Page 27

TWENTY-SEVEN

giovanni

I ’m hiding in my office again. Hiding from her, and her beautiful gaze, constantly turned towards me as though she’s waiting for something. I’m hiding from having to deal with the hurt in her eyes every time I turn my back on her.

My desperation is getting worse by the day. The estate is in lock down, but this can’t be a long-term thing. We can’t live like this.

And my fears are eating me alive.

I’ve never felt fear like this - a genuine, undeniable fear that my life is in serious danger.

Ever since the day I took over from my father, there was always a threat, a constant knowing that any moment could be my last. But along with that threat I felt the respect of my allies, the trust of my business partners and friends - I felt powerful and in control of the word around me - and with that power I had a sense of security.

Right now, that control is gone. I’m in a defensive position for the first time ever, when I’ve only ever played offense.

I sigh loudly, picking up my whisky and taking a slow sip.

It’s past midnight. Another sleepless night, fighting the urge to reach out to her while she shifts closer to me in the bed - another sleepless night wondering if she’s the one trying to kill me.

Santino knocks lightly on my office door, walking in and sitting down opposite me at my desk. I push the bottle of whisky towards him, and an empty glass.

Silently, he pours himself a drink, leaning back in the chair and swirling the golden liquid in the glass.

“How are you doing?” he asks, without looking up.

I wonder how to answer him.

But all I can think of is that I can’t lie anymore. I’ve been trying to stay strong for my sons, but I need someone to confide in.

“I’ve never felt this lost in my life.” I mutter.

“We’ve been under attack before. We always came out fine.” He tries to reassure me.

“This is different, Santino.” I say with regret.

“How?” he looks up at me, his brows knotting.

“This is a lot more personal. In the past - people have come after my business, my clients, my products - this is—” my words trail off.

“What?” He demands, his body tensing.

“I think someone is trying to kill me.”

“Dad—”

“I’m serious. I’ve been going over and over everything in my mind. They’ve made no demands for money, no demands for territory or power. This is personal. It’s about me. They want me dead.”

Santino closes his eyes for a moment and brushes his hand through his hair.

I should tell him everything. He deserves to know.

“At my wedding - they sent a bomb.” I say, feeling the weight of my confession as it lifts slightly off my shoulders. A burden I no longer have to carry along.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, disappointed that I didn’t trust him with this earlier. But it wasn’t about trust.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Dad, we’re in this together.”

I nod.

“Did they get the bomb into the estate?”

“Yes, but it was picked up by one of the scanners - and we got rid of it before any harm could be done.”

Santino is thoughtful for a moment.

“It is a very personal thing - to send a bomb to a wedding. If this was about business, it would be a bomb at one of the warehouses, not at your home.”

I nod again - he understands.

“Someone is trying to kill me.” I sigh, accepting the truth.

Santino sets his empty glass down on the desk. He leans forward and looks at me with an intense stare.

Narrowing his eyes, he asks. “Are you sure it isn’t your queen?”

I open my mouth to defend her, but nothing comes out. No words spring to my lips, no denial, no eagerness to convince my son he’s wrong.

I don’t know anymore.

Santino stands up. He places his hand on the desk, leaning forward, looking down he quietly says. “I think you just answered me. Your silence says more than your words.”

He walks away and I stare through the empty door into the dark hallway beyond it. When did he get so wise?

With a heavy heart I walk to my bedroom, to where Zina is lying in my bed, fast asleep. The woman I openly invited into my heart.

She’s lying on her side, facing where I would be lying, her hand stretched out to touch my pillow. Her face is sweet, doll like and innocent. Her luscious lips are parted as she breathes softly. Her hair, dark and silky, is spread out over her pillow in waves that frame her face.

My heart aches, because I love her.

The blankets have slipped down, off her shoulders, they are knotted around her legs as though she has been restless in her sleep. She isn’t wearing anything and my eyes trace over her gorgeous breasts, the delicate curve of her waist - my cock stirs as I watch her. I am a voyeur, secretly admiring her beauty.

Day after day I want to pull her close to me and brush my hands over her body. I want to kiss those perfect lips and thread my fingers through her hair. I want to hold her, and whisper to her - telling her how special she is.

But I can’t.

There are things blocking me from allowing myself to express anything towards her but silent distrust.

The suspicions I have are too intense to ignore.

Everything I tell her, every moment I share with her is a risk I’m too wary to take.

She is my weakness. She always has been.

I’m terrified that everyone was right all along. That I should never have let her into my life again.

Lifting the blankets I quietly climb into bed, stretching my legs out I lie closer to her than I should. The heat from her skin reaches towards me and I continue to watch her, my cock growing harder, my tension rising.

When I can’t take it anymore I turn my back on her, aching to be with her, but refusing to let her manipulate me, even in sleep - she has power over me.

Closing my eyes I eventually drift off to sleep but my dreams are horrible.

Hands reach out to grab me in the dark, dragging me away from my sons, away from my home. Her lips curve into a smile, wicked and beautiful.

* * *

I wake up with a jolt.

It feels like I was asleep for a few minutes, my eyes are burning with tiredness, but sunshine is streaming in through the bedroom windows indicating that hours have slipped past.

Zina is no longer lying next to me, the sheets on her side are cold when I reach out to touch them. She’s been up for a while.

I groan and roll over, pressing my face into the pillow and wishing for a few more hours of rest. When I throw the blankets off and swing my legs over the side of the bed, my body is heavy with exhaustion.

“I made you some coffee.” She says, smiling gently as she walks towards me, carrying a tray. The white silk robe is tied around her waist, but it flares open when she walks, hinting at her beauty beneath the fabric.

“Thanks.” I grumble.

She puts the tray on my nightstand and sits down on the bed next to me. She shifts closer and hesitates for a second before she takes my hand, threading her fingers through mine. “Gio, I know things aren’t easy right now. I know you’re worried about - about everything.”

My eyes study her face, wishing I could kiss her.

“I’m here for you.” She sighs. “Whenever you need me. I’ll be at your side, Giovanni.”

I nod. What do I say? I can’t say anything.

My fingers tighten around hers unconsciously. My body wants her. Every cell of my being wants her - but my mind is not allowing it.

I pull my hand away and glance at her. She looks hurt. Rejected.

Zina stands up and smiles at me again. “I love you. Please don’t ever forget that.” She whispers, then leaves me to have my coffee.

It smells dark and rich and delicious.

And I can’t drink it.

I can’t drink it because I don’t trust her. How did things go so wrong in my life that when my own wife, the woman I love, brings me a cup of coffee in the morning - my first thought is that it might be poisoned?

I try to argue with myself, to tell myself I’m being pathetic - but it doesn’t change the suspicion.

And that makes me furious.

Anger fills my body and erupts from me like a volcano. I pick up the mug of coffee and fling it with all my strength.

It flies across the bedroom, spraying dark liquid as it spin, until it shatters against the wall next to the door.

My heart is racing, and my hands shake with the adrenalin coursing through me.

I can’t live like this.

I can’t hate her.

And I can’t love her.

I can’t have her.

And I can’t be without her.