Chapter 5 - The Ride to the North Side
The interior of Giovanni’s matte-black Maybach felt like a different universe.
The seats were upholstered in soft, cream-colored leather that smelled faintly of cedar and expensive leather; soft, ambient blue lighting glowed from the footwells; and the acoustic insulation was so absolute that the chaotic roar of midnight Chicago traffic sounded like a distant whisper.
I sat rigidly on the edge of the seat, staring out the window as the illuminated skyscrapers of downtown blurred past into the rainy blur of North Avenue.
Giovanni sat beside me, silent, respecting my nervous energy as I repeatedly tapped my thumb against my phone screen, checking the time.
“She’s going to be fine,” Giovanni said quietly after ten minutes of heavy silence.
I turned my head to look at him. He had removed his tuxedo jacket, tossing it over the opposite seat, and rolled up his crisp white shirtsleeves, revealing strong, lightly tanned forearms and a simple silver watch. Without the stiff formal wear, he looked less like an untouchable corporate titan and more like... well, a man. A dangerous, intimidating man, but a man nonetheless.
“You don't know her,” I murmured, pulling my coat tighter around my shoulders. “Lily has bronchial sensitivity. Whenever a cold hits her, it turns into a croupy cough overnight. I should have been home two hours ago instead of sitting at that miserable table pretending I didn't care that my ex-husband was parading his pregnant trophy wife around like a prize pony.”
“You were there for your sister,” Giovanni pointed out reasonably.
“I was there because my mother begged me to keep the peace,” I corrected bitterly. “Sophia didn't even want me at the main tables because she was terrified my presence—and the fact that I’m a single mother working in scrubs—would offend her new husband’s high-society banker parents.”
Giovanni was quiet for a long moment. He reached out to the refrigerated console between us, pulled out a small bottle of still water, and handed it to me.
“Take a sip, Jessica. You haven't breathed properly since we left the ballroom,” he instructed gently, his tone brooking no argument.
I took the bottle, my fingers brushing against his. His skin was warm and steady. I unscrewed the cap and drank, realizing belatedly how parched my throat actually was.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Don't thank me yet,” Giovanni replied with a faint, wry smile. “We’re five minutes away from your apartment building. And based on the address my security pulled up, parking a Maybach on your street is going to cause a minor riot among your neighbors.”
I let out a breathless, exhausted laugh. “My neighbors mostly consist of college students and retired cats ladies who think a Toyota Camry is a luxury vehicle. A Maybach will probably convince them I’ve joined a drug cartel.”
“Let’s start with ‘corporate spy’ before jumping straight to cartels,” Giovanni teased lightly.
The car slowed down, turning onto the quiet, tree-lined street in the North Side neighborhood where I lived. The brick apartment buildings looked worn and modest beneath the amber glow of streetlamps, a stark, violent contrast to the crystal chandeliers of the Bellmont Grand.
As the Maybach glided silently to a halt outside my building’s front entrance, the heavy front door swung open, and my best friend Sarah stepped out onto the sidewalk, wearing oversized flannel pajama pants and holding a sleepy, coughing five-year-old wrapped in a pink dinosaur blanket.
My heart twisted.
I scrambled for the door handle, pushed it open, and hurried out into the damp Chicago air.
May you like
“Sarah! Lily!” I called out, rushing toward them.
Sarah hurried down the concrete steps, her face etched with worry. “Oh, thank God you’re back, El. She woke up about twenty minutes ago coughing hard, and she wouldn't stop asking for her mom... and the wedding cake you promised.”
