of wisdom without the experience to back it up. In my case, I've experienced everything on my own skin."
Her smile dies, her upper lips twitching as her forehead creases in a frown.
"Never mind that," she takes my hand, pointing at my watch. "We need to get home fast. I've been thinking about that cake all day."
Her brother, Michele, turns thirteen today, and Benedicto had organized a mini bash for him and his schoolmates. And if we hurry, we might even get there before the party starts.
"Hmm, I know what type of cake I'd like, and I don't think our visions match," I wink at her.
"When are you not thinking about that," she giggles before leaning towards me to whisper. "If you behave, I might give you a kiss."
"It's a deal," I immediately exclaim, aiming to hold her to that.
As we'd slowly moved away from our arguments and the mutual dislike that seemed to lead our previous interactions, we realized we could get along. For days now, we've slowly slipped into a comfortable routine and we'd stopped antagonizing one another. In fact, we'd also had a discussion about our attraction and we'd agreed to take it slow and see what comes out of it. Certainly, that's going to make my mission much easier, and more enjoyable.
I don't think there's anything more satisfying than having a woman like Gianna come to me of her own accord, giving in to her desire because she wants to.
Because she wants me.
And for as long as this lasts, I aim to take advantage of it to the maximum. Fuck knows, I've already gotten used to being in her presence at all times, the thought of being without her inconceivable.
We quickly arrive at the house, the preparations for the party still ongoing, with staff hurrying from one corner of the house to the other to add last minute touches to the decorations.
"Damn, but Benedicto went wild with this one," I note the lavish ensemble—balloons, props, costumes and all types of role-play stations for the kids to play at.
"Not my father," Gianna purses her lips. "I spoke with my uncle to help organize everything. My father isn't very present in Michele's life, and the few times I tried to bring it up he ignored me," she explains, but is interrupted by a loud voice.
"Gigi!" A lanky boy runs down the stairs as he flings himself in her arms. He's almost as tall as Gianna, and from what I'd gathered, his growth spurt hasn't kicked in still. He might be the tallest in the family yet, given that Benedicto himself is a rather short man.
Black hair and eerily light amber eyes, Michele is a very pretty boy. He's definitely going to have a hard time fending off the girls when he grows up.
"There you are," she replies affectionately, threading her fingers through his thick locks. "This is your costume?" she asks, looking down at his clothes.
"Yes! Do you like it?" he takes a step back to show the entire costume. "It's from that popular superhero show," he continues to prattle, telling Gianna all about his favorite characters. She listens attentively, her hand still on his as her smile never wavers.
For a thirteen year old, Michele's past times might seem a little too childish, but he's not exactly a normal boy.
As a little boy he was diagnosed with leukemia and he's been in and out of hospitals for treatments. It wasn't until they found a miraculous donor that matched that he managed to beat cancer. But his immunity was compromised, and he's never been completely healthy, even something as little as a cold taking its toll on his body.
Safe to say, he's never had a normal childhood. And that's only from what I've heard.
What I'd witnessed, however, has only made me feel even sorrier for the lad.
Benedicto completely ignores him while Cosima, his step-mother, always finds ways to mistreat him to benefit her own son.
The only person in the family who seems to give a damn about him is Gianna, and sometimes I have the vague impression that she's taken it upon herself to be both a mother and a sister for him.
"I can't wait to meet your classmates," Gianna comments at some point, and Michele's smile falls.
"You think they'll come?" he asks in a small voice.
"Why wouldn't they? I'm sure they will all be here. I sent the invites myself," she winks at him, and he gives her a tremulous smile.
A while later, the party doesn't seem very promising. I sit in my corner, watching and observing everyone. Gianna is constantly on the move as she tries to ensure everything goes smoothly.
Michele's friends for school arrived as planned, but instead of hanging out with him, they abandoned him in favor of his brother. Not before laughing about his superhero suit, though, a conversation that I'd eavesdropped on and heard exactly how cruel his classmates had been.
Gianna hadn't been around to notice, mostly moving between the kitchen and the living room to make sure the food is served on time. And so while she'd been busy with the logistics of the party, I'd had to watch Michele get his heart broken by his friends as they all but laughed at him at his own birthday.
Even now, he's sitting in a corner, watching the others
talk about some new video games, but not daring to join the conversation.
Taking pity on the lad, I move from my corner, going to his side.
"They're not your friends, are they?" I ask, nodding to the small crowd occupying the living room, all surrounding his brother Rafaelo as he shows them how to pass a more difficult level.
"How did you notice?" He asks drily, but I note the disappointment in his tone, no matter how much he tries to hide it.
"They barely said two words to you. One didn't even know your name," I raise an eyebrow.
Closing his eyes, he sighs.
"They're not my friends. They are Raf's friends," he confesses.
"Why invite them then?"
He doesn't reply for a second, his shoulders squared.
"Gigi was so excited about planning the party that I didn't want to tell her," he starts, before continuing in a low voice, "that I don't have any friends."
"I don't buy that. Why would you not have any friends?"
He shrugs.
"They don't like me. They prefer Raf. Clearly," he adds sarcastically, looking at the small gathering with longing in his eyes.
"Have you tried to talk to them? You won't solve anything if you sulk in a corner."
"I'm not sulking."
"Yes, you are," I point out, and he frowns at me as if he doesn't understand what I mean.
"It's your party, Michele. You need to put yourself out there if you want to interact with people. What does Raf have that you don't?"
"I don't know," he sighs. "People always like him better. Everyone likes him better."
"I don't. Your sister doesn't."
He blinks slowly. "You don't?"
"I think you're pretty cool. You just need to be more confident and open and people will flock to you too," I give him a smile.
"I wish I could. But I don't know..." he continues to shake his head, as if he doesn't know what to do to change his circumstances.
"Go to them," I motion towards the others. "Go and make an effort. Who knows, you might be surprised too."
He seems to weigh my words for a moment, before nodding enthusiastically.
"You're right. Thank you," he gives me a quick smile before dashing towards the living room.
"I didn't know you had such a way with kids," a voice calls from behind me. Gianna comes to my side, carrying two plates of food. She hands me one before starting to eat from her own.
"Michele is already a young man. He should act like one," I grunt, a little peeved she'd overheard our conversation.
"He is, and he isn't," she says quietly, her eyes on the boys.
Michele is saying something to the crowd and we both wait, almost holding our breath, for the result. There is a tense moment where the boys seem to debate whether to accept him in their midst, but Raf pats his back affectionately, inviting him to play with them.
"He's not like the others," Gianna confesses with a sad smile. "I've tried to help him as much as I could, but the absence of a mother figure really affected him. After everything he went through," she shakes her head. "When kids his age were actually dressing up as superheroes, he was in the hospital, his head shaved, his arm hooked to IVs. He never got to go through the normal stages a kid would. And I fear it's marked him... irrevocably."
"You're good to him," I praise gently. "You heard what he said. He lied about his friends so he wouldn't upset you."
"He's a darling. That doesn't stop me from worrying about him. Especially since both my father and Cosima seem to forget he even exists."
We eat in silence as we watch them continue to play, Michele slowly becoming more integrated in their group.
"Thank you for what you said to him. He needed to hear that," she gives my hand a quick squeeze before heading back to the kitchen with the dishes.
It's not much later that Cosima makes an appearance. The timing, however, is completely off, as the boys are playing some kind of wrestling match.
Raf and Michele are enjoying themselves, simulating a fight but not actually hitting each other when Cosima bursts in the room. She takes one look at the scene in front of her before yelling at the top of her lungs for them to stop.
Without waiting, though, she dashes to Raf's side, wrenching him away from Michele.
Michele looks confused as he turns his gaze to his step-mother, trying to explain it wasn't serious.
"Haven't I told you? You don't touch him!" She yells at Michele before she slaps him—hard enough to throw him to the ground.
"What..." Gianna's voice rings out as she hurries to the scene.
"And you," Cosima turns to Gianna. "Who gave you permission for this? Was everyone just watching while this monster," she spits at Michele, "was hitting my son?"
"He wasn't hitting him. They were playing," Gianna tries to explain at the same time as Raf and Michele interject that they were, indeed playing.
"You might think it was a game," she berates her son, "but he didn't. He wants to hurt you, but I won't let him," she continues, pure malice dripping from her words.
Stopping the party, she orders Raf to go to his room before turning once more towards Michele.
Realizing she won't stop at just one slap, and that Gianna might not be able to deal with her alone, I intervene.
"Ma'am, you need to stand down," I say as I put myself between her, Gianna and Michele.
"You? Who do you think you are to tell me what to do? He was harming my son!" she yells at me.
"They were playing," I explained in an even tone.
"No! He's a monster and he isn't fit to touch a hair on my son's body. You hear me?" she points towards Michele, her eyes bulging in her head. "You stay the hell away from Rafaelo, or I will make sure you never see the light of the day again."
"Really, Cosima?" Gianna rolls her eyes at her. "You think you can order everyone around just because you spread your legs for my father every night?" She raises an eyebrow, and the insult hits its mark as Cosima becomes a red mottled mess of anger.
"Oh, this is just marvelous. Who's calling who a whore, Gianna? At least I spread my legs only for your father. Who knows how many have taken turns with you already," she retorts.
"Go to your room, Michele," I turn to the boy, urging him to leave so that he doesn't listen to the shitshow that's about to start. It never ends well when Cosima and Gianna start arguing, and Michele shouldn't hear what Cosima has to say about his sister.
"But..." his eyes drift to Gianna, and I see his quiet desire to defend her, even as he himself is a target for her malice.
"I got her. Go," I nod at him.
He looks me in the eye, man to man, and he nods, placing his trust in me.
"Take care of her," he whispers before running.
"Where the hell do you think you're going to?" Cosima screams when she sees him dash up the stairs.
The staff are all on the periphery, likely listening to everything that's happening, ready to gossip about it later.
But as Cosima makes to go after Michele, Gianna wraps her hand around her arm, stopping her.
"You have no right to touch my brother, witch. And if I hear you try anything with him, you're going to wish you were never born," she threatens.
"You? Your father will never believe you. But you know that already, don't you? That he doesn't care about you or that brat of your brother. He only cares about my Raf, which is why he's making him his heir."
"You're lying."
"I'm not," she replies smugly. "Ask him. Raf's the next capo, and he will make the most marvelous boss."
"Oh so you think that your son will protect you?" Gianna chuckles. "Make no mistake that if I hear you did anything to Michele, I'm coming for you."
"You and what army? Let's face it, dear. You're useless."
"But I'm not," I take a step forward, grabbing Gianna and pushing her behind me. "Gianna is my charge and as such it's my duty to protect her from those who mean her harm. I believe her father mentioned eliminating all targets." I stat
e, my expression serious.
"Is she a danger?" I turn to Gianna, asking.
"Hmm, she might be," she replies, feigning fear.
"OK," I reply, and already my hand is wrapped around Cosima's throat as I lift her in the air, putting enough pressure on her neck to make her gasp for breath.
"Gahh," she squeaks, eliciting a smile from Gianna.
"Not so tough are you now, Cosima?"
"Call... call off your pit bull," she spits, her eyes shooting daggers at me.
"I don't know. I feel that you're still a danger to me." Gianna replies and I tighten my hold over her neck.
She starts having trouble breathing, and flailing her arms to the side, she tries to get me off her.
"Apologize to Gianna and I'll let you go," I tell her, my expression leaving no room for compromise.
Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. Of course, I only continue to tighten my fingers until she screams out.
"I'm sorry!"
"What was that?" Gianna asks again, looking bored. "I don't think I can hear her from that height. Maybe if she was lower..." she drifts off and I immediately catch her meaning.
None too gently, I push Cosima to her knees in front of Gianna, my hand still on her throat as I keep her in place.
"Apologize," I prompt her.
She's trembling with a mix of fear and anger as she looks up at Gianna, but eventually she does say as directed.
"I'm sorry," she apologizes and Gianna smirks.
"Good," she nods at me to release her. "Now bear this in mind Cosima. The next time you mess with me, or with Michele, I won't ask him to let go." She leans closer to Cosima to whisper, "I'll ask him to squeeze tighter."
Eyes wide as two saucers, Cosima barely scrambles to her feet before dashing upstairs.
Gianna lingers a little longer as she instructs the staff to clean up the house and to pack the food.
Eventually, we both head upstairs.
Luckily, Gianna's room is a floor above Cosima's and the boys so the risk of running into her again is minimal. However, I am extremely surprised when we reach her door and instead of saying goodbye she tugs me inside her room.
Frivolous: A DARK MAFIA AGE-GAP ROMANCE Page 14