52

MILLIE
“They were a means to an end, a dark path I pursued driven by primal desires. The urge for physical connection consumed me, compelling me to seek out women and engage in passion without regard for tenderness or emotional depth. The encounters were raw and intense, lacking any gentleness. I favored positions that avoided eye contact, as it allowed me to escape the pretense of caring about the women I was with.
His voice carried an unsettling chill, an embodiment of cruelty and detachment that sent shivers down my spine. Despite the unease his words provoked, I pressed my lips against his tattoo, a silent plea to erase that aspect of his past. He responded by tightening his embrace around me, a mixture of vulnerability and reassurance in his touch. It was then that he unexpectedly confided in me, his words carrying the weight of a hidden pain. “My mother was the only one who could have taught me tenderness,” he admitted, his voice bearing traces of vulnerability. I held my breath, hoping he would open up further. And then he did, revealing a tragic truth that explained the iciness within him. “But she took her own life when I was just a child of nine.”
My heart ached for him, the pieces of his fractured past starting to form a picture that was both heart-wrenching and sobering. “I’m sorry,” I murmured softly, the words inadequate to soothe the wounds he carried. There was an unspoken desire to know more, to understand the complexities of his pain, but I hesitated, fearing that pushing too hard would only cause him to retreat further into his defensive shell. Instead, I reached out, my fingers cupping his cheek in a gesture of gentle comfort. His initial surprise gave way to a hesitant acceptance of my touch, and as I nervously wet my lips, curiosity bubbled within me.
Abruptly, his voice disrupted my thoughts, his words carrying a hint of vulnerability. It took a moment for his question to register, and when it did, I was unprepared for the direction of the conversation. His hand grazed my abdomen, prompting me to recall the lingering discomfort I was trying to ignore. “Yes,” I confessed, surprised by his interest. The subsequent inquiry caught me off guard, and with a deep breath, I mustered the courage to explain. “Talking about it… it offers a distraction, a way to divert my mind from the pain.”
Summoning more courage, I ventured into the realm of his past, seeking to unravel the layers of his story. “Could you tell me more about your mother?” The question hung in the air, pregnant with the weight of his history. The response he offered was a haunting account of abuse and tragedy, his words unraveling the horrifying truth that had shaped him. My heart clenched as he recounted the horrors his mother endured, and the sorrow deepened when he disclosed the terrible end she met. “She shouldn’t have left you and Sebastian alone,” I murmured softly, my heart aching for the young boy he once was.
And then, a revelation that struck like a lightning bolt. “I found her,” he admitted, the words echoing with an eerie detachment that sent a shiver down my spine. The image of a young Gio stumbling upon his mother’s lifeless form was hauntingly vivid, the scene etched into his memory with cruel clarity. I couldn’t help but gasp, the shock of the revelation stark in my expression. His nonchalant demeanor as he spoke of the gruesome discovery was disconcerting, as if he had become desensitized to the horrors he had witnessed. He elaborated on the visceral details, the blood-soaked bathroom floor and the chilling realization that innocence was forever lost in that moment.
My empathy welled up within me, my voice carrying a mixture of sympathy and outrage. “This is unspeakably terrible. You must have been terrified, traumatized.” It was impossible to fathom the depth of his suffering as a young child thrust into such a nightmarish scenario. His response, however, was tinged with a stark acceptance of his fate. “It shaped me,” he stated simply, as if the harsh reality he had faced had forged him into the man he was today. His words echoed with the bitter wisdom of one who had come to terms with a harsh reality.
The conversation touched on the realm of emotions, revealing a rift between us in our understanding of strength. “Emotions aren’t a sign of weakness,” I argued gently, seeking to challenge his perspective. But he remained resolute, his belief in the power of emotional detachment unshaken. He spoke of the ruthlessness of their world, where vulnerabilities were exploited by enemies. I couldn’t help but draw a parallel to the struggles of my own family, the pressures to conform to expectations, and the sacrifices my younger brother had been forced to make.
As the conversation circled back to the present, I dared to probe deeper into his vulnerabilities. “If the Bratva sought to harm you, where would they strike?” I inquired, my hope for a candid answer flickering in the dim light. But his response was veiled, an assurance that they would never uncover his weaknesses. Though not the transparency I had yearned for, weariness enveloped me, the weight of the day catching up as exhaustion tugged at my consciousness. With a sense of resignation, I closed my eyes, seeking solace in sleep’s embrace, hoping that by sharing our stories, we had forged a bond that would eventually bridge the gaps between our worlds.”
~*~
The sensation was a searing agony as I made my way to the bathroom, and even moving around wasn’t the least bit comfortable. Wincing, I retraced my steps back into the bedroom, where Gio was lying with his head propped up on his arm. His gaze was fixed on me. “Sore?” he inquired.
I managed a nod, my cheeks heating up. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”
A puzzled look crossed his face. “Why apologize?”
Settling down beside him, I sighed. “I thought maybe you’d want to… you know, do it again. But I don’t think I can handle it right now.”
With the gentlest touch, Gio’s fingertips grazed over my ribs. “I understand. I didn’t expect you to be ready so soon,” he murmured. His hand moved lower, skimming over my stomach. His words became more suggestive. “I could explore in a different way, if you’re up for it.”
A rush of desire surged through me; a yes was at the tip of my tongue. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I managed to say, my internal struggle apparent.
Acknowledging my response with a nod, Gio reclined against the pillows, the blanket slung around his hips, revealing the chiseled contours of his torso and the stories hidden within his scars.
Drawn by curiosity, I edged closer and positioned myself above him. Tracing the scars on Gio’s skin, I found myself yearning to uncover the tales behind each mark. I wanted to unravel the enigma that was Gio, piece by piece, scar by scar. Where did that long scar on his shoulder come from? And the bullet wound just below his ribs? As I explored his scars, I noticed Gio’s gaze wandering, his eyes tracing over my body. His thumb brushed against my nipples, a touch that held more possession than raw desire, yet the effect resonated deep within me.
Attempting to shift my focus, I paused my fingers on a faded scar on his abdomen. “Where did you get this one?”
A distant look clouded Gio’s eyes. “I was eleven,” he began, his voice carrying a weight of experience. My anticipation heightened as I sensed the gravity of his words. “The Familia wasn’t the united force it is today. There were those who believed they could seize power by eliminating my father and his sons. It was the dead of night, screams and gunshots echoing through the air. Before I could react, a man entered my room, pointing a gun at me. Staring down the barrel, I faced the certainty of death. Strangely, I wasn’t as terrified as I thought I would be. I was moments away from being killed when Sebastian attacked the man from behind, deflecting the shot. The bullet veered off course, piercing my midsection. The pain was excruciating, and I screamed. The man would have finished me off had he not turned his attention to Sebastian. In my nightstand, I had a gun hidden away. I retrieved it, putting a bullet through the man’s head before he could harm Sebastian.”
My breath caught as the narrative unfolded. “That was your first kill, right?” I whispered, my voice laden with both empathy and shock.
Gio’s gaze, which had been lost in the past, refocused on me. “Yes, the first of many.”
My curiosity piqued, I pressed further. “When did you take another life?”