56

Giovanni’s POV

Thirty goddamn minutes and not a word outta her. I steal a glance, expecting fireworks but she's staring out the window like she lost the damn plot. Part of me wants to rip the air with screams, shake her till the truth rattles out like loose change. But I know better. Patience, Giovanni, patience. My only weapon against this silent storm.

So I push the pedal into the floorboard, the engine roaring like a pissed-off beast. Nobody's tracking us tonight. My phone, casualty of her hissy fit, lays cracked on the leather, a silent witness to our descent into madness. I reach for it, but a swift kick sends it skittering like a scared roach.

Her eyes, green fire in the gloom, lock onto mine. "Stupid," she spits the word dripping with venom. " They can fucking track it if you call. You want them camping on our asses?"

My breath turns to gravel. Damn her. Every word is a barb, twisting in my gut. Fury, confusion, something raw and primal, churns in my chest. I stare back, a cor