CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

brAXTON

I f I thought being with Gianna was hard knowing I can't keep her, it's nothing compared to hating her for being what I knew all along she really was.

A mafia princess.

I'd fooled myself, thinking she was different. She's not.

In her own words, she told me that she knows exactly the type of business her family is involved with. Or what she thinks I'm involved with.

She admitted she's selfishly okay with that.

I'm a fucking idiot.

I can barely look at her.

Lunch was awkward, and we both made small talk, drank a little too much, barely made eye contact, and then returned to the house to lie by the pool for the rest of the afternoon.

I pretended to snooze, ignoring Gianna's glances and unspoken questions.

She's hurt and confused.

I'm furious.

I want to throttle her...and fuck her. I want to punch myself in the face for being a goddamn fool.

When her mother joined us for a late afternoon cocktail, I had to put on my Braxton Rossi face once more.

" Ciao my darlings. Are you having a good day?" Angela Baldassare asked.

" Si , Mama," Gianna responded.

" Si ." I nodded, taking the Mojito from her. "Thank you."

"Tell me more about you, Braxton. Where did you grow up?" she asked.

"Chicago," I answered.

Never been there in my life.

"Ahh, the Windy City."

"My mom preferred the nickname, the second city ." I said, pulling some random information I picked up from a fellow Marine a few years back.

"Why do they call it that?" Gianna asked, sitting up and sipping her cocktail.

Fuck.

I don't know.

But my brain dug into his overworked database and, maybe it's a survival technique, but somehow, I remembered the entire conversation and decided to share it. After all, I only had six more hours in the household, so even if they decided to fact check it, it wouldn't matter.

I'd be long gone.

"The Great Chicago Fire. I think it was 1871. The locals called it the second city in reference to the resilience and strength needed to rebuild." I said and dropped my sunglasses over my eyes.

God, I'd sounded like a walking Wikipedia.

"He's smart and good looking, darling." Her mother had winked.

When Gianna's sad eyes met mine, I decided a swim would be an excellent decision. Or rather, a distraction. I left the mother and daughter to talk and dove into the pool where I did a few dozen lengths.

After, when I found myself alone, I cleared messages from Mack that told me everything was on track and that they'd be in a white van tailing me when I left the Baldassare estate this evening.

There was a PS from Connor: Don't break my car.

That got the first smile of the day out of me.

Handing back the black Italian luxury vehicle was going to be hard. I was becoming quite attached to it. Still, at least I'll have my life back tomorrow and, hopefully, Amy will be home.

If I pull this off, I'm taking a twelve-month vacation on a secluded island with tropical weather and nothing to do.

I know I'd get bored after a week, but I can dream.

Now, as I stand in the mirror and fumble with my cufflinks, I glance behind me as Gianna walks up and takes them from my hands.

Our eyes lock and my heart stutters.

Fuck, she's beautiful.

And looks devastatingly sad.

Because of me.

When I go to speak—and fuck knows what I was going to say—her eyes drop. "Here, let me."

"Gia."

She shakes her head. "Don't."

But I can't not. Despite everything, I have feelings for this woman and it's ripping me in half.

We have a matter of minutes left together.

She wants me to tell her I love her, but I can't. It's a lie. I could and I'm close, but I can never love her. Never love someone who stands idly by and allows these cruel things to exist.

She is a grown woman with choice.

But she deserves something from me after I've used her.

When she's finished, I take her wrists before she can move away and tug her arms around me, then grip her long, dark hair in my fist and force her to face me.

"Nothing I say will change anything. You know in your heart what you mean to me. That needs to be enough." My voice comes out rough.

Tears pool in Gianna's eyes and my heart clenches.

"It's not." She cries softly, a tear escaping down her face as I close my eyes.

I drop my mouth to hers and all the pain and emotion comes out in guttural moans from us both. I push her back against the bed, her knees hitting, and she falls onto the mattress. My hands drop to either side of her head.

I don't have time to fuck her, and I'm not sure if it's a good idea. As if filling her one more time might make me turn to the dark side.

I can't.

I'm a US Marine.

Nothing will ever change that.

Semper Fidelis.

Forever Faithful. Always Marine.

I take one last look at her beautiful face, so full of adoration and love for me. But it never belonged to me. I have used and betrayed her from the very beginning.

Knowingly.

Soon she'll know the truth.

"Gianna, my beautiful princess. If you were mine, I'd love you until the end of time." I cup her face and press my lips to hers, letting my eyes close. I keep them shut as I say, "Don't get up. Stay here."

"Braxton, wait." She begs but I stand, averting my eyes, and then walk out of the room.

I can hear her cries, but I can't do anything. I can't make her someone she's not. I can't change who I am. And I can't look back and see her pain.

Step by step, I make my way down the stairs, wondering if she'll come after me. I imagine her crying out that she doesn't know anything.

That her family means nothing and that only I do.

Begging me to take her away from all of this crime and abhorrent behavior.

She doesn't.

Instead, Dante is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, his arms crossed, dressed in a pinstripe suit looking like something out of a men's magazine.

He's a handsome asshole.

"Ready?"

I nod.

"Let's go."

GIANNA

I 'M SO CONFUSED. My heart is breaking.

I know why we can't be together, but Braxton doesn't. He knows nothing about Leo Baldoni.

If you could belong to me, I would love you until the end of time.

Why isn't he even trying? It's like there's a thought trying to knock on the door inside my mind. I'm missing something.

Why hasn't he asked?

Why hasn't he fought for me?

That wasn't a declaration of love, it was a tortured ending to a romance which barely got started.

Did Braxton ask my father if he could be with me?

Is that what happened?

Papa would say no, obviously.

I stare at the ceiling, angrily wiping away a tear.

Would I go? If the opportunity arose, would I really leave my family? My life. Everything I've ever known?

I don't know.

Perhaps I might if I knew the man I was leaving with truly loved me. This wouldn't just be a marriage or life commitment for me. This would be life or death. My father wouldn't just let me be kidnapped. Or let me run away.

I am a pawn to be traded to the Baldoni's.

The reality is, there aren't that many Connor Barrett's in the world. Mia's fairytale is not the norm.

I kind of hate her for it.

Except, I like her.

I touch my lips, feeling Braxton's last kiss and wonder if he will return tonight. Or is this what he does? Roams the world, breaking hearts in his wake, making empty promises.

He's thirty-one and doesn't have any roots. That I know of.

God, maybe he has a wife in Spain or Monte Carlo.

Or both!

I don't know.

I roll onto my side and stuff the pillow under my face, letting more stupid tears fall. This wasn't how it was meant to go. Braxton was a sexy distraction, someone I wanted to stay in the United States to have fun.

To enjoy mutual pleasure.

A man who desired me—me!—not the power of my father and family business.

Did I just hand it all to him?

Oh...

Woah...wait a minute.

I sit up, drawing in a breath and wiping my eyes.

Did Braxton Rossi play me?

Did he play me right from the damn beginning? Did he know what he was doing?

Have I been completely manipulated?

I climb off the bed and quickly dress, then race downstairs where I see Mama walking through the living room with a coffee mug.

"Where's Papa?" I ask in a rush.

"In his office. What's wrong, Gianna?"

I shake my head and head through the house to my father's den. The door is open, but he's inside speaking to one of his senior lieutenants.

"Papa," I say and know I look flushed.

"Gianna, we are busy," he replies, annoyed.

I rarely interrupt him. Both Dante and I learned early in life not to interrupt our father when he is working. It was not just out of respect, but because dangerous people come into our home.

At a certain age, it became more obvious to me. The men would look at me differently and Mama always kept me away from them.

Dante, too, until he was fifteen.

Then he began to shadow my father. I always thought he wanted this life until yesterday. Now my mind is full of questions.

Right now, I can only focus on Braxton.

"Papa, I need to speak to you," I say with urgency.

He watches for me a moment as I stand at the door, my heart pounding. Then he nods and waves me in.

The lieutenant leaves.

As I step inside, my stomach curdles. I'm not sure if I'm about to do the right thing.

Then again, I'm not sure if I have a choice.