30

MILLIE
With a final farewell, I ended the call and readied myself for the day, slipping into a light summer dress that suited the sunny day outside. My plans included a leisurely stroll through Central Park, a desire for some fresh air and contemplation. As I stepped into the living area, my eyes fell upon Dario, seated at the dining table with a cup of coffee before him, a picture of quiet presence.
“Was Gio really furious with you?” I inquired, stepping past him and making my way towards the expansive, inviting kitchen. A homemade carrot cake sat temptingly on the counter, and the distant hum of Melanie reached my ears likely her engaged in some cleaning task. Dario rose from his seat, cup in hand, and casually leaned against the kitchen island.
“He wasn’t exactly thrilled. The danger you were in… I’m responsible for your safety,” he responded, his demeanor a mix of concern and duty.
“What’s Gio’s agenda for today?”
Dario shook his head slightly.
“Can you tell me what he’s up to? I’m curious about the specifics. And why is he arming himself to the teeth?”
“He, along with Sebastian and a select few, is on a mission to track down the ones who took out our man. Revenge is on their minds.”
“That sounds incredibly risky.” A tinge of apprehension colored my words. Revenge seldom brought closure; it usually just sparked a vicious cycle. The Bratva would undoubtedly retaliate for Gio’s retaliation. It was an unending cycle of vendettas.
“Gio and Sebastian have been at this for a long time they’re the best, and so are the men they’ve got at their back.”
“And while they’re off having their version of fun, you’re stuck babysitting me.”
Dario shrugged nonchalantly, a wry smile forming. “It’s an honor.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “I’d like to go for a jog in Central Park.”
“Will you try to make a run for it again?”
“Why bother? There’s nowhere to run to. Plus, I doubt you’ll let me slip away so easily again. You seem pretty capable.”
Dario straightened up a bit. “Alright.” I sensed lingering doubt in his mind about my intentions.
Donning a pair of shorts, a comfortable tank top, and my trusty running shoes, I emerged once more. Dario had switched into sweatpants and a casual t-shirt. He stashed a collection of spare clothes in one of our guest rooms, although his main residence was just a short ten-minute drive from here. “Where do you keep your weapons hidden?”
“That’s my little secret,” he quipped, a rare grin gracing his features before he quickly shifted back into his professional demeanor.
As we jogged through the myriad pathways of Central Park for the next hour, Dario proved to be in excellent shape, effortlessly keeping pace with me. The sensation of running outdoors, unconfined by the monotony of a treadmill, was truly invigorating. I felt liberated, almost blending in with the multitude of people engaged in everyday activities like walking dogs or playing catch. Perhaps there would come a day when Gio would join me on a run, when the Russian troubles no longer had him ensnared. When, though, was that distant day likely to arrive?
~*~
Later that day I sat on the roof terrace, watching the sunset, my legs pulled up against my body. Dario was checking his phone. “Gio will have more time for you soon.”
I looked at him. Had I appeared lonely to him? “Did he tell you when he’d be home today?”
“He hasn’t written yet,” he said slowly.
“That’s a bad sign, right?”
Dario didn’t say anything, only frowned down at his phone.
I went inside when it became too cold outside, put on my nightgown and curled up on the couch, turning on the TV. I couldn’t help but get more worried as the clock edged closer to midnight, but eventually I drifted off.
~*~
I woke when I was lifted off the couch. My eyes fluttered open and I peered up into Gio’s face. It was too dark to make out much. Dario must have extinguished the lights at some point. “Gio?” I murmured.
He didn’t say anything. I put a hand against his chest. His shirt was slick with something water? Blood?
His breathing was even, steps measured. His heartbeat was calm under my palm. But I couldn’t read his mood. It was strange. He carried me up the stairs as if I weighed nothing. We reached our bedroom and he put me down on the bed. I could only see his tall shape looming above me. Why wasn’t he saying anything?
I stretched and fumbled for the main switch beside the bed. I brushed it with my fingertips and the lights came on, and I gasped. Gio’s shirt was covered in blood. Soaked in it. There was a small cut at Gio’s throat and if the rips in his shirt were any indication he probably had more wounds. Then my eyes found his face and I became very still, like a fawn trying to blend in as not to attract the attention of the wolf. I’d thought I’d seen Gio’s darkness on a few occasions, had thought I’d glimpsed the monster beneath the civil mask before. Now I realized I hadn’t. His expression was void of emotion but his eyes made the hairs on my neck rise.
I licked my lips. “Gio?”
He started unbuttoning his shirt, revealing small cuts and a longer wound below his ribs. His skin was covered with blood. But it couldn’t all have come from him, especially not all the blood on the shirt. It worried me that he still hadn’t spoke. He shed his shirt and dropped it on the ground. Then he unbuckled his belt.
“Gio,” I said. “You are scaring me. What happened?”
He pushed his pants down and stepped out of them. He was barefoot and now only in his briefs as he knelt on the bed and brought one knee between my legs. I began to regret wearing only a nightgown. He slowly moved up until his head hovered over me. Terror gripped my throat, turned my heartbeat into a flutter.
His eyes made me want to bolt, to cry and scream, to escape. Instead I lifted my hand and cupped his cheek. His expression shifted, a chink in the monstrous mask. He leaned into the touch, then he lowered his face and pressed it into the crook of my neck. He breathed in deeply and didn’t move for a long time. I tried not to panic. My hand was shaking against his cheek.
“Gio?” I said softly.
He raised his head again. I could see a flicker of the Gio I knew. He slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom. When he was out of sight, I let out a deep breath. Whatever had gone down today must have been horrible. I sat up as I listened to the running shower. In what kind of mood would Gio return into the bedroom? The monster in check, or almost unleashed like a moment ago?
The gentle rhythm of the water coming to a stop prompted me to swiftly settle onto my side of the bed, pulling the covers snugly around me. Moments later, the door creaked open, revealing Gio, his form wrapped in a towel, a stark white cloth with a few droplets of blood marring its pristine surface. His wound had left its mark, a reminder of the violence that had unfolded earlier. Rather than his usual routine of heading toward the cupboard for boxer shorts, he strode directly to the bed. As he reached for the towel, I turned away, averting my gaze, and shifted onto my other side.
Under the weight of his presence, the mattress dipped, the fabric rustling softly. He drew nearer, his touch pressing against my hip, a grip that felt almost too tight, too possessive. Then, he turned me to face him, his intentions clear in his intent gaze.
My mind raced, urging caution. He stood before me, his vulnerability heightened by his nakedness, a darkness in his demeanor that mirrored the brutal day he had endured, both piecing together the remains of a comrade and extinguishing his enemies. His fingers found the hem of my nightgown, initiating its ascent. Instinctively, my hand intervened, placing itself over his.
“Gio,” I whispered, the name a plea and a reminder.
Our eyes met, a silent exchange that eased a fraction of the tension. Though shadows still lingered in his gaze, they appeared more restrained. “I want to feel your body against mine tonight. I want to hold you,” he voiced, the unspoken subtext resonating with need, with desperation.
My throat tightened as I swallowed, his unspoken plea echoing within me. “Just hold me?”