Chapter 79 Breaking Down Walls
ARYA’S POV
I pulled the duvet up, acutely aware of every movement. The bed dipped as Giovanni settled beside me, and suddenly the mattress felt much smaller than it had moments ago.
We lay there in silence, both staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to questions we didn't know how to ask.
This was ridiculous. I invited him to sleep here so I needed to say something.
"So," I started, then stopped and started again. "The weather was nice today."
Giovanni turned his head to look at me, one eyebrow raised. "The weather."
"Yes. Very... weather-like.” I cleared my throat. “Appropriate for February."
He huffed and muttered. "Are we really going to talk about the weather?"
"I'm trying to make conversation!" I turned to face him, propping myself up on my elbow. "You're not exactly helping."
"What would you like me to say?"
"I don't know. Anything. Tell me about..." I searched for a topic, any topic that would break this awkward tension. "Tell me about your favorite book or movie.”
He shrugged on the bed. "I don't have a favorite book or movie."
I frowned, cocking my head to the side. "Everyone has a favorite-"
"I don't," he interrupted. "I don't really... do those things. Reading for pleasure or watching movies."
I stared at him. "What do you do for fun?"
"Work." He replied.
I scoffed. "That's not fun, that's work."
"It's what I know." The admission was so matter-of-fact, that it made my chest ache.
"What about when you were a kid?" I asked, shifting closer without quite realizing I was doing it. "What did you do for fun then?"
His eyebrows were pinched together as though he was in deep thought. "That was a long time ago."
"Not that long. You're what, thirty?” I cocked my head to the side. “Thirty-one?"
"Thirty-two." He responded.
I bobbed my head slowly. "So twenty years ago, you were twelve. What did twelve-year-old Giovanni do for fun?"
His jaw tightened, and I saw him start to put those walls back up but something in me wouldn't let him.
"Please," I said softly. "I want to know."
He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer, then he spoke,
"I liked reading," he said finally. "Adventure stories. Science fiction. My mother used to take me to the library every Saturday, and I would come home with a stack of books taller than I was."
The image made me smile despite the sadness in his voice. "That sounds nice."
"It was." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had gone distant. "Until it wasn't."
I waited, letting the silence stretch, giving him space to continue if he wanted to.
"I was twelve when your father's men came to our house," he said finally, the words coming out flat. "It was a Tuesday. I remember because I had a science test the next day that I'd been studying for. My mother was helping me with flashcards in the kitchen."
My breath caught, but I didn't interrupt.
"They came at night when they knew our guard would be down." His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but I could tell he wasn't seeing it. He was seeing that night. "My father had apparently taken something from your father. Money, I think. The specifics don't matter anymore."
I sucked in a breath and reached for him but he drew away. "Giovanni."
"My mother tried to get me out," he continued, his voice never wavering. "Told But I couldn't just leave them. I was twelve and stupid and I thought…"
He stopped, his jaw clenching. "I thought I could help."
I reached out slowly, and placed my hand over his. He tensed but didn't pull away.
"I watched them kill my mother first," he said. "She was trying to protect me, and they shot her. Just like that. She fell, and I… I tried to attack the man who did it, but he just swatted me away like I was nothing. Threw me against the wall hard enough that I saw stars."
My bottom lip clamped against my teeth and I felt the tears prickling my eyes.
"And then your father walked in," Giovanni continued. "Robert Vitale. I had seen him before at business functions with my father. He always seemed so... civilized but that night."
His voice finally cracked, just slightly. "That night, he put a gun to my father's head and pulled the trigger while I watched."
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, but the words felt completely inadequate. "Giovanni, I'm so-"
"They left me there," he said. "Twelve years old, surrounded by my parents' bodies, with the house burning around me. One of the men, he saw me and just... left. Didn't kill me, maybe it was mercy or cruelty. I've never been sure which."
I couldn't bear it anymore. I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his rigid body, pressing my face against his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If I had known… if I could change it…"
His arms came around me hesitantly, like he wasn't sure he was allowed.
"Don't apologize for him," he said quietly. "You're already paying for his sins. Have been since the day I took you."
I pulled back to look at his face, and the pain I saw there made my heart crack.
"Is that why you married me?" I asked. "To make him suffer by taking his daughter?"
"Yes," he admitted. "That was the plan. Take something precious from him, the way he took everything from me. Watch him suffer knowing his daughter was trapped in a marriage with the son of the people he murdered."
"And now?" I whispered.
He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes searching my face. "Now it's complicated."
His hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears I hadn't realized were still falling.
The gesture was so at odds with everything I knew about him, that it made me lean into his touch.
"Arya," he breathed, my name a question.
His lips brushed against mine once then again and I pressed closer, needing more contact. When his tinge traced the seam of my mouth, I parted them eagerly and he claimed my mouth.
A soft moan left me as his hands moved to my waist, sliding under my t-shirt to find bare skin.
I gasped against his mouth, and he swallowed the sound as he cupped one of my breasts in his hand, squeezing .
"Tell me to stop," he murmured against my lips. "If you want me to stop, tell me."
I shook my head firmly, whimpering as he tortured my nipple. "Don't stop," I moaned. "Please don't stop."