Gia’s POV
My eyes blinked open, slow and heavy, stinging from the bright light as it settled in.
A cough slipped past my lips, rough and dry, like my throat had been scraped with sand.
My hand flew to my neck as a dull ache throbbed beneath the skin, my fingers brushing the sore spot.
And then it hit me.
The auction.
The man who reeked of death.
His hand over my mouth.
Me, passing out.
My eyes snapped open wide now.
And I saw him.
He sat across from me, one leg bent casually like this was a conversation, not a nightmare.
Just like before, his grey eyes locked on mine, piercing into every layer of my skin.
His expression showed no guilt, not even a hint that anything he did haunted him.
My chest tightened.
“You…” my voice cracked as I pushed myself upright, panic gripping my insides… “you tried to kill me.”
He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.
“Why did you bring me here?” I shouted, my voice rising.
My hand shot forward, finger pointed like it could burn a hole through his chest.
“Is this how you plan to wipe out the Giovanni name?”
My eyes darted around the room.
The living room was massive, high ceilings, gold décor…
But none of it mattered.
None of it felt real.
I scanned the space again, desperate for any window.
But the windows were buried behind heavy, creamy curtains, casting the entire room in a dim, oppressive gloom.
It felt like we were alone.
Just him and me.
And God, I feared for my life, that he’d kill me the same way he killed my father.
The light above burned too bright now, and there were no neon auction lights for him to hide behind.
I could finally see him clearly.
He wasn’t wearing the jacket from before.
Just a dark, fitted shirt clinging to his chest and arms, and black pants stretched over powerful thighs.
His hair was slicked back, a little messy. He looked too calm, like the chaos he’d caused didn’t matter.
He was tall. Clean-shaven. Cold.
Older, but in that maddening, dangerous way.
The kind that made your heart skip, both in fear and in admiration.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
Then came the words, low and smug.
“Pretty doll, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”
That voice was deep and threatening.
Oh my God.
This man was a psycho.
How could he talk about killing someone like it was entertainment, something he did when he was bored?
There was no escape for me, so I had to try another strategy. Maybe I could appeal to his conscience, though I doubted he had one.
I sat up straighter.
“What more do you want from me?”
My voice trembled, but I didn’t stop.
“You killed my father. Isn’t that enough?”
The corner of his mouth lifted.
That same smug expression he wore at the auction.
He wasn’t even trying to deny it.
“You’re not going to lie?” I whispered. “You’re not even going to pretend you didn’t do it? I saw you. I saw the blood. I watched him fall. I watched you shoot him.”
His face didn’t change.
Not even a trace of regret.
Just that look, like he was proud of it.
“Because he deserved it,” he replied flatly. “Your father was the real monster. Death would’ve been too easy.”
“Don’t you dare talk about him like that.”
I lashed out, a raw instinct rising to defend the man I’d called father my whole life.
Even if some part of me was still scared…
Because I knew this man could kill me just as easily.
He raised an eyebrow.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
Silence.
His grin deepened.
“The kind of man he really was. The enemies he made. The blood he spilled. And you want to sit there and defend him like some little girl who doesn’t know what kind of world she was raised in?”
My dad was far from perfect, but he loved me, in his own way.
I remembered the nights he came home late and still read me bedtime stories.
How he’d kiss my forehead and call me his princess. How he promised to always protect me.
But I also remembered the locked doors.
The yelling behind them.
The bodyguards going in and out of rooms that were off-limits to me.
The months he never came home.
The fear in Aunt Camilla’s eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking.
She said he had enemies.
Maybe he’d just made one mistake.
Maybe he wasn’t the devil this man claimed.
“He wasn’t a monster,” I whispered, though the words felt small now, like I was struggling to believe them myself.
He rose from his seat, his footsteps echoing as he came closer.
I backed into the couch, pressing my body as far as it could go, but it didn’t matter.
He already stood before me.
“People like your father always have two faces,” he sneered.
“You only saw the version he wanted you to see.”
His hand reached out, fingers brushing my cheek, slow and too warm for a killer.
A shiver tore through me, and I hated it.
So I turned my face away, ashamed that my body even responded to him.
But he didn’t let go.
He gripped my jaw, firm, tilting my face back to him.
His thumb dragged slowly from my cheek to the corner of my lips, parting them just slightly.
“This viper’s mouth of yours,” he murmured, “I already told you, I’ll tame it… and put it to good use. Soon.”
Fury surged through me and I slapped his hand away.
His eyes darkened.
Then his hand wrapped around my neck.
Not tight, but firm. Enough to still my breath and remind me exactly who held the power.
He yanked me forward until our faces nearly touched, his breath hot against my lips, burning through the small space between us.
It didn’t just warm my skin.
It awakened every nerve ending in my body.
“No one disrespects me,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “Not the men who beg for mercy right before I put a bullet in their brains. Not the ones I bury alive. And definitely not you, pretty thing.”
Fear shot through me, hearing the gruesome acts he had committed, but I couldn’t let it show.
“I don’t care,” I shot back, voice shaking. “You killed my father. You took the only person I had left. How do you think that makes me feel?”
My throat tightened, and tears welled in my eyes despite how I fought to hold them back.
“Why?” I choked. “Why my dad? Why me?”
He stared at me.
Then he laughed wickedly.
“For revenge.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Your father took something from me,” his voice was low and strained, as though a painful memory had just flashed in his head. “Something I can never get back.”
“And this is how you repay him?” I asked, heart pounding. “By ruining the life of an innocent girl who knows nothing about any of this?”
“Oh no.” He loosened his grip just slightly.
“This isn’t about ruining you.”
His gaze locked onto mine, intense, piercing.
“This is about owning you.”
It felt like the floor slipped out from under me.
I didn’t want to beg, but the thought of what the man who killed my father was capable of doing to me terrified every inch of my body.
“Please… let me go.”
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction right before he released me.
I stumbled back, hands flying to my throat, massaging the tender spot where his fingers had pressed.
“Pretty doll,” his voice was taunting, “I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”
Then he smiled in a twisted way.
“I’ll take my revenge by punishing every inch of that body for one reason only… my pleasure.”
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
