The Weight of Nothing

GIOVANNI’S POV

My jaw ticked with barely restrained tension, the muscle jumping beneath my skin in a rhythm that matched the throbbing pulse in my bruised knuckles. 

But neither sensation registered. 

They were insignificant background noise compared to the raging hard-on that had been torturing me for the past twenty minutes, straining against my tailored slacks with an insistence that bordered on pain.

Enzo was talking, spilling out in that rapid-fire way he had when he was excited about a job well done. 

It was about finally catching the bastard, and how clean the grab had been. 

I could barely hear him. All I could think about was her.

That fucking girl on the dance floor, except she wasn't just some girl. She was Arya Vitale. The one I'd been watching from the shadows for years, always keeping my distance.

Until tonight.

I’d been seconds away from dragging her into a dark corner and fucking her against the wall, consequences be damned. 

"Gio! Are you even listening to me?"

I blinked, refocusing on Enzo's face. My right-hand man was staring at me with a mixture of amusement and concern, one eyebrow raised in that insufferable way that always made me want to hit him.

"Yeah," I lied smoothly, my voice cold and controlled despite the chaos in his head. "I'm listening."

Enzo didn't look convinced, but he knew better than to push. 

He simply shook his head and turned his attention back to the road as we pulled up to the warehouse.

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of rust and iron. A single bulb swung overhead, casting sickly yellow light over the scene below.

A man sat in a metal chair at the center of the concrete floor, his wrists and ankles bound with zip ties that had already bitten deep enough to draw blood.

 He was whimpering and it made my lip curl with disgust.

Three of my soldiers stood in the shadows, silent and watchful. I approached slowly, my footsteps echoing in the space. 

The man's head jerked up at the sound, his eyes wide and wet with tears. Blood trickled from a split lip, and one eye was already swelling shut, courtesy of the boys who'd grabbed him, no doubt.

"P-please," the man stammered, his voice cracking. "Please, I can explain-"

"Can you?" My voice was soft, almost gentle. It was the tone he used before he hurt someone badly. 

I crouched down in front of the chair, bringing myself to eye level with my captive. "Can you explain why you thought it was acceptable to run your mouth about family business? To sell information to the Russos?"

The man's face went pale. "I didn't… I  swear, I didn't mean-"

"You didn't mean to violate the omertà?" I interrupted, my tone still conversational. "You didn't mean to betray the family that fed you, protected you, gave you a life?" 

I tilted my head, studying the man like he was a particularly interesting insect. "Or you didn't mean to get caught?"

"Please, Boss. I have a wife, kids-"

I scoffed. “You should have thought about them before you decided to be a fucking rat."

I stood abruptly, and the man flinched so hard he nearly tipped the chair backward. I smirked at his display of fear.

What followed was methodical and brutal. 

I wasn't exactly a sadist, but I understood the value of a lesson. And this lesson needed to be thorough. 

I started with the man’s fingers, using bolt cutters from a nearby table. Each snap of metal through bone was accompanied by a scream that echoed off the concrete walls, and I felt nothing but cold satisfaction.

“Please! Arrgh! Please!!” The man cried, trembling as snot came out of his nostrils. “Make it stop! Please!”

But I was beyond hearing any of it. The bastard had broken the sacred code, and now he would pay.

I moved to his toes next, giving them the same treatment. He fought against the restraints but it was useless.

I forced his mouth open next, and used surgical scissors to cut off his tongue.

“Arrgh!” The man gurgled, coughing out blood and tears streamed down his eyes. 

By the time I drew my gun, the man was barely conscious, his body a broken mess of blood. I fired a clean shot through his forehead, watching as his body went limp.

"Rag," I said simply, holding out my blood-stained hand.

One of my soldiers scrambled forward with a cloth, and I wiped his hands clean. "Dispose of the body. I want this place cleaned by morning."

"Yes, Boss"

I was already walking toward the exit when Enzo fell into step beside me. 

"You were extra brutal today," He observed carefully.

I didn't answer. The truth was too complicated to speak aloud. 

How could I tell him that the girl I’d spent hating from a distance, watching her laugh at galas while her father's men killed mine, studying every detail of her privileged life while planning how to destroy it, only to lose control the moment she pressed against me in that bar?

How could I admit that I'd taken out years of pent-up rage and unwanted desire on the one woman I should've kept my hands off?

The night air hit me like a slap when we stepped outside. I breathed deep, trying to clear my head.

The funny thing was, I’d only gone to that bar for a quick drink. One scotch, then home to deal with paperwork. I'd gotten word that morning, her wedding was in three days. 

Three days until Robert Vitale married her off to that De Luca coward, sealing an alliance I couldn't allow.

I'd never expected her to be there. And I definitely didn’t expect her to look at me and smile like I was just a man instead of the monster who'd been planning to steal her life.

More than a decade of discipline, control, and strategic patience, all of it nearly destroyed because her body felt even better against mine than I'd imagined in a thousand dark thoughts I'd tried to suppress.

I thought about her pert ass and the way the fullness of her breasts pressed against my chest. A groan escaped my throat before he could stop it.

"What's wrong?" Enzo asked, genuine concern creeping into his voice now.

"Nothing. I want to go home and sleep." I muttered.

We approached a sleek black Mercedes and I was reaching for the door handle when something caught my eye.

Arya.

She was stumbling out of a bar across the street, her movements were uncoordinated and loose. And she wasn't alone. A boy had his arm wrapped around her waist, his hand resting far too familiarly on her hip.

My vision narrowed, my jaw clenching so hard I heard my teeth grind together. 

That was my… no, what the fuck was I thinking? She was nothing more than a tool to me, I shook the thought away instantly. 

"Porca puttana," Enzo cursed beside me in sharp Italian.

"What?" My voice was flat..

Enzo was staring at the girl with an expression somewhere between shock and horror. "That's Arya Vitale."

“I know.” I muttered, my gaze fixed on her still.

Enzo cleared his throat. "The wedding's in three days. Everything's in place and security rotations are mapped-“

"I know the plan." My eyes never left Arya's form as she laughed at something the boy said, her head falling back to expose that elegant throat I'd nearly marked in that darkened corner. "I wrote the fucking plan."

"Then why do you look like you want to go back in there and drag her out right now?"

I didn't answer. 

"Gio." Enzo's voice dropped, taking on the serious tone he rarely used. "This was supposed to be revenge against her father. Destroy his alliance, cripple his power base, and use his daughter as leverage." 

He stepped closer. "But that's not what I'm seeing right now. What I'm seeing is obsession. 

"I'm not obsessed." The lie tasted bitter.

"Bullshit." Enzo crossed his arms. "You've had her file memorized for years. You know her schedule, her favorite coffee shop, the route she takes when she goes running. You've watched her at every gala, every funeral, every gathering." 

His eyes narrowed. "Say what you want about it but I’ve seen the way you look at her. You can’t punish her without drowning yourself, and if you keep burying those feelings, you’ll die long before Robert Vitale does.”

My jaw clenched. "She is nothing to me and she will forever be nothing.” The words rolled out of my lips like a decree. 

She would never be a lover or a queen, rather a prisoner to be despised. 

That was what she would become the moment she crossed into my world. She would wake up in my house, but it will never be her home. 

She would breathe, but every breath will be under my shadow. She would live, but her life will not be hers, it would be mine to suffocate

I turned to face him fully, and whatever he saw in my expression made him tense.

"You're going to make her suffer, aren’t you?” He asked, his face morirse. 

"I'm going to make her mine." I corrected. "The suffering is just inevitable."

The Mercedes's engine purred to life. Arya was visible through the window, still smiling and blissfully unaware of what was coming.

"Get the men ready," I said quietly. "Three days. I want everything perfect. When I take her, I want Robert Vitale to understand he's lost everything.”

Enzo shook his head slowly. "This is going to end bloody."

"It was always going to end bloody." I turned toward my own car.

As the Mercedes disappeared into the night, I murmured her name, letting it settle on my tongue like fine whiskey.

"Arya Vitale." My smirk was dark, making my face look like some sort of twisted mask in the rearview mirror.

“Three more days of freedom, then you’ll learn exactly what you got yourself into the moment you were born a Vitale.”