MILLIE
As we entered the dimly lit gym, an old warehouse reborn as a training ground, a curious mix of people had already gathered within its rugged walls. Among them stood Dario, Gio, and myself, yet the company extended to a few other soldiers whose presence seemed both routine and expectant.
As our footsteps echoed on the concrete floor, Gio’s attention shifted from the hushed conversation he was having with Dario. With a casual nod, he acknowledged our arrival. His eyes, keen and calculating, locked onto mine briefly before he turned to speak with Dario in low tones.
“Remember,” Dario’s voice, barely above a whisper, reached my ears just as we were about to head toward the center ring. “Use your speed, Millie. Gio won’t match your agility with that petite frame of yours.”
A warm smile curved my lips in gratitude for Dario’s advice. It was his way of sharing his insights before I stepped into the fray. My gaze lingered on Gio, who had discarded his shirt this time, revealing a body sculpted by relentless training. The sight of his chiseled abs, muscular chest, and broad shoulders drew an involuntary sigh from me. Amid the impending fight, my mind wandered to places far removed from the battleground. A smug smirk played on Gio’s lips, indicating he was well aware of the distractions he presented.
Summoning my focus, I ascended into the ring. But even my swift movements and quick reflexes couldn’t outmaneuver Gio’s uncanny anticipation. Every move I made, he seemed to predict, leaving me repeatedly sprawled on the mat. A mixture of frustration and fatigue welled up in me, and as I lay there, my breath ragged, I released a sigh of exasperation.
It was then that the unintended spectators chimed in, one of the teenage boys voicing a comment with thinly veiled intentions. A shiver ran down my spine at the intensity of Gio’s reaction. He rose from his crouch over me, a switch flipping within him, transforming the atmosphere in the room.
As he pivoted to face the trio of boys, their youthful bravado wavered, replaced by unease. My fingers brushed lightly against Gio’s wrist, a gentle attempt to quell his growing ire. “Gio, they’re just boys,” I murmured, my voice carrying an undercurrent of concern.
His eyes remained locked onto the boys, his gaze unfaltering. “They are my soldiers,” he declared with an unyielding tone.
Dario’s imposing figure moved towards the ring, parting the ropes to assist me out. “Come on, Millie,” he encouraged, his strong presence steadying my nerves.
Gio’s hand signaled the boys to approach. With hesitance, they complied, revealing Famiglia tattoos etched over their hearts. In that moment, I realized they were more formidable than I had initially assumed.
Gio’s finger pointed at the tallest of the trio, and the boy clambered into the ring, his demeanor a mixture of anxiety and resolve. Though tall, he barely reached Gio’s nose. The events that followed were a testament to Gio’s authority as he commanded the boy, Leonardo, to fight. The clash was brutal, Gio’s dominance evident in every calculated move.
As Leonardo’s resistance waned under Gio’s relentless assault, concern rippled through me. Would Gio go too far? My instinct to intervene was halted by Dario, his grip on my wrist a reminder of the unspoken rule of this world. “They are his soldiers,” he stated succinctly, implying that their roles transcended their age.
With Leonardo at his mercy, Gio finally released his grip, allowing the boy to slump to the ground, gasping for air. The dynamics were shifting before my eyes, the grim determination of this initiation unsettling yet impossible to ignore.
Gio’s command directed at the next boy, Massimo, pulled me from the scene. I turned away, retreating to the changing room, overwhelmed by the paradox of this world. Gio’s ironclad resolve to command respect was undeniable, yet witnessing the hardness with which he dealt with these boys, stripped of their innocence by circumstance, left me questioning the cost of their allegiances.
As I walked away, my mind drifted to my own past, memories of my father’s stern guidance. Would Gio, in his pursuit of power and dominance, evolve into a reflection of that same unyielding authority? The uncertainty lingered, a shadow cast over my contemplations as I disappeared into the recesses of the dimly lit changing room.
Stepping into the pristine ambiance of the changing room, a sense of unease always gripped me. The awareness that I was inconveniencing others with my presence, locking them out of the space, lingered at the back of my mind. The lukewarm water from the quick shower had barely washed away the residual tension, and I hurriedly donned my clothes, attempting to alleviate my sense of imposition.
In that moment, the door swung open, a subtle creak slicing through the air. Even before lifting my gaze, I knew who it was. Gio. His figure stood before me, a stark contrast to the polished backdrop his chest marred by sweat and blood. Yet, there was a perceptible shift in his demeanor; the ferocity that usually painted his expression had ebbed away.
A desire for equilibrium led me to step onto the wooden bench, aligning our eyes and dispelling any remnants of hierarchical presence. Within Gio’s gaze, a medley of inquiries danced, unspoken words searching for a voice. With a deliberate tenderness, I allowed my fingers to trail from his temple, tracing a path down his cheek, only to rest upon his throat. In the span of a heartbeat, he transformed from a formidable creature to a husband whose affection knew no bounds. The duality within Gio remained an enigma that eluded my comprehension.
A faint pressure on my waist signified his touch, and the weight of his emotions hung in the air. “They required a lesson,” he began, a hint of conviction in his voice. “Youthful as they are, their naivety won’t shield them from the peril they court.”
No words escaped my lips; silence became my ally. This reticence prompted a furrowing of Gio’s brows, his disquiet palpable. “Millie?” he called softly, a question concealed within the syllables.
The question I harbored had little to do with their recklessness. I spoke, my voice steady, as I unveiled the thoughts that had been circling my mind. “I find myself pondering about how you would guide a son one day.”
A rigidity overcame him, his posture stiffening. “I have no desire for progeny.”
The admission struck me like a bolt of lightning. Conversations about having children had never graced our discussions before, yet my assumptions about the inevitability of producing an heir for Gio’s lineage had remained unshaken.
A mixture of surprise and curiosity colored my response. “Never? I had imagined, eventually…”
Gio shook his head, a gesture both firm and contemplative. “Not now,” he clarified, a layer of complexity veiling his words. “Perhaps not even in the next decade.”
His declaration echoed in the silence that ensued. A decade seemed an eternity, stretching into an unforeseeable future. The prospect of waiting until then to start a family was a notion I hadn’t quite reconciled. The residue of my surprise distilled into a simple utterance, “Oh.”
With an intensity born of years of shared history, Gio’s gaze delved into mine. “Is it your wish to embrace motherhood sooner?”
I hesitated, grappling with the unexpected turn the conversation had taken. “Not immediately, but in around five years, perhaps?” I proposed tentatively.
A beat of silence underscored our exchange, punctuated by unspoken contemplations. Sensing the intricacies of the matter, I chose not to press further at that moment. Time would carve its own path, affording us opportunities to revisit the topic when the stars aligned. In the interplay of our gazes, understanding passed, wordless and profound, leaving the course of our shared future hanging, suspended in the delicate balance of our emotions and desires.