CHAPTER FOUR: WINTER
BreakfastintheCosta mansion after murder is always a treat.
It includes one mafia boss completely ignoring me as he taps away on his phone, one stack of really good pancakes and enough tension to strangling me.
But someone finally got that bitter orange juice off my breakfast menu- instead, there’s a sweet cup of apple juice -so I guess I should just take the win. No matter how small.
As if he’s heard my thoughts and looking to ruin my moment, Giovanni looks up from his phone with a scowl on his face.
On instinct, my spine straightens and I sit up, my shoulders tight.
His dark gaze roams over me, his jaw remaining clenched. I almost expect to hear his teeth crack from the pressure. It feels like I'm holding my breath as he continues to inspect me.
After a second his lips thin out and he turns his attention back to his phone. He hasn't touched his food. The chef, Donna, always brings him fluffy pancakes that look even better than my flat ones, but he rarely eats them all. He basically picks over the food, most of the time with his nose turned up, as if the course isn't up to his standards.
Which is crazy, considering it's the best food I've ever had. Hands down.
Which I guess isn't hard to achieve when most of my life has been spent eating scraps left over in the fridge or cheap, manufactured fast food.
When Giovanni's gaze draws back up to me, I quickly look back down at my plate. I move my eggs around with my fork, trying to ignore the pressure of his gaze on me.
He hasn't said anything to me about the shooting, but there's been thick tension in the air. Even Enzo, who's hovering behind me against the wall, seems to be walking on pins and needles around Giovanni this morning. Giovanni usually sits in the seat next to mine, but he's sitting directly across from me today.
The seating arrangement makes it feel like I'm under greater scrutiny than usual.
I shift in my seat, the eggs suddenly tasteless as I force them into my mouth. Giocvani’s eyes follow the movement, his gaze resting upon my lips. My chest feels tight as his gaze continues to linger and discomfort settles into my stomach.
What is it? Why won't he go ahead with whatever interrogation or berating he has planned? Why is he making me wait?
But I already know the answer: he wants me to suffer.
The longer I sit here and wait for him to speak, the more anxious I become. Because I know no matter how breakfast starts, it won't end peacefully. It never does. Giovanni will choke the shit out of me, or maybe Maximo will come in and torture me with a verbal attack accompanied by a cunning smile. A reminder that he isn't done with me, he's just waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack.
Again.
Phantom pain rings through my knees, and visions of the stock room assault me.Visions of Maximo forcing himself on me in the alley crack through my body, the taste, the sight, the smell, the sounds, the… feel. My chest tightens and breathing becomes a conscious effort.
Giovanni's gaze is still burning a fucking hole into the top of my head as I stare downward.
The door creaks open and I go still.
It’d be a cruel joke for Maximo to appear…as if I’ve conjured him up with my thoughts.
My head snaps up, finding Vito entering the room. The tension eases from my shoulders. He's wearing a suit that's pressed to perfection and there isn't a single brown strand of hair out of place on his head. His gait is strong and confident. His gaze sweeps over me briefly and he gives me a minute nod before moving over to the vacant seat next to Giovanni.
I relax slightly as I watch him settle in, my breaths a little easier.
He looks up, his eyes meeting mine and a soft smile crosses his lips. And this time my breaths stagger for a completely different reason.
A stupid reason.
A reason that takes me back to the brief moment I lost my sanity and allowed Vito to touch me, with his hands, his fingers... his lips.
My face burns and I turn my gaze away from Vito, looking right back at Giovanni, his gaze already hot on mine. He was there that night, lingering in the doorway and watching as Vito made me come until I passed out. It'd simultaneously been one of the most embarrassing and hottest moments of my life. And I hate myself for it.
What happened with Maximo was done without my consent, I hadn't wanted it.
But with Vito, I craved it.