Chapter 3 - The Lion’s Den
Giovanni’s estate sat perched on the cliffs overlooking the dark, churning expanse of the bay, flanked by wrought-iron gates and high stone walls shrouded in pine trees. It didn't look like a mob boss’s hideout; it looked like a fortress built for an ancient king.
When the SUV pulled up the circular drive, two guards in formal attire opened my door. I stepped out into the chilly night air, wrapping my thin cardigan tighter around my shoulders.
I still felt like the girl in the grey dress—the girl my stepmother used to force to clean the guest bathrooms while Celeste went on shopping sprees in Paris.
Giovanni stepped up beside me, his long coat shielding me from the mountain wind. “You’re safe here, Willow. My staff answers only to me. Nobody enters these grounds without my personal authorization.”
Inside, the grand foyer featured soaring ceilings, marble floors, and warm light pouring from crystal chandeliers. A silver-haired woman in a sharp navy uniform bowed respectfully as we entered.
“Welcome home, Mr. Campone,” she said softly. “The master suite on the east wing has been prepared for Miss Vance.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gable,” Giovanni said. He turned to me. “Eat something. Rest. Tomorrow at nine, we take the key to the vault.”
“Why are you doing all of this?” I asked, stopping at the foot of the sweeping staircase. “My father saved your brother years ago, yes. But you’re risking a public scandal for me. Celeste’s mother has connections with the city press. The articles calling me a gold digger are already trending online.”
Giovanni took a step closer to me. The sheer presence of him—the heat radiating from his broad shoulders, the scent of expensive cologne and rain—made my breath hitch.
He reached out, his thumb gently catching a tear I hadn't realized was slipping down my cheek. His touch was surprisingly soft for a man whose hands carried so much power.
“Let them write their little articles,” Giovanni murmured, his thumb trailing over my cheekbone. “Celeste and her mother think they own this city because they wear expensive jewelry bought with stolen money. They think you are small because you are quiet.”
May you like
His dark eyes burned into mine with an intensity that made my pulse race.
“They are about to learn that the quietest person in the room is the one carrying the fuse,” he said softly. “Sleep well, Willow. Tomorrow, we light it.”
