Chapter 53: Absolute nightmare.
Gianna’s POV
Marriage? To Dante De Luca?
It would be an absolute nightmare.
The thought alone made my stomach turn in different directions, fury tearing through me like fire in my veins. The last thing I wanted was to be bound to that man, as his wife, as anything permanent. And yet here we were… a hall full of men who thrived on blood, violence, and power. Men who traded women like property and believed they had the right to decide my fate without even asking if it was what I wanted.
Another voice, one of the Clan heads at the far side of the table, spoke up quickly.
“Augusto has a point, Don. A marriage would be… symbolic.”
The air shifted at once. Every gaze snapped to me, curious, judging, weighing me against Dante as though we were already bound together. My lungs burned as I held my breath.
And then there was Dante.
He sat at the head of the table, fingers casually tracing the rim of his wine glass. The small, lazy motion made my heart pound faster. I waited, no, prayed for him to say something. To shut this ridiculous idea down.
He should have snapped. He should have told them it would never happen.
But instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming with something I couldn’t place.
“So, Augusto… you of all people are eager to see me married to Lorenzo’s daughter?”
For one wild second, I couldn’t breathe.
Why wasn’t he denying it? Why did it sound like he was considering it?
He despised me, for what my father had stolen from him, for everything my family had
He reminded me
of it every time his gaze cut through me. To him, I was nothing but a pawn, a name he could use to complete his revenge. That was all.
But Augusto wasn’t done. Of course not. His mouth curled into a sly smile.
“Eager? No. But I only meant… for such an alliance to last, there must be true union between the families. Otherwise…” His eyes shifted toward me. “…you’re only using Gianna for the time being, to secure her father’s allies. And if that’s the case, Don, then perhaps you should set her free. To me. And….”
He never got to finish.
Dante’s palm hit the table with a loud bang that echoed through the hall, the silver rattling.
“You bloody swine!” His voice was low, but it carried like thunder. “I give you a fucking inch and you cross your boundaries?”
The room went still. Even the servers froze mid–movement
“How dare you ask that I hand Gianna over to you,” Dante snarled, leaning forward, the veins in his neck hard and raised.
His chest rose and fell in harsh, uneven breaths. But what startled me most… was the look in his eyes.
It wasn’t just rage.
Chapters ongleurs
It was something that looked too much like panic.
The mere mention of letting me go had cut him deeper than he’d expected.
And for a heartbeat, I could swear I saw fear, not for his power, not for his pride, but the kind that came from the thought of losing something he didn’t even realize he wanted to keep.
Augusto lifted both palms slightly in fake surrender, voice suddenly stammering. “I… I apologize, De Luca. 1 didn’t mean to rattle you. It was only a suggestion…”
“A suggestion,” Dante cut him off, pointing a single finger at him, his tone now ice–cold and controlled. “A suggestion that could cost you those chubby fingers.”
Gasps rippled quietly down the table.
“I will make this clear one last time,” Dante’s voice dropped but was still deadly. “Gianna is now part of the De Luca family. And I am never setting her free.”
My heart sank. He’d said those words to me before, so many times, in so many ways. But hearing it now, out loud, in front of every Clan head, every ally of my father’s, men who once would have defended me, felt different. It felt final, Irrevocable. None of them would challenge him. Not even my father’s old friends.
He leaned back slightly, still glaring at Augusto. “I’m letting this go as another warning.
Then his voice dropped lower, rougher, a growl that silenced the room.
“Gianna Giovanni is mine. Forever.”
That shut them up. Not a single man dared push further. The blood drained from my face. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved that he’d dismissed the idea of marriage, or terrified by the finality in his words. Gianna Giovanni is mine. Forever.
It was then the doors burst open.
“Sorry I’m late,” a raspy masculine voice called from behind, casual, almost teasing.
Every head turned.
A man walked in, tall, stylishly dressed, confidence rolling off him like expensiv slicked back, a thin gold cross resting against his chest where his shirt hung slig familiar mix of charm and danger, born and bred Mafia.
For a moment, I didn’t recognize him.
Then I did.
Niccolò
“Son,” Augusto said, half rising from his chair. “You’re late”
brown hair was
is eyes carried that
Niccolò bowed slightly. “Apologies for missing the big moment. I had important business to attend to. Especially to you, Don Dante De Luca… my sincere apologies, Mafia King.”
Dante waved a dismissive hand, barely acknowledging him. Niccolò inclined his head lower, then straightened and slid into an empty seat.
My eyes followed him as old memories pushed their way to the surface. Niccolò was Augusto’s only son. When we were kids, our fathers would lock themselves in the study for hours having meetings, and Niccolo and I would sit outside, playing cards, talking, laughing about things we didn’t understand. He used to tease me, saying I was too serious for a girl my age. And then life happened hadn’t seen him since I turned eighteen.
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But that was years ago. Under any other circumstance, seeing a familiar face would’ve f knowing what I knew about Augusto and his dealings with my father, I wasn’t sure ho Niccolò was any different from him. I wanted to believe he was. Back then, he’d been k sweet in his own way.
OW,
ered if
us, yes, but
His gaze found mine now, searching. There was curiosity in his eyes, maybe even concern. And for a fleeting second, I thought he might actually care about what had become of me. Because unlike his father, who only saw me as leverage, Niccolò looked like he was trying to understand.
“Gianna,” he said warmly, his voice carrying across the table. “It feels good to see you again.”
My chest tightened. I didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or exposed. After all these years, it stung to know he was seeing me like this, Dante’s mistress. I forced a small smile. “It feels good to see you too.”
I didn’t miss the way Dante’s head turned at that, how his knife stilled, how his gaze cut toward us, studying. There was a flash there, something like surprise, as if he hadn’t expected we knew each other.
Niccolò went on, “It’s just a shame we meet under these circumstances.”
A few men coughed, others lifted their wine glasses, pretending not to listen even as their ears strained for every word.
“Ah, yes,” Augusto jumped in, his voice suddenly loud and falsely cheerful. “Truly a shame.”
Then, with a look that slid deliberately toward Dante, he added, “Gianna and my son have known each other since they were children. Many playdates, wasn’t it? In fact…” He chuckled. “It was Lorenzo’s wish that one day Niccolò and Gianna would be married.”
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