Chapter 4 - The Escape Hatch
“That,” I breathed, pulling my hand gently away from his grasp and stepping back to catch my breath, “was the single most terrifying, reckless, and wildly unnecessary twelve minutes of my entire life.”
“Unnecessary?” Giovanni raised an eyebrow, gesturing subtly toward the spot where Tyler and Vanessa had just vanished into the crowd of terrified well-wishers. “You looked like you were thoroughly enjoying the silence they retreated into.”
“I was,” I admitted honestly, crossing my arms over my chest to stop the lingering tremors in my hands. “Plate tectonic shifts are less dramatic than what you just caused. Who are you, Giovanni? And don't give me the mysterious billionaire routine again. People don't back away from a regular real estate investor like they’re parting the Red Sea.”
Giovanni let out a low, rich chuckle—the first genuine sound of amusement I had heard from him all night. He reached into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket, pulled out a small, heavy black card embossed with simple silver lettering, and held it out to me.
I looked down at it.
GIOVANNI FIERRO Managing Director & CEO Fierro Global Capital
My brain stalled.
Fierro Global Capital. The private equity firm that had quietly bought out three entire city blocks in downtown Chicago last month, funded the new pediatric wing at Mercy Hospital where I worked, and regularly bought and sold corporations before breakfast.
“You’re... you’re the Fierro,” I whispered, looking up from the card into his amber eyes. “The one who never does press interviews. The one the financial papers call ‘The Ghost of LaSalle Street.’”
“The press tends to exaggerate,” Giovanni said smoothly, slipping the card into my reluctant fingers. “Though I admit, it keeps annoying people from calling my office on weekends.”
“Why me, Giovanni?” I asked, my voice dropping lower, the anger and confusion finally bubbling to the surface. “Out of two hundred wealthy socialites in this room—daughters of politicians, heiresses, corporate lawyers—why did you walk over to the girl sitting by the kitchen doors in a thrift-store dress and ask her to play your fake wife?”
Giovanni’s expression shifted, the playful irony vanishing, replaced by something dark, heavy, and complicated.
“Because everyone else in this room wants something from me,” Giovanni said quietly, his gaze sweeping over the glittering, superficial crowd surrounding us. “They want my money, my name, my influence, or my bloodline. They smile at me while calculating what my endorsement could do for their stock portfolio.”
He took a half-step closer to me, his amber eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.
“You didn't want anything,” Giovanni continued softly. “You were just trying to survive an agonizing evening, keep a promise to your five-year-old daughter about cake, and maintain your dignity while a couple of miserable cowards tried to grind you down. That is a rare commodity in my world, Jessica. Extremely rare.”
I stood there, speechless, the sharp retorts dying on my tongue. Before I could formulate a proper response, my phone buzzed loudly against my hip.
I pulled it out of my pocket.
TEXT FROM LILY’S SITTER (SARAH): Hey El! Lily woke up a few minutes ago asking for you and her promised cake. She’s okay, but she’s coughing a bit. Might just be a cold, but you might want to head home soon.
A cold spike of maternal panic instantly pierced my chest. Lily’s asthma had always made even a mild cough something to monitor closely.
“I have to go,” I said, my voice suddenly frantic as I slipped my phone back into my pocket. “My daughter... she’s not feeling well. I need to get home.”
“Let’s go,” Giovanni said instantly, without a moment’s hesitation.
May you like
“No, I can take an Uber—.”
“You’re not taking an Uber in a formal gown at midnight while stressed about your daughter’s health,” Giovanni stated flatly, already reaching out to take my elbow, guiding me firmly toward the side exit marked Private VIP Lounge / Valet. “My car is waiting. And I’m driving you.”
