19. Stephano

19

STEPHANO

I did a double take. At a first glance, I hardly recognized Gigi. This isn't the glamorous woman who strode down the Cannes marina with a skip in her step, or the siren who walked into Tasha's auction as if she owned the place, in the red dress I still want to rip off her. This isn't the woman who stayed and seduced me by just being there. Fuck. I might have kept my hands to myself that night, but now I have them on her, and it's like holding a cracked china doll.

Fragile. On the verge of breaking. I can feel it in the way she breathes, haltingly, how she quietly winces as she shifts, probably thinking I can't pick up on these little signals.

The only thing that's the same from the day in Cannes is that she's keeping a girl safe. In Cannes, she was hellbent on saving Tasha from the auction, but this time, it's clear it's only her sister's safety she's concerned about. Carla looks unscathed. I bet Gigi stepped in and took all the blows. Maybe we have more in common than either of us will ever admit to each other.

All I know is, the fucker who's done this to her is going to have his reckoning.

We've made it to the exit, and I spot my SUV with the tinted windows driving up to us. "Come on, this is us." I have my arm around her back, supporting her by her waist.

Tony, my bodyguard, who's been trailing a few steps behind us, opens the back door, and I help Gigi in. Carla rounds the car and gets in on the other side.

With a suppressed grimace, Gigi shifts to the middle seat to make space for me. As soon as I'm seated next to her, I strap her in. I'm careful not to touch her, but even the seatbelt makes her suck in a breath.

"You're going to tell me everything," I say. "Get me the medical kit in the back for some pain meds," I tell Tony, and he opens the trunk to pull out the emergency kit we always have on hand. He gets into the front passenger seat, and I nod at the driver to go. Tony passes me the pill box, and I hold out bottled water for Gigi. "Take two of these."

"I need a shower," she groans. "Will they knock me out?"

"Maybe, but you need to rest." I shake out two pills. "If you have broken ribs, the shower can wait. You'll feel better once you've slept on a bed."

"It's more than broken ribs." Carla leans forward to meet my gaze. "She won't say."

"Carla—" Gigi breaks off as she takes the pills. She doesn't look me in the eye. "If I fall asleep, look after my sister, please."

"I promise to take care of you both, and you know she's safe with me." I wasn't on my best behavior that day in Cannes, and I have no excuse for my last words to her, but surely, after that afternoon and night, she knows I'll never hurt a woman. Not that I've tested this theory, but—I can't go there. Not now. I watch how she swallows the two pills and take the water from her. "The drive isn't far."

"Where're we going?" Carla asks.

"My brother Matteo's apartment. It's basically a high-rise Alcatraz without the island."

"Sounds perfect," Gigi says, her eyes closed.

Her head bobs, and then it settles on my shoulder. She didn't need meds to knock her out; she needed the green light stating it's finally safe to fall asleep as someone else holds the fort. Whatever happened to her, it's totally drained her.

We drive out of the airport and take the tunnel to the other side of the harbor. It's quiet in the car as Carla stares out of the window. When we get to the high-rise apartment building Il Consiglio owns, the security team rolls the gate open for us, and we drive into Matteo's private underground garage. The driver parks close to the elevator. I manage to cradle Gigi in my arms, trying to be as gentle as possible. She moans but doesn't wake up.

Tony gets us into the elevator. Carla is fidgety now, probably because she doesn't know us at all, and with Gigi passed out, her mind could be in a tailspin. She also looks ridiculously young.

"How old are you?" I ask.

"Eighteen."

"You're going to tell me what happened, and you're not going to skip one single detail."

She bites her lip. "I'll tell you what I know."

"Good."

Soon, the elevator doors open to the penthouse foyer, which hosts three doors. A central double door leads to Matteo's apartment, a single to his bodyguard's apartment, and the third leads to a room we keep for special guests. There haven't been any of those lately, and when Matteo kidnapped Tasha, he opted to use the safe room inside his apartment as she didn't fit the profile of people we usually park there.

We've hardly stepped out of the elevator when the door to Matteo's place opens.

"You're here!" Tasha's eyes widen when she sees me carrying a body. "Oh, God, is that Gigi?"

"Yes." I meet her gaze, and our eyes communicate silently as she lets us in. This woman dressed in jeans and an oversized Milano, Ti Amo sweater and sneakers is a world apart from the elegant goddess we both met on Don Trapani's yacht.

"Is she okay?"

"I don't know. We might need to take her for X-rays. I gave her some meds for the pain."

"Okay, sure, this way."

I nod to Tony; he knows the drill. He'll hang out with the security team until I need him.

Tasha leads the way to the second floor, and I carry Gigi to the first guest bedroom. Carla is trailing behind, taking in the sumptuous, über-luxurious and ultramodern apartment. I lay Gigi down gently on her back, and Tasha removes her shoes. There are dark circles under Gigi's eyes, and her thick hair is gathered in a knot that's falling apart.

Carla stands in the door, looking teary-eyed at her sister.

"It was Franco Fiore. He was there Friday night, choosing his bride. One of us." She swallows, her voice shaky. "Gigi convinced him to let me go. I didn't know what happened until she came through the secret connecting tunnel in our rooms. She dug some sort of tracking device out of her arm. Vito helped her with a pair of tweezers."

She convulses, and Tasha has her by the arm, rushing her to the bathroom.

I'm fuming as I reach for Gigi's sweater and lift it up. "Fuck."

The sound of retching comes from the adjacent bathroom, and I just shake my head. I hear the women talk, but I can't take anything in, only staring blindly with building rage at Gigi's abdomen.

Tasha walks back, and her gaze drops to where I'm holding the sweater up. She hisses in a breath.

A bruise the size of a fist has spread as if it's opening its fingers underneath her breast. I lift the sweater higher, looking to see if there's more, but can't see much more than her bra.

"There could be internal bleeding," I say.

"Yes." Tasha indicates I should lift Gigi so she can take off her sweater.

As Tasha is helping Gigi's arms out of the sleeves, the movement wakes her, and she blinks drowsily and confused, panic flitting through her eyes.

"Hey," I say as I cup her cheek. "It's okay. We're just checking where it's hurting, angel."

She looks up at Tasha. "You're here…and you look so well."

"I am," Tasha says with a soft smile. "Happily married to Matteo."

"I was so worried that day."

A look passes between the women. These two already have a bond nothing is going to break.

Gigi helps us peel her sweater off. I glance down her back before I ease her down to lie again. The bruising seems to be only on one side. "He punched me twice. And there's this cut." She shifts her arm where a make-shift bandage is dark red with caked-up blood.

"That doesn't look good." I meet Tasha's gaze.

"I'll clean the wound to see how serious it is," Tasha says.

We're holding our breaths as she rolls the bandage off and the facecloth pressed against Gigi's arm falls away. There's an inch-long cut in her upper arm, red, inflamed, and bruised.

"I'm okay, really, I am." Gigi tries to reassure us, but I sense she's brushing over it. "The pain meds are helping. It's my side…my ribs. There's nothing more serious than that and this little cut."

Tasha shoots me a glance, and I can see she gets the same feeling. That's not all of it. A toilet flushes, and a faucet runs. Carla comes to stand in the bathroom door, pale with an undertone of green.

"I'll ask Rosalia to come look after you, Carla. She's our housekeeper and lives next door," Tasha says as she holds out her hand for the younger woman. "We have another spare room, and you can have a shower and rest there while we take care of Gigi. Come with me. I'll also sort out the necessary to deal with her wound."

Gigi looks at her sister and nods. "I'm good, cara . Everything is going to be fine. I'll just be here. We're safe now."

"Okay," Carla says, hovering. "I'm... Call when you need me?" She hesitantly takes Tasha's hand.

"I will. Go get some rest. It's been too crazy." Gigi nods again, but she bites her lip as Tasha heads to the door with Carla in tow.

There's something she isn't telling me. Something she doesn't want her sister to hear. Or see. My gut twists. It's no secret what some crime rings do to their women. Whether wives or prostitutes or slaves. Tattoos, piercings, mutilations. Anything goes if you dig deep enough.

We say nothing until they've filed out of the room. Tasha closes the door, giving us privacy.

"Where else, Gigi? Show me. Now."

My tone is more clipped than I intended. I'm ready to rip her jeans off her body and inspect that sweet pussy that's been haunting me for weeks to see what punishment is in store for the man who did this to her.

She hesitates, her bottom lip quivering.

"Tell me. Or show me."

She meets my searching gaze, quiet tears escaping the corners of her eyes. "I haven't looked. I'm too scared."

Those tears kill me. Gigi Trapani scared? She kidnapped Matteo and barged in on a Mafia virgin auction! Where's the sassy woman who threw a champagne bottle at me in fury? I'd do anything to lure her out again.

"I've got you, angel."

"Okay." Her hand rests on her hip and points lower as she whispers. "Here. And I don't want to know. And Carla…Carla must never know."

I say nothing as she collapses her hand to the side, inviting me in. I unbutton and ease off her jeans. I'm so careful, so gentle, my fingers barely make a whisper of touch on her belly, but still, her skin sparks goose bumps.

As soon as I have the zip down, I see she's shoved something in the front of her underwear. "Lift your hips."

She does, and I have the jeans down in a gentle pull and toss them to the side. I scan her beautiful bare legs for markings, but there're only bruises on her knees and shins.

I glance higher to her sex and the splotches of caked blood on her panties where it seeped from the napkin stuck to her underwear.

"Fuck." I run my finger along the panties' edge and gently lift, my gaze on her face. It doesn't budge, and now, she's gone even paler.

"It was supposed to be bandaged but that never happened. Now it feels glued." She covers her face with her hands. "Every time I had to go to the bathroom, it would rip and bleed, so I started pulling the crotch away instead when I needed to go."

"Okay." That sounds so fucking painful. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Just do it already."

"Then open up for me, angel, so I can come in from both sides." I have my hand on her thigh, and with a little nudge, she lifts her leg up so I can hook the panty line deeper down by her sex.

She's dragging in haggard breaths with each scab that rips where the napkin has coagulated with blood to her skin. I'm gentle, careful, but she visibly flinches.

"You good?" I glance up at her. "Almost there."

"Yes." When my fingers have disconnected the last spot, the whole thing shifts. She exhales a huff and opens her eyes for the first time. "Just take it all off."

I ease the panties off her legs, and she lies naked in front of me with only her breasts covered. Those bits of fabric aren't doing nothing much. Her nipples have pebbled, etched out in the thin cotton of her bra. Fuck .

"What did he do?" she asks, her voice quivering.

I'm staring at her mound, at the sweet tip of her pussy where blood has gravitated to and dried.

"Stephano! What do you see?"

"A death sentence, angel. That's what I see."