Chapter 59 The Morning After
GIOVANNI'S POV
The first thing I registered when consciousness dragged me back from the void was a splitting, vicious headache that felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my skull and then, for good measure, set the pieces on fire.
I groaned, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes, trying to block out the light that seemed determined to pierce directly through my brain.
That thought cut through the fog of misery. Why was there so much light?
I never left the curtains open. The darkness helped me think, so why…
I forced my eyes open, squinting against the assault of morning sunlight streaming through wide-open curtains, and froze.
Arya sat in the armchair by the window. She was not hovering or fidgeting.
But she was sitting there with her legs tucked under her, a book in her lap, bathed in golden morning light like some sort of Renaissance painting.
She looked up when I moved, and our eyes met across the room.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
My mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of last night. I remembered drinking and sending everyone away because I couldn't stand another second of Enzo's knowing looks or the staff's careful avoidance of my mood.
And I remembered... her. Standing in my office doorway like an answer to a question I hadn't known how to ask.
After that, everything went hazy.
"What…” My voice came out rough as gravel. I cleared my throat and tried again. "What are you doing here?"
"Good morning to you too," she said dryly, closing her book. "How's the head?"
"Splitting." I sat up slowly, holding the side of my head as I held back a groan. "Answer the question."
"You don't remember?" She arched her brow, and I caught the way she was trying to fight back a smile.
Dread coiled in my stomach. "Remember what?"
She stood, setting the book aside, and walked toward the bed.
She was wearing one of those oversized sweaters and her hair was loose around her shoulders.
There was something soft about the way she looked right now, and the sight of her sent an unwelcome jolt through my system.
"We had sex," she said, her voice completely flat and the words had my jaw hanging slack.
"What?”
My heart slammed against my ribs and I looked down at myself. My shirt was still on but unbuttoned and I frantically tried to recall anything that would confirm or deny…
Arya burst out laughing. The sound was so unexpected that I just stared at her.
"Your face," she managed between laughs, pressing a hand to her stomach. "Oh my God, your face! You should see yourself right now."
I let out an audible sigh and relaxed against the bed. "That's not funny.”
"It's a little funny." She wiped at her eyes, still grinning. "We didn't have sex, Giovanni. You passed out before anything remotely interesting could happen. Trust me."
I exhaled slowly, willing my racing heart to calm down. "Then what happened?"
Her smile faded, replaced by something more guarded. "You talked. A lot."
Ice flooded my veins. "About what?"
"Oh, you know." She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she was trying to solve. "Your feelings and how sorry you are for everything." She paused. "Ring any bells?"
Fragments surfaced of her wrist in my hand, the desperate need to make her stay, and words tumbling out that I'd spent years keeping locked away.
Fuck.
I cleared my throat before speaking. "Arya."
"Don't." She held up a hand, cutting me off. "Whatever you're about to say, I don't want to hear it. You were drunk and people say things they don't mean when they're drunk. Let's just... forget it happened."
But there was something cold and distant in her eyes that I had never seen before.
Before I could understand what it meant, she turned to leave.
I don't know what possessed me, maybe the lingering alcohol in my system, or the panic at seeing her walk away with that look on her face but I moved.
I was out of bed and across the room before I had consciously decided to move, my hand closing around her arm.
"Wait!"
She spun, off-balance, and I caught her before she could fall. My arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against my chest to steady her.
For one brief, devastating moment, we were pressed together, her hands braced against my shoulders and her face was inches from mine.
Her scent surrounded me and it was something floral and clean that cut through the fog in my head with painful clarity.
"Let go," she said quietly.
"Arya, listen."
"I said let go." Her voice was harder now. "I acted nice yesterday because you were pathetic and drunk. Don't mistake it for anything else. It won't happen again."
She pushed against my chest, and I released her immediately.
She stepped back, smoothing down her sweater, and met my eyes with that same emotionless expression. "This changes nothing, Giovanni. You're still the man who kidnapped me and threatened my sister.”
"I know-”
"Do you?" She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I don't think you do but it doesn't matter. Keep your drunken confessions because I don't want them."
She turned and walked out, closing the door behind her with careful precision.
I stood there in the middle of my room, staring at the closed door.
That look in her eyes was worse than her anger or defiance.
It felt like giving up and I hated it.
An hour later, showered and dressed in a fresh suit that did nothing to improve my mood, I found Enzo in the security room, reviewing footage on multiple screens.
"Morning, sunshine," he said with a grin. "You look like hell."
"Feel like it too." I poured myself a coffee from the pot he was brewing. "What did I miss?"
He smirked, finally turning to face me. "We've got intel on that new family moving into the docks and they're planning on going to the Rossi masquerade next week."
I nodded, only half-listening. My mind was still stuck on Arya's face and that terrible emptiness in her eyes.
"Gio."
I blinked. "What?"
"You're not listening." Enzo leaned back in his chair, studying me with that knowing look I had grown to hate. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit." He crossed his arms. "You've been staring at that coffee cup for two minutes, talk to me."
I set down the cup and for a moment, I considered brushing him off, telling him to mind his own business.
But Enzo had been with me since we were teenagers, learning how to survive in a world that wanted us dead. If anyone had earned the right to call me on my shit, it was him.
"It's Arya," I said finally.
"What about her?"
"She looked at me this morning like I was nothing.” The words tasted bitter. "And I don't know why that bothers me so much, but it does."
Enzo was quiet for a long moment, then he spoke. “Maybe because you know you deserve it."
I looked at him sharply. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He met my gaze without flinching. "Look, I get it. Robert Vitale is a bastard who's made your lives hell. But Arya?" He shook his head. "The only crime she committed was being born as his daughter. She didn't choose any of this. You did."
Something unfamiliar twisted in my chest. "I had reasons for doing this, Enzo.”
"I know your reasons but it doesn't make it right." He paused. "You want my advice?"
I huffed and rolled my eyes. "Do I have a choice?"
"Apologize, tell her you're sorry and mean it."
The suggestion sat heavy in the air between us.
I thought about going to Arya, looking her in the eye, and admitting that I had been wrong.
But then I thought about my father's face as the Vitales' men dragged him away and my mother's screams.
Even the years I had spent building this empire brick by bloody brick with one goal in mind:
destroy Robert Vitale and everything he loved.
Arya was part of that plan and I couldn't let feelings or whatever the fuck these feelings were derail everything I'd worked for.
"No," I said finally. "We focus on the masquerade party and solving this problem with those rats. That's what matters."
Enzo looked at me for a long moment, but he didn't argue. He just nodded and turned back to his screen.
"Your call, boss."
I nodded and walked out, ignoring the weight of his gaze on my back.
My goal had always been clear from the beginning and I wasn't going to change that plan.
Not even for the girl with green eyes who'd looked at me this morning like I had finally broken her.
“This is what you wanted.” I told myself as I headed to my office. “This is what it takes to win.”
But for the first time in years, winning felt a lot like losing and I had no fucking idea what to do about it.
Do you think Giovanni will regret not apologizing…or double down and make it worse?
Predict it 👇😈