87

MILLIE
Gio’s anguished exclamation cut through the tranquility of the room, jolting me awake from my slumber. The mattress beneath me shifted as he hastily got up, yanking me from the clutches of sleep. Blinking away drowsiness, I turned to see Gio in the midst of hurriedly dressing himself, his phone clamped between his shoulder and ear, and his pants being pulled up in a rush.
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Fuck!”
Concern prickled at the edges of my waking mind. Sitting up, I watched as Gio disconnected his call, his jaw clenched in determination. He swiftly draped a shirt over the holster containing his firearm and then glanced at me, a grimace etched on his face. The gravity of his words settled over me as he explained the situation.
“Someone hurled a Molotov cocktail into one of the Famiglia’s brothels. Two of the girls got badly burned, and the entire place is in ruins. The police and the fire department are already at the scene. I need to go and contain the fallout.”
I nodded slowly, suppressing my own disappointment. With a brief kiss, he left the room, leaving me behind. I bit my lip, battling the pang of hurt that accompanied the realization. It was my birthday today.
Sliding out of bed, I reached for my phone and discovered a message from Harper waiting for me. As soon as she noticed my online status, my phone began to ring. After conversing with Harper, Karsen, and Sienna, my spirits lifted a touch, enough for me to motivate myself to get dressed.
Intellectually, I understood the demands of Gio’s role as the Capo and his commitment to the Famiglia’s affairs. Yet, a nagging doubt lingered had he completely forgotten my birthday? I descended the staircase to find Dario seated at the counter. His face lit up when he spotted me, prompting him to stand.
“Happy birthday, Millie.”
I mustered a shaky smile in response, and his features softened further. “Gio will be back as soon as he’s able.”
I offered a small shrug before pouring myself a cup of coffee. Loneliness engulfed me momentarily. New York had yet to provide me with any close companions. In our circles, I was viewed as the Capo’s wife, setting me apart from typical human interactions. Connections with those outside our world remained distant and unfeasible. Sipping my coffee, I quelled the swell of emotion threatening to overcome me.
The elevator signaled its arrival, and Dario positioned himself in front of me, only to relax when Marianna entered, a cake in her hands. Her usual dark gray hair was confined within a hairnet, and her dress strained slightly over her matronly figure.
With a radiant smile, she placed the cake down and enveloped me in a warm hug. “Happy birthday, bambina. I baked an almond cake just for you. Gio mentioned it’s your favorite.” Marianna’s gaze shifted to Dario, her brow furrowing. “Where is he, by the way?”
“Dealing with business,” Dario replied succinctly.
Marianna refrained from prying further. The question remained unasked in the air.
“Gio had you bake the cake?”
“He did.” Marianna deftly cut three slices of cake, producing plates for Dario and me, while keeping one for herself. We indulged in the dessert, and I had to concede that the cake surpassed any culinary delight I’d experienced in a long while. Marianna’s culinary prowess was nothing short of remarkable.
A gentle touch graced my cheek. “You appear melancholic. Why not head out with Dario and enjoy yourself?”
The yearning to spend the day with Gio tugged at my heart, but with that an impossibility, I offered a resigned nod. Dario took me to a fine restaurant for lunch, and later, I embraced my role as a pampered wife, indulging in a lavish shopping spree at Century 21, my favored department store in Manhattan. As night fell, and after a quick dinner at a bistro, we returned to the penthouse. My new acquisitions remained untouched in their bags. Instead, I grabbed a woolen blanket and a book, retreating to the terrace where I settled into a chair. Dario sensed the somber atmosphere and opted not to join me. With a gaze fixed upon the city’s skyline, a few tears traced their path down my cheeks. Drawing my legs close and encircling them with my arms, I sought solace in the embrace of the night.
As the door slid open with a soft whisper, the gentle sound drew my gaze toward the French windows. A sense of anticipation fluttered within me as Gio, his presence commanding the terrace, stepped out into the open. His eyes, those deep pools of emotion, found mine amid the turmoil of his expression-etched with regret, longing, and something more. My fingers instinctively rose to my cheeks, wiping away the evidence of tears that had traced their paths there.
With a graceful motion, I stood from where I had been seated, my heart quickening its pace. Before I could react further, Gio was before me, bridging the distance in an instant. His arms enveloped me, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that held within it a world of emotions. “Happy birthday, my princess,” he murmured against my lips, his voice a tender caress. “I wish I could have spent the day with you.”
A small smile curved my lips, a mixture of gratitude and understanding. “Dario kept me occupied,” I replied, a shrug accompanying my words, as if to downplay the passage of time.
Gio’s head shook, his expression earnest. “That’s not a good enough reason,” he gently chided. And then, as if the weight of his words demanded action, he lifted me effortlessly into his arms, a gesture that held the familiarity of countless memories. He kissed me again, a soft press of lips, and I found solace in the warmth of his embrace even as regret lingered in the lines of his face.
With purposeful steps, he carried me across the threshold of the apartment, the familiarity of the space a comforting backdrop to the moment. Upstairs, in the room that held fragments of our shared journey, my eyes found their destination-the bed, adorned not only with its usual accouterments but also with a delicate arrangement of white roses and a parcel, thoughtfully placed.
My smile deepened, and I pressed a kiss to Gio’s throat, a gesture of appreciation before he set me down gently. The fragrance of the roses enveloped me as I reached for the package, my fingers undoing the wrapping with a mixture of curiosity and delight. The layers fell away to reveal a red velvet box, its texture inviting beneath my fingertips. Opening it, I beheld the gleam of rose gold cradling a bar bracelet-a piece of jewelry that spoke of elegance and subtlety. Nineteen diamonds adorned its surface, their sparkle catching the light in mesmerizing patterns.
“Turn it around,” Gio’s voice, a gentle murmur, coaxed me back to the moment.
Obeying, I flipped the bracelet in my hands, revealing the hidden message on the inside. Engraved words, simple yet profound, etched into the metal. “In the darkest hour you are my light,” I read aloud, the words weaving their own magic, drawing my heart closer to Gio’s.
Meeting his gaze once more, I found his eyes holding a tenderness that threatened to undo me. He gestured, his actions a silent prompt. Swiftly, he pulled his shirt over his head, the fabric slipping away to unveil a sight that stole my breath-a new tattoo, still raw and reddened, nestled alongside his Famiglia ink on his shoulder blade.
My eyes traced the contours of the intricate black letters, absorbing their meaning: “I’ll go where you go no matter how dark the path.” A vow that mirrored my own words, spoken in the glow of our union. The significance hung heavy in the air, a reminder of promises made and etched into the very essence of who we were.
A mixture of emotions swelled within me, the lump in my throat growing as I looked at him, really looked at him. The words that escaped me were an unfiltered confession, raw in their honesty. “Gio,” I began, my voice catching, “you weren’t supposed to say something like that.”
He stepped closer, brushing away the tears that had escaped my control. His touch was a balm to the storm within me, grounding me in this shared moment. And then, he guided my hand to rest upon his Famiglia tattoo, over his heart-the emblem of his loyalty, his duty.
“My oath came first,” he began, his voice a whisper that carried the weight of conviction, “but the words on my back mean more.”
Tears shimmered in my eyes as I looked up at him, the love I held for this man expanding with each passing heartbeat. “Gio,” I murmured, my voice a testament to the depth of my emotions. “Those words on your back, I meant them then, and I mean them now. I will follow you anywhere, through every shadow and every storm. Your darkness doesn’t scare me. I love you in your entirety-the strength, the loyalty, the tenderness, the protectiveness. I love every facet of you.”
His arms closed around me, the embrace a shield against the uncertainties of the world. I held onto him just as tightly, my tears finding solace against his chest. In that moment, it was clear that his love-the unwavering, unspoken bond we shared-was the most precious gift of all.