6

Giovanni

The weight of the girl on my chest felt like nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Gwen was beautiful by anyone’s standards—blonde, perfectly sculpted, and entirely naked as she straddled my lap, trying desperately to coax some semblance of life out of me. Her fingers trailed down my torso, her lips pressing open kisses against my jawline, whispering sweet, meaningless praise into my skin.

Usually, this was effortless. Bedding women had always been an easy, mindless distraction to clear the scent of blood and gunpowder from my mind.

I'm not just tough on the street but also on bed.

But right now? My heart wasn't in it. My dick wasn't in it.

Nothing.

Ever since yesterday—ever since I trapped her against that marble sink and tore that dress down her bare shoulders—my body had effectively shut down to the rest of the world. It was a glitch in my system.

The doors to my private quarters swung open without a knock.

"You better stand up now, or you're gonna be late to your own wedding," Antonio said, leaning his shoulder against the frame. My best friend didn't even blink at the scene in front of him. In our world, a naked woman in a capo's room on his wedding morning was just a standard Tuesday.

Gwen gasped, immediately scrambling off me in a panic. She didn't need to be told twice. She grabbed her scattered clothes from the floor, snatched the thick stack of euros I had left on the nightstand, and practically sprinted out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

I didn't watch her leave. I just pulled a cigarette from the silver case on my desk, flicking my lighter open.

"Can I have her", Antonio asked watching her leave. Typical of him. He's always interested in girls I've slept with.

"All yours,dawg." I answered.

"She's a waste of time," I muttered, the low, gravelly smoke burning my throat.

Antonio raised an eyebrow, walking over to pour himself a glass of bourbon. "Gwen? I thought she was your new favorite."

"They're all a waste of time," I snapped, swinging my legs out of bed. I stood up, staring at the tailored tuxedo hanging from the wardrobe.

___

The church was an absolute circus.

Hundreds of guests filled the pews—corrupt politicians, high-ranking syndicate leaders, and international businessmen all rubbing shoulders under the holy frescoes. I stood near the altar, a glass of vintage wine in my hand, playing the part of the ruthless, untouchable mafia king. I nodded when a senator congratulated me. I shook hands when a Sicilian boss toasted to the new alliance.

But I wasn't listening to a single word.

My dark eyes scanned the crowd, cutting through the sea of expensive silk and diamonds like a blade. I didn't care about the security detail. I didn't care about my father's warning glances from the front pew.

Where is she?

She was supposed to be here. As Adrian's guest, as a bridesmaid, she had no choice but to show up. I wanted to see her face when I stood at that altar. I wanted her to see exactly what she was driving me to do.

When the clock ticked closer to the ceremony and she still hadn't appeared in the pews, a dangerous, cold knot began to tighten in my chest.

I set my glass down on a passing tray and walked away from the crowd, my long strides carrying me straight back toward the bride's preparation room at the rear of the cathedral. I didn't knock. I threw the door open, my imposing frame instantly cutting off the high-pitched chatter inside.

Elena sat in front of the vanity, her veil being pinned by a flock of women. The ladies-in-waiting all froze, their eyes wide as they took in the lethal intensity radiating off me.

I didn't look at my fiancée. My eyes swept over every single female face in that room, searching for a pair of panicked, beautiful eyes.

Nothing.

"Giovanni?" Elena turned, her brow furrowing beneath her lace veil. "What are you doing in here? It's bad luck to see the bride before—"

"Is this everyone?" I interrupted, my voice dropping into a deadly, serious baritone that made two of the bridesmaids instinctively step back. My hands clenched into fists at my sides. "Every single one of your attendants is in this room right now?"

Elena’s expression hardened, a flash of yesterday’s sharp suspicion returning to her eyes. "Yes. Why? Who exactly are you looking for, Gio?"

Before I could answer, the door behind me creaked open further.

Adrian walked into the room, a thick cigar clamped between his fingers, exhaling a lazy cloud of gray smoke into the pristine bridal suite. He looked entirely relaxed, a casual, friendly smirk playing on his lips as he addressed his sister.

"Hey, Elena," Adrian said, gesturing back toward the hallway with his chin. "The caterers are asking where to stack the extra wedding gifts. I told them they can just keep them in the guest room Rosa stayed in overnight."

My entire body went completely rigid. The name sliced through the room like a piano wire.

Elena blinked. "Rosa? Why her room? She's supposed to be helping me with the train."

Adrian took a slow puff of his cigar, his tone entirely light, dismissive, and conversational. "Oh, didn't she tell you? She packed her bags and left before dawn. She's already gone back to America."

The room didn't just spin; it turned to pure, unadulterated ice.

She ran.

The realization hit me like a physical blow, a sudden, blinding rush of absolute fury that made the blood roar in my ears. She actually thought she could escape me. She thought a one-way ticket across the Atlantic would save her from the deadbolt.

Adrian kept talking, completely blind to the fact that he had just lit a fuse to a bomb. But my mind was already moving, calculating, burning.

*America?* I thought, a dark, lethal smile threatening to break through my mask. *Let her try.*

"America," I repeated, the word flat and entirely devoid of emotion as I looked at Adrian.

"Yeah. Left on the 5:00 AM flight," Adrian said, taking another casual drag of his cigar, entirely oblivious to the absolute death sentence he had just handed down. "Shame. She was looking forward to seeing you two get married."

"A real shame," I murmured.

I didn't blink.

Slowly, deliberately, I turned on my heel and walked out of the bridal suite, leaving Elena and Adrian behind.

The moment the door clicked shut, my mask shattered. A raw, blinding fury flooded my veins, hot enough to melt the skin off my bones, mixed with a terrifying, protective desperation. America. She actually thought she could cross an ocean and escape from me? Not a chance, cupcake.

I didn't walk back toward the main altar where hundreds of guests were waiting. Instead, I moved with lethal, quiet purpose down the rear stone corridors of the cathedral, bypassing the guards entirely.

I pulled my phone from my tuxedo pocket, dialing Antonio’s private line. He picked up on the second ring.

"Antonio. Get the private jet ready. Fuel it for a transatlantic flight to New York. Now."

"Vanni?" Antonio's voice dropped, suddenly laced with sharp panic. "Your wedding starts in twenty minutes!!"