Chapter 22 His Wrath
GIOVANNI POV
Arya's back was still against the wall, her chest heaving with each breath. Rage filled my veins, hot and possessive and all-consuming.
"You think you're clever?" I seethed, my gaze traveling down to her dress, lingering on the exposed skin of her chest before returning to her face. "You think you can come to my dinner table dressed like that, looking like that, and I won't-"
I stopped himself, my jaw clenching so hard I thought it might crack.
"You belong to me now," I whispered. "Every part of you. And when you parade yourself in front of other men like you're some kind of prize to be won, you're sending a message that you need to be reminded who you belong to.
She whimpered and I couldn’t help myself.
My hand trailed down the slit of her dress, my fingers brushing against the bare skin of her inner thigh, and I watched the way her eyes widened and her breathing became shallow and uneven.
"You're mine," I whispered, my fingers sliding higher, inching towards her hips.. "Say it."
She shook her head, defiance clear on her face. "I'm not a property to be owned.” She hissed.
My hand squeezed, not hard enough to truly hurt but firm enough to make my point. Her mouth fell open on a gasp.
"Say. It." I growled, pressing my face closer.
"I'm..." Her voice was trembling. "I'm yours."
I leaned closer, my mouth near her ear, and she trembled beneath me. "And you know that no one else is allowed to look at you like that. No one else is allowed to say things like that to you."
"Yes," she breathed.
"Yes what?" I tightened my grip.
"Yes, I'm yours.” She huffed, tears springing to her eyes.”
I was so close to her panties now, my hand trailing upward with deliberate slowness, and her breathing had become erratic.
I could feel the heat radiating from her and I didn’t have to be a genius to know she was already soaking wet.
It was almost disgusting. The way we both hated each other yet the undeniable chemistry burning between us.
"Tell me," I murmured against her skin, "do you like this? Do you like pushing me, like playing hard to get, just to get a reaction from me?"
She didn't answer, just made a small sound in her throat.
"Because if that's what you're doing, dolcezza, you're going to be sorely disappointed. I'm not the kind of man who rewards bratty behavior."
I pulled back abruptly, my hand leaving her body, and stepped away.
The loss seemed to physically hurt her. She made a sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, and opened her eyes to look at me with confusion and something that looked like need.
"Claire," he called out, his voice steady despite the roaring in his ears.
The maid appeared almost instantly, as if she'd been waiting right outside the alcove. Her head was bowed respectfully, her hands folded in front of her.
Arya's face crumbled. I watched her eyes glisten, watched her bite down hard on her lower lip, and then the anger came.
"You're a bastard," she spat at me, her voice shaking with rage and hurt. "A cruel, sadistic bastard. I hope-"
"Your room. Now," I said coldly, not even bothering to look at her. "Claire will escort you."
Arya made a sound like a wounded animal, but she was already pushing off the wall, already moving away from him with jerky, angry movements.
Her heels clicked against the stone as she stalked down the hallway, her shoulders rigid with tension.
I watched the way she held herself together despite the tremor I’d seen in her hands, and I huffed out a breath.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I turned and walked in the opposite direction, my mind already shifting. There were things that needed to be done.
Enzo was waiting for me as I descended the stairs to the basement level, falling into step beside me without comment.
We walked in silence through the dimly lit corridors, the air growing cooler and damper as we went deeper underground.
The basement room was exactly as I had left it, functionally equipped with everything necessary for the kind of conversations that required privacy and leverage.
Louis was tied to a chair, his mouth gagged, his eyes wild with panic. The moment he saw me, he started thrashing, pulling at the restraints, making desperate sounds behind the gag.
"Running your mouth," I said conversationally, pulling on a pair of leather gloves. "How many times have I warned you about that?"
Louis was pleading now, the sounds muffled and pathetic.
"The only one allowed to mock her," I continued, stepping closer, "the only one allowed to speak about her in that way, is me. You understand?"
I gripped Louis's face, my fingers digging into the man's cheeks, forcing eye contact. And then I started hitting him.
Once. Twice. Again and again, my fist connecting with the man's face with satisfying force.
Blood sprayed, teeth cracked, and still I didn't stop. The rage that had been simmering all evening needed an outlet, and Louis had been foolish enough to provide one.
By the time I was done, Louis had passed out, his head lolled to the side, blood dripping from his nose and mouth.
"Weakling," I said, stepping back and flexing his fingers. I pulled off the gloves, examining his knuckles, not a scratch on the skin.
I cleaned my hands with a towel, wiping away the blood.
"Take him away," I ordered the guards who were standing by the wall. "I want him gone by morning. Enzo, find a replacement."
"On it," Enzo said smoothly as the guards moved to untie the unconscious man, hauling his limp body between them.
As the men filed out of the room, Enzo paused in the doorway, a slight smirk playing at his lips.
"So," he said casually, "what's got you so angry?"
I didn't answer immediately. I picked up my phone from where I’d left it on a table, checking my messages out of habit more than anything else.
"Don't push it," I said finally, dismissing the question with a wave of my hand.
Enzo chuckled and left me alone.
For a moment, I stood in the dimly lit basement, trying to regain control of his breathing, and wrestle the possessive rage back into its cage.
The image of Arya in that dress, the feeling of her skin under my fingers, the way she'd said that she was mine.
My phone rang, it was an unknown number. I stared at it for a moment, then answered.
"Vitale," the voice said. I recognized it immediately as Robert Don Vitale.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?" I said, his my deceptively casual.
"What's your offer?" Robert cut straight to business, no time for pleasantries. "You’re right, I can’t fight a losing war but I can give you whatever you need. Just… return my daughter in one piece. "
"I told you already, old man. What I want is your daughter.” I said smoothly, moving toward the door. "And I will tell you this, the wedding date has been fixed. Unfortunately, you’ll miss this one.”
I climbed the stairs as I spoke, the phone pressed to my ear.
"Oh, and your efforts to triangulate my calls are useless, by the way," I added, letting just a hint of amusement color my voice. "You should start thinking two steps ahead, Robert. It might actually help you survive whatever's coming."
I ended the call before he could respond, silencing the rage-fueled questions I could already hear forming on the other end of the line.
Two steps ahead. That was always the game, thinking further than everyone else, seeing the board when others only saw their individual pieces.
Arya was a piece, certainly. A beautiful, infuriating, dangerous piece that was rapidly becoming more important than the endgame.
And that was a problem.