ALESSIA
I lay on the concrete trying to catch my breath. I had not seen this night ending like this. By now, I should be on my way to my house. Following my usual routine of taking a shower and wearing a comfy nightdress then a night call before going to sleep.
When I woke up this morning, I didn't see tonight ending like this.The gunshot stops, plunging the night into silence and darkness courtesy of the man pressed to me.
Giovanni.
Tall, dark and handsome. Recipe for trouble. But something about him had made me think of stormy nights and beds in front of the fire.His eyes had made me shiver as if my body had been cold for so long and was now near an open fire.
I've never been so strongly attracted to anyone in my life before. And now even while our life was in danger, all I could think of was how good he smelled.Like dark chocolate and sex on silk sheets.
"Alessia! Bella!" Giovanni's urgent whisper jolts me, his hands shaking my shoulders gently. I must have gone into shock.
"Are you okay?" His concern is palpable.
"Who's yelling at us?" I whisper back, disoriented.
Giovanni lifts his head slightly, scanning the area for any signs of the shooter.
"Shouldn't we call the police?" I suggest a sudden chill creeping over me. Shock is setting in.
Giovanni's gaze meets mine, and I shiver involuntarily. "Cold, Bella?"
"Yes," I admit, feeling the cold seep into my bones.
I remember how he had shielded me from harm, plunging on top of me and pushing us to safety. His hand had cradled me, softening the impact and potentially saving me from serious injury."How's your hand?" I ask, concern evident in my voice as I worry about his well-being.
He offers me an arrogant grin, his hand tightening around mine reassuringly. "It's alright, Bella. I'm fine."
"Should we call the police?" I repeat, the chill of shock still gripping me.
Giovanni's frown deepens, and then he presses closer to me, sharing his warmth. His chest presses against mine, his long, sturdy legs covering mine. His body heat envelops me, and I find myself sighing, instinctively seeking comfort in his proximity.
"Careful, Bella, I'm just a man," he groans softly, his voice sending a shiver down my spine.
My cheeks flush as I feel his body respond to our closeness, and I mentally scold myself for the inappropriate reaction. This man may be dangerous, quite possibly the reason someone is shooting at us, yet all I can think about is being close to him.
Suddenly, a gunshot rings out followed by a thud—a body hitting the ground.
"Finally," Giovanni mutters, moving to stand up. "Did you get the bastard, Vittorio?"
"Yes, boss," Vittorio's voice confirms from across the yard.
Giovanni extends his hand to help me up. "You okay, Bella?"
I nod, feeling a warmth spread through me at the endearment. It's the first time he's used such a term of affection for me. Does he think I'm beautiful?
Grateful for the cover of darkness concealing my blushing cheeks, I reach into my bag to retrieve my phone, but Giovanni's hand stops me, covering mine protectively.
"No need Bella, we have it covered," Giovanni assures.
That was when I noticed the warm liquid dropping on my hand, "oh no. You're injured." I shout then grip his hand and then it backwards to get a look at the injury. He had gotten it to protect me. I feel responsible for his pain. "I'm so sorry Giovanni,"
Giovanni's chuckle rumbles softly, his hand lifting my chin gently, compelling me to meet his gaze. "I'm not. I got it in exchange for your life. It's just a little pain that will fade eventually."
I feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I quickly blink them away. "Thank you for saving my life. I won't forget."
We share a silent moment, locked in each other's gaze, our unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Time seems to stand still, our connection unbroken.
"Boss, come take a look," Vittorio's voice interrupts, pulling Giovanni's attention away.
My grip tightens on Giovanni's arm instinctively, not wanting him to leave my side. I bite my lip, searching for a way to convey my reluctance. Giovanni notices my distress and chuckles softly, his thumb and forefinger gently prying my lips apart. With a tender touch, he massages away the tension.
"Don't do that again," he orders, his tone gentle yet firm. I glare at him defiantly, refusing to be ordered around just because he saved my life.
"It makes me wonder what your lips taste like," he confesses, catching me off guard.
"Come on," he urges, tugging me along to where Vittorio stands.
"Boss, he doesn't look familiar. I've never seen him before," Vittorio reports.
"Hmm," Giovanni grunts in response, his gaze fixed on the lifeless body before us.
I turn to face the man on the ground and instantly recognize him. Shit!
"I think I've seen him hanging around this evening," I confess, nervously biting my lower lip. "But I'm not sure."
Giovanni's surprised gaze meets mine. "He was after you?"
"That makes sense," Vittorio chimes in. "Nobody should know where you are right now. We didn't even tell Lucia."
"I think so," I reply, latching onto the name. They've mentioned Lucia twice now. Was she Giovanni's partner? And why am I feeling a twinge of jealousy? I barely even know the man.
Giovanni remains silent, his thoughts evident in the furrow of his brow.
"Vittorio, call the cleanup crew. Let's get rid of this evidence," Giovanni orders.
"Yes, boss," Vittorio responds, already dialing a number on his phone.
"Why can't we just call the cops? We didn't do anything wrong; it was self-defense," I
argue, trying to reason with Giovanni.
"There's no time. If the police arrive, they'll detain us. And if they do, there's no guarantee it won't be easier for the people plotting to kill you," Giovanni explains.
"But..."
"You're coming home with me. There's a chance there are more of them out there. If he knows where you hold your meetings, they could be waiting for you at your home," Giovanni outlines the grim reality.
I instinctively take a step back. As attractive as Giovanni may be, I can sense the danger radiating from him.
"I'd rather go home," I assert firmly.
"Not good enough. I won't have your death on my conscience," Giovanni asserts, his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of remorse. "There's already enough blood on my hands."
"Giovanni..."
"Do you know why these men are after you?" he probes.
"No, of course not," I object adamantly.
"Have you offended anyone?" he persists, his gaze searching.
Again, I shake my head in denial. "I want to go home, Giovanni," I insist.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible," he replies sternly. "You're coming home with me."
"Boss?" Vittorio interjects, mirroring my surprise. "You want to bring her home?"
"Yes. Is there a problem?" Giovanni's tone turns icy, devoid of his earlier playfulness.
"No, boss," Vittorio replies quickly, sensing Giovanni's seriousness.
"Who are you to dictate where I can or cannot go?" I retort, pulling away from his grip.
Ignoring my protests, Giovanni instructs Vittorio to prepare a spare room for me, his demeanor unwavering.
"Is it going to be the hard way or the soft way?" he teases, his smirk returning.
"I'm not going with you. I'll call the police," I declare defiantly.
"I can help you find out who's behind this attack and keep you safe," Giovanni offers with a faint smile. "But you're coming with me."
"Who are you to dictate my actions?" I challenge myself, backing away until I hit my car.
"Who are you?" I demand, meeting his intense gaze.
Giovanni chuckles bitterly, his hand cupping my cheeks. "Ah, Bella, I never intended for you to find out. I'm Moretti, Giovanni Moretti."
Instantly, I freeze. Moretti—the mafia don in charge of the territory to the west. A mafia don. My fears about the assassin were justified—it's all Giovanni's doing.
"I still refuse to go with you," I declare defiantly, lifting my chin in defiance.
But as I see the glint in Giovanni's eyes, I realize I've made a grave mistake. I'm in trouble.