27

MILLIE
Leaning casually against the kitchen island, Gio crossed his arms as I retrieved a pan from the cupboard and ignited the stove. I glanced over my shoulder to catch his eye. “Could you lend me a hand? You could take care of chopping the peppers. I’ve heard you’re quite adept with a knife.”
A barely perceptible twitch danced at the corners of his lips before he plucked a knife from the holder and sidled up beside me. Even with my heeled sandals, I barely reached his chest, a detail I couldn’t help but find strangely appealing. Handing him a pepper, I directed his attention to a wooden cutting board, my intuition suggesting that Gio might have commenced his chopping directly on the expensive black granite countertop. Working side by side in silence, Gio’s intermittent glances in my direction didn’t go unnoticed. I melted some butter in the pan and seasoned the beaten eggs, though uncertainty lingered as to whether milk or cream was a necessary addition. I ultimately decided against it and poured the eggs into the sizzling pan.
With a knife indicating the diced peppers, Gio inquired, “What’s the next step for these?”
A muttered curse escaped me; I had blundered by not adding the peppers earlier.
“Is cooking a foreign concept for you?”
Opting to ignore his taunt, I tossed the peppers into the pan with the eggs. Regrettably, I had set the stove to maximum heat, and the faint scent of something overcooking reached my nose. Acting hastily, I seized a spatula and attempted to flip the omelet, only to have it stubbornly cling to the pan’s surface. Meanwhile, Gio’s eyes danced with an amused glint.
“Why don’t you focus on making us some coffee?” I retorted, my patience waning as I scraped the half-charred eggs from the pan’s base.
When it seemed the eggs were somewhat salvageable, I carefully transferred them onto two plates. Their appearance hardly screamed “appetizing.” As I set one plate before Gio, his eyebrows arched in bemusement. He settled onto a barstool, and I followed suit on the one beside him. Observing closely, I watched him spear a fork into a piece of egg, lifting it to his lips and swallowing, though the lack of enthusiasm was palpable. Encouraged by his example, I took a bite of my own creation and nearly spit it out immediately. The eggs were dry to an unpalatable extreme and overly seasoned. Dropping my fork, I downed half of my coffee in one go, ignoring the searing sensation on my tongue. “Oh dear God, this is revolting.”
A faint flicker of amusement danced across Gio’s features, transforming his countenance into one that exuded approachability and ease. The subtle shift in his expression caught my attention, drawing my gaze away from my coffee, which suddenly seemed insignificant. “Perhaps a breakfast outing is in order,” he suggested.
My response was a disgruntled stare at my cup, my thoughts mired in the notion of preparing a simple omelet. “Can it really be that difficult to whip up an omelet?” I mused aloud.
A soft sound that could have been a chuckle escaped Gio’s lips. His gaze, momentarily diverted, returned to my bare legs, dangerously close to his own. With a deliberate movement, his hand descended upon my knee, causing me to freeze with my cup suspended in mid-air, just short of my lips. His touch, gentle yet electrifying, traced the path of his thumb across my skin in a hypnotic back-and-forth motion. Amidst this unexpected distraction, he inquired, “What are your thoughts for the day?”
The question lingered as I attempted to marshal my scattered focus, though his hand on my knee remained an enticing disruption. A conflict waged within me, torn between wanting to dislodge his touch and a peculiar yearning for its continuation. “Considering the morning after our wedding night, you raised the matter of my combat skills,” I began, grappling to maintain my train of thought, “so it occurred to me that perhaps you might offer instruction in wielding a knife or firearm, as well as imparting self-defense techniques.”
A flash of surprise animated Gio’s features. “Are you contemplating employing these skills against me?” he quipped, a hint of jest in his voice.
I let out a scoff, not without a tinge of fond exasperation. “As if I could ever emerge victorious in a duel against you on equal terms.”
“I never abide by equitable terms,” he retorted, his words laden with his characteristic cunning.
Naturally, that was his approach. “So, will you be my instructor in this endeavor?” I inquired, my tone tinged with sincerity.
A hint of mischievousness colored his reply. “There are numerous subjects I yearn to educate you in.” His grip on my knee subtly tightened.
My utterance was soft, a murmur intended only for him. “Gio, please understand my seriousness. Despite having you and Dario by my side, I harbor the desire to possess the means to defend myself should circumstances demand it. The Bratva won’t be swayed by my gender.”
His demeanor shifted, his acquiescence evident in the nod he bestowed. “Very well. We have access to a gym where we engage in our workouts and combat training. It would serve as an ideal setting.”
A smile blossomed across my face, the prospect of venturing beyond the confines of the penthouse invigorating. A sense of purpose welled within me. “I’ll fetch my workout attire,” I announced, propelled by enthusiasm. With a sprightly hop, I abandoned my seat and darted upstairs, anticipation propelling each step.
~*~
After thirty minutes of driving, our car came to a stop in front of a weathered, rundown building. The mixture of anticipation and excitement bubbled within me, a welcomed distraction from the events of yesterday that I was eager to put behind me. Stepping out of the car alongside Gio, I felt a surge of gratitude that he was with me. Our bags in hand, we made our way towards a weather-beaten steel door, its rusty exterior speaking to the passage of time. Security cameras seemed to keep a watchful eye from every angle, and in a corner nook sat a middle-aged man surrounded by the trappings of a makeshift security station-a table, a chair, and a flickering TV. His holster housed not one, but two handguns. As his gaze landed on Gio, he straightened in recognition, only for his eyes to widen as they shifted to me.
“My wife,” Gio’s voice carried a subtle yet distinct note of warning, diverting the man’s attention away from me. Gio’s reassuring hand settled on the small of my back, guiding me past the man and through another door, which groaned as it swung open to reveal a vast hall that sprawled before us.
Within the hall, a boxing ring took center stage, encircled by an assortment of exercise contraptions and dummies primed for combat and blade training. Mats lay strewn in a corner where a handful of men were engaged in sparring matches, their bodies locked in intense but controlled combat. Amidst this display of focused activity, I stood as the sole woman in the room, a sense of novelty and curiosity coursing through me.
Gio’s expression flickered with a tinge of discomfort. “Our changing rooms are usually reserved for men. We don’t often have female visitors.”
Offering a wry smile, I replied, “I trust you to shield me from any inadvertent exposure.”
He chuckled in response, drawing the attention of a few onlookers who soon turned back to their pursuits. However, a subtle undercurrent of curiosity lingered, with stolen glances tossed our way as Gio led me to a side door. The attempts at discretion were less than convincing, their gaze locking onto me and then pretending to shift elsewhere. Among them, a few of the older men called out greetings to Gio, emphasizing the camaraderie of this place. With the door opened, Gio hesitated, his eyes scanning the interior. “Let me make sure it’s empty.” I nodded and leaned against the wall, watching as he disappeared into the changing room.
In his absence, the intensity of the men’s attention focused solely on me, and I found myself trying to exude an air of nonchalance despite the nervous flutter within me. A sigh of relief nearly escaped my lips when Gio reemerged, accompanied by a few men who affected an air of casual indifference towards my presence. I couldn’t help but wonder what Gio had told them in those moments.