Page 63 of Bloody Savage God
“I believe that.”
By the time Mateo leaves, I’m certain he’ll be spreading the word that not only have I been having dinner with Riccardo, actually nourishing the alliance between our families, rather than just bad-talking about things the way Mario does, but that on-on-one time with me is a hell of a lot more rewarding than intimidating, which will hopefully set the stage to counter the smear campaign Mario has begun.
It’s a small win, but as I finish my coffee, I’m painfully aware that all I keep doing is being reactive as opposed to proactive. That needs to change.
Which is why when my phone dings with a message from Mikhail, I turn it over on the table and sit down behind the desk, powering up my laptop, which no longer lives in my own room, but has found its way here.
My new office.
Replacing my father in a way that doesn’t feel quite right. Not yet, anyway.
Just as I start my browser, my phone vibrates with a call, but I hit the side button, sending it to voicemail. Mikhail will have to wait.
In fact, it’s best I cut the whole thing off completely. From here on out, I’ll deal with my problems myself.
Mikhail
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Gianna isn’t answering. Hasn’t been answering ever since I started calling her like some desperate middle schooler with his first crush. What if someone already took out the hit? Gianna knows how to handle herself, but that’s no guarantee.
My mind races as I consider my options. I could try to track her down, but that could take precious time. And what if I get there too late? No, I need to see her in person, make sure she’s safe and protected.
I take a deep breath and head out to my car. As I speed towards Gianna’s villa, my heart is pounding with anxiety. I know that if anything has happened to her, I will never forgive myself, and that is a fucking strange feeling. Because this is more than an obsession. More than a craving.
Gianna fucking Bruno has snuck her way into more than my pants, and I’ll be damned if anyone messes with my woman.
Assuming there is still time.
As I approach the villa, my heart is racing uncomfortably. I ring the doorbell, and after what feels like an eternity, the door finally opens. But it’s not Gianna who greets me. Instead, a man who looks to be in his sixties opens the door.
“Can I help you?” he asks, giving me a scowling once-over. Of course, Gianna would have a fucking butler. A queen deserves no less.
“I need to see Gianna,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady as I restrain myself from pushing the old man out of my way.
Gianna wouldn’t appreciate that.
“Ms. Bruno is quite busy. Perhaps you can leave a message with me,” the guy offers, giving me a patronizing look that has me itching to pull my gun.
“I understand that,” I say, reeling in the aggression trying to push to the surface. “But I need to make sure she’s safe.”
There, that is reasonable enough. If he doesn’t let me in now, I’m sure Gianna would understand if I blast him out of my way. How hard can it possibly be to find a replacement?
The man hesitates for a moment before finally nodding. “One moment, please.”
I don’t let him close the door in my face, putting my foot out to stop him from doing just that. He scowls but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he presses a button next to the door and speaks into a small microphone.
“There is a man by the name of–?” He looks at me expectantly.
I almost tell him my real name, but think better of it at the last second. “Mike.”
He raises an eyebrow at the lack of a last name, but repeats what I told him into the small voice receiver.
A moment later, Gianna’s voice comes through. “Thank you, Anton. Send him in.”
Following Anton into the villa, I take a look around the place Gianna calls home. The grand entrance area suits her personality.
When we reach her office, I find her sitting behind a large wooden desk, a look of intense concentration on her face.
“Gianna,” I say, the ball of painful anxiety uncurling in my guts. “Are you okay?” I ask the question even though I can see she’s alright, needing confirmation from her.
