CHAPTER ELEVEN
What the hell am Idoing? I have no right getting friendly with Gia. I don’t miss the side glances and the obvious gawkers from the patrons on the patio as we drink and talk. And laugh. Gia has done what she set out to do and made me crack.
Only Elena can do that, and even then, it isn’t often. She constantly complains about me being too serious. Had she witnessed what I’ve witnessed and lived my life, she’d be serious too. Or dead.
She had been at university in France when I was at my lowest. Or highest, depending how I looked at it. Learning to bury my emotions and how to kill were skills I mastered from my uncle. The only good in him was keeping his life of crime away from Elena and promising to teach me what I needed to know to get my vengeance.
Uncle Sal may have been close to Lorenzo’s level of evil, but he loved his brother and his daughter. When my father was killed, he took me under his wing and taught me his business, and when he saw the life of crime was not in my blood, he promised to set me free, but only after I fought by his side until he took over his biggest enemy’s territory.
I paid my dues and walked away nearly unscathed. Uncle Sal and his men, however, were overrun and were killed in the massacre. Making good on his promise, Sal had made provisions for Elena, keeping her distanced from his business. For the most part, she’s unaware of the level of crimes her father had committed, and my role in any of it.
Gia, on the other hand, has her own share of demons she fled from. They didn’t disappear when she ran, and still haunt her.
My vendetta against Lorenzo isn’t for her, but she’ll benefit just as much as I. Maybe not just as much since I’ll be stripping away her fortune and will have the satisfaction of eliminating the monster who’s haunted my dreams for the past decade.
As quickly as my thoughts go to revenge, Gia says something to pull me back to the now. Her jokes, her mission to push my buttons, have been more fun than I expected, which is how I find myself in the recliner next to her in my home theater eating pizza from a plate in my lap and sipping on root beer floats.
Marco is paid well not to ask questions, but I could read the shock in his eyes when I asked him to bring us to a pizzeria while I sent him to the store to search for root beer and ice cream. By the time he came back, our order had been ready.
Gia insisted we go back to the house to eat, which is ironic since she’s been complaining about feeling trapped in her gilded cage, as she likes to call it.
“Since I’m the guest I get to pick the movie.” She holds the remote in one hand and a slice of mushroom and green pepper pizza in the other.
We couldn’t agree on toppings, so I ordered two pizzas. Classic pepperoni for me and the fungus and rabbit food for her. It has been a long time since I’ve had pizza, and an even longer time since I lounged in the theater room, as Gia refers to it, watching a movie.
To me, it’s just another living space. It happens to have a floor to ceiling screen and three rows of recliners. Fifteen of my closest friends and family can watch together. Only I have no family. And I have no friends.
“Oh, I love this movie.” She stops scrolling and turns up the volume. Whatever she picks will be new to me. I don’t waste my time staring at a wall watching fictional lives play out. The only reason I caved tonight is because of our meeting with the priest tomorrow.
Lying to him will be impossible, which is why Gia insists we go through the motions tonight. And if I’m being honest, it isn’t as tortuous as I expected it to be.
“Have you seen it before?”
“No,” I answer without looking up at the screen.
“It’s a classic. Julia Roberts is phenomenal in all her movies, but Pretty Woman is hands down my favorite.”
“I take it it’s not a drama or action adventure?”
“Romantic comedy.”
“Wonderful,” I groan.
“She’s a prostitute and he’s a billionaire who hired her for the night. But then he hires her for the weekend and then they–”
“A movie about a prostitute doesn’t sound like a romantic comedy.” None of the women I call up to fuck are funny. Or romantic. I’m not ignorant either. They are glorified prostitutes. I’m a hypocrite fucking them, but I have Marco do extensive background checks on each woman I bring in.
They give their bodies by choice, not because anyone forces them into it, or because they have bills to pay.
“You’ll see. When they–”
“Let me guess. You’re the type of person who talks through the entire movie asking questions, ruining the plot, and making your predictions known.”
“Wow. Aren’t you grumpy? If it pisses you off that much, we can watch one of your mafia movies.” She picks up the remote and continues scrolling again.
“If a romantic comedy is the way to your heart, then that’s what we’ll watch.”
Holy fuck. My men better not be within listening distance. If they are, they better have heard the sarcasm and my reluctance to cave to Gia. Even though I don’t fight it too hard.