Chapter 75 Nightmare
GIOVANNI’S POV
I watched Arya flip the coin with an intensity that was probably excessive for a simple game, but something about seeing her like this made warmth spread through my chest.
The coin spun in the air, catching the cabin lights, and landed on the table between us.
Tails.
Her face fell immediately. "No. No, that's… flip it again."
"That's not how coin tosses work, dolcezza," I said, unable to keep the amusement from my voice. "One flip down. You're already behind."
She huffed and rolled her eyes."This is rigged. You rigged the coin somehow."
"It's a quarter.” I said in a manner-of-fact tone. “An American quarter that's been in circulation for years. How exactly would I rig it?"
She glared at me, and I couldn't help but lean forward, letting my voice drop. "You know what I'm imagining right now? You, standing right there…" I gestured to the space between our seats, "taking off that sweater. While I watch every inch of skin you reveal."
"Stop it," she said, but her cheeks had flushed pink.
"Then those jeans. God, those jeans that have been driving me crazy and watching you peel them off, seeing what you're wearing underneath-"
"I said stop!" But she was flustered now, stammering slightly. "You haven't won yet. I still have two more flips."
"True," I conceded, picking up the coin. "My turn."
I flipped it high, let it fall to the table.
Heads.
"Yes!" Arya pumped her fist in victory. "See? The universe agrees you're terrible and shouldn't win."
"Or the universe is just building suspense," I countered. "Making the eventual victory sweeter."
"Keep telling yourself that." She grabbed the coin, a competitive gleam in her eye that I had never seen before. "Watch and learn, De Santis."
I tried to distract her by leaning close but she was focused now.
She flipped, the coin spun and somehow, impossibly, I found myself laughing at the absurdity of playing a coin toss game at thirty thousand feet with the woman I had kidnapped and married.
"You're laughing," Arya said suddenly, her eyes wide.
"What?"
She titled her head to the side, catching the coin but not revealing it. “You're laughing. Like, really laughing. I've never heard you do that before."
"That's ridiculous.” I huffed. “Of course you've heard me laugh."
"No," she insisted, setting down the coin. "I've heard you do that cold, scary laugh when you're threatening people. But this-" she gestured at me, “… this is different.”
"I laugh all the time," I argued, though I was suddenly uncertain.
She rolled her eyes. "Name one time you've genuinely laughed since I've known you."
I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it. When was the last time I had actually laughed?
"See?" Arya said softly. "You can't even remember."
Before I could process that uncomfortable revelation, she opened the coin, and it showed heads.
"I won!" She jumped up, actually jumped, doing a little victory dance that was so unexpectedly charming I forgot to be annoyed at losing. "I won! Take that, De Santis! The universe has spoken and-" She paused, looking at me. "Wait. You're not even upset.”
"No," I said honestly. "I just... got distracted."
By the realization that she was right, I couldn't remember the last time I'd genuinely laughed before just now.
Before her.
I pushed the thought away, uncomfortable with where it led.
"So," Arya said, settling back into her seat with a satisfied smile. "Freedom of movement when we get back. That was the deal."
"With conditions," I added. "Two guards follow you at all times. No exceptions."
She glared at me. "That's not freedom!"
"That's the deal. Take it or leave it."
"One guard," she countered.
"Two."
"One guard who stays a respectful distance away."
"Two guards who can intervene if you try to escape through any more windows."
She huffed, crossing her arms, and I could see her weighing her options. "Fine. Two guards. But I get to pick which ones."
"Absolutely not."
"Then at least give me Matteo. He's not completely terrible."
I considered this. Matteo was competent, and despite his recent lapse in judgment letting her go shopping, he was generally reliable.
"Matteo and one other of my choosing," I said. "Final offer."
She glared at me for a long moment, then huffed and stood. "Fine. You win some, you lose some, I guess."
She walked away toward the back of the plane, probably to sulk or plot her next escape, and I leaned back in my seat, allowing myself a small smile.
She looked happy when she won and I laughed because of her.
What would have happened if I'd won? Would she have actually gone through with the lap dance? Or would she have argued and negotiated until we'd reached some compromise?
A larger part of me than I wanted to admit was disappointed not to find out.
But another part was satisfied just seeing her smile.
I shook my head at my own thoughts and returned to my phone, pulling up the file on the man we captured the night of the masquerade.
One of Rivera's associates. He was unconscious when Luca had dragged him from the scene, and we stashed him in a secure location before leaving Italy.
Enzo had sent an update, the man was awake now but he hadn’t said anything yet.
Rivera wasn't their really family name. It was a code name that they could claim and hide behind.
That's why no one knew who they were, because "Rivera" could be anyone.
It was frustrating, but clever.
I was deep in the report when exhaustion finally caught up with me. The past few days all crashed over me at once.
I closed my eyes, just for a moment to rest them.
The acrid smell of gunpowder woke me up and suddenly I was twelve years old again, hiding behind my mother's skirts as men in masks stormed through our home.
"Giovanni, run!" my mother screamed, but I couldn't get my legs to move.
She grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the back staircase. "Baby, look at me. Promise me you'll hide and stay quiet no matter what you hear."
"Mama." I whimpered weakly.
She opened her mouth to say something else but was instantly silence when the sound of gunshot pierced the air. My mother's grip on my arm went slack.
She fell, her eyes wide with shock, blood blooming across her chest.
"MAMA!" I screamed, but she was already falling limp on the floor.
I stumbled towards her, tears blurring my vision and an enraged scream tore out of my throat.
I threw myself at the shooter with all my twelve-year-old fury, but he swatted me away like an insect. I hit the wall hard enough to see stars.
Through blurry vision, I watched as more men entered. And then him.
Robert Vitale walked into my home like he owned it, stepping over my mother's body like she was nothing.
He moved to where my father was being held by two of his men. My father was on his knees, his hands held behind his back.
"You should have paid what you owed, Lorenzo," Robert said, pulling out a gun.
"Please," my father begged, and I had never heard him beg before. "My son.”
Robert only huffed. "Should have thought about him before you stole from me."
The gunshot echoed and father fell. I lay there, too weak to help, and watching as Robert Vitale murdered my parents.
"Giovanni!"
There were more gunshots, the house was burning around me and Robert's face looming closer.
"Giovanni, wake up!"
His hands around my throat, squeezing and trying to take my life.
"GIOVANNI!"
I jerked awake, gasping, my hands already moving before my brain caught up.
Arya's face swam into view above me and for a moment, my mind was fuzzy.
Until it registered… she was Vitale's daughter.
The rage from the dream consumed me and my hand shot out, wrapping around her throat and squeezing.
"Die, Vitale!" I snarled, pushing her back against the seat.