CHAPTER FIVE

GIANNA’S POV 

     I swallowed hard on my silver, invisible sweat trickling down my neck as I settled into my seat.

     He hasn’t stopped watching me. Not once. His stare pierces through the candlelit distance, silent and scorching. I feel his gaze like a second skin, every move I make under his scrutiny. When I cut into my food, I swear I feel the weight of that night pressing down on my shoulders.

     Enzo Moretti. I can’t believe I lost my virginity to the most feared and talked about man in America.

     And now, he sits at the head of this cursed table as my father-in-law.

     He hasn’t said much. Not directly to me. He lets the man he came with do all the talking, his words sharp and biting. He asks me about my education, my etiquette on how I view the mafia, and my ability to manage a household. I barely hear him, my thoughts still are on the man still watching me. And my grip on reality begins to slip away.

     My shoulders ache from the tension. I hold the fork with white-knuckled control like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. I stare at my plate, pretending to be absorbed, though the food sits untouched.

     Still, I glance up.

     And he’s already looking at me.

     That same unreadable expression, calm, composed and certain.

     He knew. The bastard one hundred percent remembers.

     My stomach coils, not just with humiliation, but with rage, shame and want. A war of emotions erupts beneath the surface and I feel stupid for feeling anything.

     I want to scream. To throw this wine glass straight into his smug face. I know he is enjoying this. 

     Stay calm, Gianna. Breath.

     The red silk of my dress clings tighter as I shift uncomfortably. I feel exposed just like I did the other night. Does he remember how he pulled me into the hotel suit like I weighed nothing? The way his mouth claimed mine without question, the way he kept rasping sweet words in my ear like I belonged to him.

     As if reading my thoughts, his eyes flicker to the curve of my chest as I breathe hard ….

     I choke on my wine.

     My father pauses mid-sentence, narrowing his eyes. “Are you alright?”

     I nod too fast. “Went down wrong,” I rasp, settling the glass down with trembling fingers. I feel his gaze simmer with amusement, and I swear, if he smirks again, I won’t be able to help leaving dinner.

    Dinner drags on in waves of clinking glasses and shallow conversation. The staff moves around the table, clearing the plate I never touched. Dessert is offered, I don’t even look at it. I’m drowning in silence that no one notices but only he seems to hear.

     I focus my gaze on the glass of wine in front of him, away from his burning gaze.

     It’s only when the sip of the win passes my lips that his voice slices through the tension.

     “Gianna,” he says casually like he hasn’t been mentally undressing me all night. “A  word?”

     My pulse spikes, hot, fast and wild. I glanced around. My father is deep in conversation with the other man, both too distracted to notice the way the air has shifted around me. 

     I rise on shaky legs.

     He leads us down the hallway, his footsteps a steady rhythm against the marble floor, with me trailing behind him. We stop near a wide window with me now walking beside him. Moonlight spills in, illuminating the hard lines of his jaw and the sharp edge of his tailored suit. 

     He turns to face me, and for a second, just stares. The silence screaming between us.

    “If you’re going to lecture me,” I muttered, folding my arms to shield my trembling chest, “make it quick,”

     His brows arch. “Lecture you?”

    “About the dress and the fact that I’m still breathing in your presence.”

     A ghost of a smile appears on his face. “I was going to say... red suits you.”

     The words hit me hard. 

     He steps forward, and my back meets the cold wall behind me. My breath catches in my throat.

     “You didn’t know,” he said softly.

      I force myself to speak. “Didn’t know what?”

     “It looks like Lorenzo didn’t inform you about who you are marrying. The family you are marrying into.”

     My lips part but no sound comes out.

    “I didn’t know either,” he adds, jaw clenching. “Zeno didn’t inform me sooner about your father reaching out to him about this proposal. I was still saying no.”

     I blink. “Then why are you here?”

     “Because your father wouldn’t back down,” he says, voice tightening. “He pushed. Said this was the only way to pay up his debt and also offered to give me the East Coast. So I agreed.”

     The words echo into my skull, making me furious, he saw me as a tool to get what he wanted. 

     As if sensing the war of thoughts going on in my head, he steps back, giving me space, but the air between us remains thick, humming with more unsaid words.

    “Why didn’t you say a word during dinner?” I whisper.

    “I wanted to see if it was you. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. And God I wish I didn’t.”

     Not waiting for a reply from me, he adds with a cold, distant voice.

    “I spoke to your father again this morning,” he says. We agreed on a temporary arrangement before the wedding.”

     I don’t like the way his tone deepened as he said those words, because it already feels like a bad agreement. 

     With the weight in my throat, I asked. “What arrangement?”

     “You’ll stay at the Moretti estate before your marriage with my son. Get acquainted.”

     My hands curl into fists. “You’re not serious.”

     His gaze hardens. “Gianna, do I look like I play games? No. So I’m dead serious.”

     I freeze dead in my spot staring at him with wide eyes as the panic rises fast. Like I’m drowning in shallow waters and no one is coming to save me.

     My jaw clenched. “What if I say no?” I hissed the words through clenched teeth.

     He doesn’t hesitate. “You won’t. I will be leaving this evening. Enzo will come pick you up in the morning .”

     His final words were filled with certainty. He turns and walks away, the echoes of his steps filling through the hallway.

     I stand there, frozen. Heart racing. Stomach twisting

     Tomorrow, I accept my fate and walk willingly into the lion's den.