Chapter 42 The Kiss
GIOVANNI’S POV
“Ah, Giovanni.” Riccardo chuckled, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Is she yours? I had no idea.”
I stared at Riccardo, my hands clenched into fists at my sides as I fought the urge to wrap them around his throat.
"I don't know what you think you're doing," I said. "But if you come near my wife again, I will personally ensure you regret it."
Riccardo had the audacity to smirk. "Come now, Giovanni. I was just being friendly. She's a beautiful woman. Surely you can't expect every man at the party to ignore-"
"I expect every man at this party to keep their fucking hands to themselves," I interrupted. "Especially you, Riccardo. Don’t think I didn’t hear about what happened at the mall."
His smirk faltered slightly.
"That was just a misunderstanding," he said, "I saw her in the lingerie section and I was simply offering fashion advice. Nothing inappropriate about…"
My vision went red.
Matteo had called me immediately after the incident, explaining how Riccardo had cornered Arya in the lingerie section.
But hearing this piece of shit describe what my wife had been shopping for with that leering tone in his voice.
I moved before my brain could catch up, getting right in Riccardo's face. My voice dropped to barely above a whisper.
"Listen to me very carefully," I said. "You stay away from her. You don't talk to her, don’t even fucking look at her. Because if I find out you've so much as breathed in her direction again, I won't kill you quickly. I'll take my time. I'll make sure you understand exactly what happens to men who touch things that belong to me. Capisce?"
The color drained from Riccardo's face. "Giovanni, I didn't mean… I was just-"
"Are we clear?" I ground out.
"Yes," he stammered. "Yes, we're clear."
I turned away from him, done with the conversation, and grabbed Arya's wrist. "We're leaving."
"What? Giovanni, let go-" She tried to pull away, her free hand slapping at my wrist. "You can't just drag me around like a rag doll!"
I didn't stop walking. If I stayed here one more second, I was going to do something that would start a war. It was better to get us both out, before my control snapped completely.
The moment we were outside, ans away from prying eyes and curious ears, I whirled on her.
"What the hell were you thinking?" I demanded.
Arya's eyes went wide with indignation. "Excuse me? What was I thinking? I was standing there drinking champagne when that creep came up to me! How is this my fault?"
But it was her fault. Not the creep approaching her, that was on him, and he'd pay for it, but the fact that every man at that party had been staring at her from the moment we'd arrived.
The fact that she looked so goddamn beautiful in that emerald dress that I'd spent the entire evening fighting the urge to gouge out the eyes of every male who'd let his gaze linger too long.
My eyes raked over her now, taking in the way the dress hugged every curve, the way the neckline drew attention to her cleavage.
She looked stunning and completely unaware of the effect she had.
"That dress…" I started, moving closer.
"What about my dress?" She stepped forward too, not backing down despite the fury that must have been written all over my face. "You don't like it? Too bad. I picked it because you said to look nice for your stupid event. But apparently, that's a problem too."
Her eyes were blazing, her chin lifted in defiance. That fire made something in my brain short-circuit.
"Fuck it," I muttered.
I grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her.
For a split second, she froze. Then she was pushing against my chest, breaking the kiss, and staring at me with wide eyes.
I stood there, my chest heaving, wondering what the hell I'd just done. I'd crossed a line and broken my own rules about control and strategy and keeping emotion out of business decisions.
But then Arya gasped and whispered. "Damn you, Giovanni De Santis."
Before I could process what was happening, she grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me down, crashing her lips against mine.
I groaned and threaded my fingers through her hair, careful not to dislodge the pins holding it up but needing to touch her.
The kiss was everything I had imagined and nothing like I'd expected.
She tasted like champagne and something sweet, and the small sound she made when I deepened the kiss, caused heat to pool low in my belly.
I had known about Arya Vitale long before I'd ever met her but the warmth of her body pressed against mine, and the softness of her lips was so much more than any fantasy I'd constructed.
"Damn you," I muttered against her mouth, then moved to kiss along her jaw, down to the sensitive spot on her neck that made her gasp. "Damn you, Arya."
She tilted her head back, giving me better access, and I took advantage, pressing kisses along the column of her throat.
One hand was still in her hair, the other had found the small of her back, pulling her closer until there was no space between us.
"This is… oh god, Gio. We shouldn't-" she started, but her words dissolved into another gasp as I found that spot just below her ear.
"I know," I said against her skin. "I know we shouldn't."
But I couldn’t stop. All the years of careful control and keeping my emotions locked away where they couldn't be used against me was unraveling in the moonlight outside a vineyard with Arya Vitale in my arms.
No. She wasn’t Arya Vitale anymore. She was Arya De Santis.
My wife… mine.
The possessiveness that crashed over me at that thought should have scared me.
It should have been a warning sign that I was getting too emotionally attached in what was supposed to be a business arrangement.
But all I could think about was how right she felt against me. And how she was kissing me back with the same desperate intensity I felt.
Yet most of all, how this dangerous moment was worth whatever complications it would cause later.