8

"Rosalia! Giovanni! Dinner is ready, come on out!"

Her mother’s cheerful voice echoing down the hallway was the only thing that broke the suffocating spell in the bedroom. Rosa snapped out of her shock, her heart still hammering against her ribs from the mention of Eliana's name.

She took a sharp step back from Giovanni, glaring up at him with a mixture of terror and fierce warning. "We are going out there," she whispered harshly, pointing a finger at his chest. "And you are going to watch exactly what you say in front of my mother. If you drop one mafia hint, or say anything about Italy, I swear to God..."

Giovanni merely smirked, casually smoothing down his unbuttoned shirt. He looked entirely unfazed by her threats, the dangerous glint back in his eyes. "Relax, cara. I am a perfect gentleman."

When they walked into the dining room, her mother had already set out a homemade spread, her face glowing with excitement. She hadn't seen Rosa this close to a man ever, let alone a man who looked like he belonged on a luxury billboard.

"Sit, please, sit!" her mother insisted, ushering Giovanni into a chair. "I hope you like chicken parmesan, Giovanni. Rosalia never told me she was seeing someone so... well-dressed."

"It smells incredible, Mrs. Vance," Giovanni said smoothly, flashing a warm, perfectly practiced smile that made Rosa’s stomach flip. He sat down, his large frame making the modest dining table look incredibly small. "And please, blame me for the secrecy. I’ve been keeping her all to myself in Italy."

Rosa nearly choked on her water. She shot him a lethal look under her lashes. "Yes, well, it was a very brief trip, Mom. Giovanni was actually just leaving New York tonight."

"Nonsense," Giovanni interrupted easily, his dark eyes locking onto Rosa’s panicked face as he picked up his fork. "My schedule is completely open for whatever Rosalia needs. I wouldn't dream of rushing our time together."

Her mother practically beamed, looking between the two of them like she was watching a romance movie come to life. "Oh, I just knew it! You two look so beautiful together. Rosalia is usually so quiet, but look at her now—she hasn't stopped looking at you."

Because I'm trying to see if he's hiding a weapon, Rosa thought hysterically, forcefully stabbing a piece of chicken on her plate.

For the next twenty minutes, the dinner was a masterclass in psychological warfare. Her mother chattered happily, asking about Giovanni's "business," while Giovanni answered with smooth, ambiguous lies that sounded perfectly innocent to a civilian but felt like hidden threats to Rosa. Every time Rosa tried to steer the conversation toward him leaving, Giovanni would drop a subtle compliment about how "devoted" he was to her.

Finally, her mother stood up, clapping her hands together with a knowing, matchmaking smile. "Well, I am going to excuse myself and head to my room. I have some reading to catch up on, and I'm sure you lovebirds want some time alone without an old woman crowding you."

"Mom, no, you don't have to—" Rosa started, half-rising from her chair.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Vance," Giovanni said smoothly, standing up out of respect. "Thank you for the wonderful dinner."

"Goodnight, Giovanni! Don't let her keep you up too late," her mother teased, giving Rosa a blatant wink before disappearing down the hallway and shutting her bedroom door.

The click of her mother's door felt like a trap springing shut.

The lovebird act vanished instantly. Giovanni sank back into his chair, his posture shifting from a polite houseguest to a dark, predatory king. He leaned his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers as his intense gaze locked onto Rosa, who was frozen in her seat.

The apartment was dead silent. The game was over, her mother was gone, and they were completely alone.

The silence in the kitchen was so thick Rosa could hear the frantic ticking of the wall clock. Desperate to escape the suffocating weight of Giovanni's gaze, she abruptly stood up, grabbing the empty plates from the table.

"I'm going to... I need to do the dishes," she muttered, practically rushing to the sink.

She turned the faucet on, letting the rush of warm water drown out the pounding of her heart. She squeezed dish soap onto a sponge and focused entirely on the porcelain, trying to pretend she was completely alone.

But a man like Giovanni De Luca didn't let himself be ignored.

Before she could even finish scrubbing the first plate, a shadow fell over her. A sudden, intense wave of heat radiated against her back. Rosa froze, the breath catching in her throat as Giovanni stepped right up behind her, completely trapping her against the edge of the marble sink. He was 6'2 while she was barely 5'3.

He didn't leave an inch of space between them. Through the thin fabric of her clothes, she could feel the rigid, unyielding length of his hard dick pressing boldly against her backside. No doubt he was thick down there.

Rosa's hands trembled beneath the running water. She tried to lean forward to escape the friction, but Giovanni’s large hands came up, planting themselves firmly on the counter on either side of her hips, pinning her in place.

He leaned down, his face burying into the curve of her shoulder. His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of her earlobe as he spoke, his deep baritone sending an immediate, electric jolt straight down her spine.

"Close your eyes, Rosa," he murmured darkly.

"No, Giovanni, stop—" she objected, her voice shaking as she tried to turn her head.

Before she could finish the protest, Giovanni took one hand off the counter and pressed his index finger firmly against her lips, silencing her instantly. His dark eyes locked onto her reflection in the dark kitchen window, filled with a heavy, dangerous authority that demanded absolute submission.

"Don't disobey me," he whispered against her ear, his breath hot and intoxicating. "Now, be a good girl and close your eyes."

Rosa swallowed hard, her resistance completely melting under the sheer gravity of his command. Trapped between his bruising grip and the evidence of his arousal, she slowly let her eyelids flutter shut.

"Good girl," Giovanni purred, the approval in his gravelly voice low and dark.

The next second, his lips pressed against her neck. He trailed slow, burning kisses up the sensitive length of her throat, his stubble scraping lightly against her skin. Rosa’s quivering heart started to race madly, her grip loosening on the soapy sponge until it slipped from her fingers and splashed into the water. Every nerve ending in her body was screaming, a terrifyingly sweet ache pooling deep in her stomach.

Unable to take the sensory overload for another second, Rosa snapped her eyes open. "Wha... what are you doing?" she gasped, her voice breathless and entirely stripped of her usual defense.

Giovanni stepped back a fraction, leaving her front where he had clearly boxed her in with his massive hands, but he didn't let her go far. He moved right back into her space, his chest brushing her shoulder as he murmured a low, gravelly, "Relax."

"I am relaxed," Rosa lied, her voice pitching higher as she tried to blink away the haze in her vision.

Giovanni let out a dark, amused chuckle, his eyes dropping to her trembling lips before rising to lock with hers. "No, you're not."

He looked down at her with a heavy-lidded, intensely predatory gaze—those dark, dominant mafia eyes that possessed a raw, sinful promise. It was the kind of look that could make a girl wet down there with a single glance, and Giovanni knew exactly the kind of effect he was having on her untouched body.