Page 6 of The Bonventi War

He stops in front of me, towering and intimidating. My eyes trace the sharp lines of his jaw, the intensity in his green eyes. I hate to admit it, but he's undeniably attractive in that terrifying sort of way. Like admiring a beautiful, poisonous snake.

Those green eyes of his look me up and down, and I feel stripped bare despite being fully clothed. I also feel like I need to tell him that I could have handled things myself. I'm no damsel in distress.

"Thank you," I say, hating how breathy my voice sounds as my heart beats against my ribcage.

I clear my throat and add more firmly, "But I could have handled him myself."

He gives me a smirk, clearly amused by my statement. His green eyes continue to pierce into me. "Could you now?"

"Yes," I snap, irritation flaring as my fight-or-flight emotions kick in. "I don't need someone swooping in to save me. I've been dealing with entitled assholes like that my entire career," I say, pointing to the door.

The man looks over his shoulder, following my finger, and then back at me. "Is that so?"

"Yes," I insist, straightening my spine. "Unfortunately, lots of his type in the art world, which I suppose you're a part of as well since you're here—so how can I help you?"

"I'm not here because I'm interested in art."

"Okay," I say with a long pause. "Look, I appreciate what you did, but I'm fine now. You can go."

He doesn't move. Instead, he takes a step closer, and I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.

"I'm not going anywhere just yet. I came here for a reason."

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow. "And what might that be?"

"I'm looking for someone," he says. "Ravenna Carvello."

My breath catches in my throat.

There's no reason someone who looks like him should be looking for someone like me.

"Who wants to know?" I say, trying to act calm.

He gives me a dark smile. "My name is Gio Bonventi."

That's when it hits me. The recognition slams into me like a physical blow. Suddenly, I remember where I've seen him before. Images flash through my mind—newspapers, internet articles, short news clips.

This is the man who killed Johnny.

Granted, it was because he tried to kill Gio's brother, Marco Bonventi, but still. I don't want to be a part of any of it. And why the fuck is he here?

I feel my stomach instantly turn to ice. He has to leave.

"I think you should go."

Gio looks at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing, and then I see his gaze relax.

"It's you, isn't it? You know, I thought from the images, but that was before you left. What, five—six years ago?"

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

"Does it matter?" I snap, my voice barely containing my rising fury. "We're done here. I've told the police all I know, which is nothing, and no, I don't know where my dad is. So please, get the hell out of here and just leave me alone."

I turn around and walk briskly to the front desk, needing to get away. My heels click loudly on the tile as I walk. I clench myhands into fists, trying to hide the slight shake. I'm not sure if it's from genuine fear, nerves, or adrenaline.

"Wait, your dad?" Gio's voice carries a hint of surprise, and I hear his footsteps following close behind me.

Shit. He's not leaving. What do I do?