Chapter 99 Regert
GIOVANNI’S POV
My head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.
I woke up in my bed, the morning light stabbing through my eyelids like knives.
Everything hurt; my head, my body, even my fucking teeth. And I smelled terrible, like whiskey and sweat.
What the hell happened last night?
I dragged myself to the shower, letting the scalding water beat down on my shoulders. The heat helped, but the pounding in my skull persisted.
And I was certain that I must have drunk an entire bottle. Maybe two.
By the time I was dressed in clean clothes, I felt human again. The door to my room burst open without warning.
Enzo stormed inside, and the look on his face made me pause mid-button.
"What?" I asked.
He stared at me, his jaw so tight I could hear his teeth grinding.
"Enzo. What's wrong?"
He didn’t respond but he looked like he was barely restraining himself from hitting me.
I rolled my eyes. "For fuck's sake, what-"
"Are we sleeping with the enemy now?" He asked.
I frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Everyone heard the screams last night, Giovanni." He snarled, his fingers curled into a tight fist. "From the dungeon?”
The memory hit me like a freight train and I staggered back.
Oh, fuck.
"Shit," I breathed.
"Shit?" Enzo's laugh was bitter. "That's all you have to say? Shit?"
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to piece together the fragments. I was so drunk I could barely stand but I remembered going to her.
No. No, I didn't-
But I had taken her, using her body to purge the rage that was eating me alive.
She cried. I remembered that now, too clearly. The sound of her sobbing, and begging me to stop.
"Gio, what the fuck were you thinking?" Enzo was still talking, his voice rising. "She's locked in a dungeon, accused of betraying us. And you-you go down there and—"
"Enough." I cut him off,"I was drunk. I wasn't thinking."
He rolled his eyes. "Clearly!"
"I said enough, Enzo!" I rounded on him, something violent stirring beneath my skin. "I made a mistake. I know that. But don't stand there and lecture me like-"
"Like what? Like your friend who's trying to keep you from completely losing your mind?"
Silence fell between us, and I turned away, running a hand through my damp hair even as regret was churning bitterly in my gut.
What had I done? What the fuck had I done?
"What's the plan?" Enzo asked finally, his voice was lower now.
He nodded "Plan?"
"With her. We can't keep her in the dungeon forever, Gio. And now that you've-" He stopped himself. "Now that this happened, things are even more complicated."
I didn't have an answer. Especially after what I just did.
"Just… handle the shipment from Palermo," I said instead, deflecting. "I'll deal with... everything else."
Enzo looked like he wanted to argue, but he just nodded curtly and left, closing the door with more force than necessary.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at nothing.
Finally, I made myself move. I needed coffee or anything that would settle the nausea rising in my throat.
I was halfway down the stairs when I heard voices and I stopped, pressing myself against the wall, out of sight.
“… too forceful with her," Maria was saying, her tone worried. "She's bleeding. I think she might need stitches."
My stomach dropped. Were they talking about Arya?
"Is she saying anything?" Claire's voice echoed and it sounded like she was crying.
Maria paused before saying. "No. Nothing. She just... stares. Like she's not even there anymore."
I shifted slightly, just enough to see them. Maria and Claire were standing near the entrance to the dungeon stairwell, their arms full of bandages, ointments, and clean clothes.
"He can't keep doing this," Claire said, and there was anger beneath the tears in her voice. "This is cruelty."
Maria shrugged. "I know. But what can we do? He's convinced she betrayed him."
"Did she though? Really?" Claire shook her head. "I've known Miss Arya for months now. She's not capable of this.”
"It doesn't matter what we think." Maria's voice was sad. "It only matters what he believes."
They disappeared down the stairs, their footsteps echoing but my head was pounding.
She needed stitches because of what I did to her.
The guilt tried to surface again but I shoved it down violently.
She deserved it, I told myself but even in my own head, I knew I sounded stupid.
I turned and went back upstairs, suddenly unable to face anyone.
Back in my room, I poured myself a glass of whiskey from the bottle on my desk but hands were shaking.
She needed stitches.
She's not even talking.
My phone rang, startling me out of my thoughts. I answered, my voice rough. "What?"
"Giovanni." The voice on the other end was familiar, though I hadn't heard it in months. "We need to talk about my daughter."
Robert Vitale.
My hand tightened on the phone. "She's not your daughter anymore. She's my prisoner."
He paused for a moment then whispered.. "Please, Giovanni. I'm begging you. Let her come home."
"Begging?" I laughed, the sound harsh. "The great Robert Vitale, begging? Where was this humility when you massacred my family?"
"I know what I did. I know I can never make it right. But Arya,” he sniffled and I wondered if I was talking to someone else. “She's innocent in all of this. She doesn't deserve-"
"She doesn't deserve what?" I cut him off. "To pay for your sins? Funny, because neither did my parents. But they died anyway, didn't they?"
He didn’t respond.
"I'll give you anything," Robert said finally. "Whatever you want. Just let her go."
I scoffed, there was only one thing I wanted to know. "Are you working with the Riveras?"
The question hung in the air.
"I said I’ll give you whatever you want, Giovani.” Robert said again and I frowned.
Did he just deflect my question? I was too tired to deal with him right now anyways.
The whole conversation had been weird from the start.
"The only way Arya is coming back to you is in a body bag.” I muttered into the speaker. “And even then, I might not bother returning her."
Robert audibly gasped. "Giovanni, please."
I hung up and threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor.
The memory of Arya's face last night appeared in my head again and the way she looked at me like she already accepted that I was going to destroy her.
And I had destroyed her, hadn't I?
I poured another glass of whiskey, downing it in one swallow.
"I need something stronger," I muttered to the empty room, already pouring another.
But no amount of alcohol was going to wash away the image of Arya's broken expression or the growing certainty that I just made a terrible, irreversible mistake.