Page 73 of The Don's Eternal Vows

I sink back into my chair, my mind a whirlwind of questions. How is she here - in what capacity? What was the true cost of my deal with Hades? The weight of the underworld god's bargain presses down on me, an invisible shroud draped across my shoulders.

Chapter 31

Genoveva

I’m sitting at the desk, going over the weekly grocery list, which I shall soon pass to Gianni to send over to the kitchen. But as I do, my eyes linger over the date on the corner of the paper: 19th December.

I trace my writing with a manicured nail, processing the passing of time. The house is silent, save for the ticking of the antique clock in the foyer. When was the last time Gianni took me out? The realization hits like a slap—weeks, maybe months.

My fingers curl around the pencil. The memory of impromptu shopping trips, stolen lunches at hidden cafes, champagne toasts at fancy date locations—all faded like old photographs. Now, I'm here, mostly always alone, while Gianni's world goes on without me.

Suddenly, the chores he seems to trust me with seem to become a burden. He tells me what to do but always acts as a messenger. He’ll let the maids know what I want, he says. He’ll bring me lunch, he says. He’ll pass on this message or fetch that item.

And I now begin to figure he’s only kept me busy, so I don’t find the time to question why he’s working so damn hard to keep me away from people.

The isolation within these walls grows thicker, and the air around me is heavy with unspoken truths as a realization dawns on me like a cruel joke. Does he know what I’ve always felt? From the first day back, people’s confused glances would flicker over me as though they were trying to see what it was that held Gianni’s attention.

If Gianni believed that people were diplomatic and discrete, then perhaps it is I who have become a mere ghost.

And could it be that he now sees this truth I’ve always felt?

I close my eyes and sink back into my chair, allowing this moment to pass. If he, too, sees what I’ve believed all along, then that changes everything about our relationship. For how long can we live together in this house? A man and his ghost?

I take a deep breath, and it comes out as a shudder. My mind now spins in a million directions, and I feel I’ll go absolutely insane if I let it. Perhaps before I let my thoughts run too wild, I need to hear Gianni’s truth.

Because if not, I’ll find no comfort or answers.

I find Gianni in his study, broad shoulders hunched over a stack of papers. He doesn't look up as I enter.

"We need to talk," I say, my voice steady despite the tremor in my chest.

Gianni's pen stills. He turns, dark eyes meeting mine. "What is it, cara?"

I perch on the edge of his desk, crossing my legs. "Why don't you take me out anymore? No lunches, no parties... It's like I've become invisible."

His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath his olive skin. I watch the hesitation dance across his face—the slight parting of his lips, the way his mouth opens, then closes again.

"Genoveva..." He reaches for my hand, but I pull away.

"Don't 'Genoveva' me," I snap. "Tell me the truth. What's changed?"

Gianni's gaze drops, and for a moment, I see a flicker of uncertainty. When he looks up again, his eyes are filled with asadness that tells me he knows. That fleeting look wrenches my heart into a painful knot and momentarily, I forget to breathe.

"It's not that simple," he says, voice low and gravelly. "There are... complications."

I lean closer, the scent of his cologne—spice and sandalwood—filling my senses. "Then uncomplicate it for me," I whisper, my lips inches from his ear. "Make me understand."

Gianni pulls away and stares into my eyes before he rises slowly. He paces without looking in my direction, hands clasped behind his back, up and down the length of his study.

"Genoveva," he says, still staring at the floor. He wrenches his hands together and suddenly looks up. His eyes - tortured, resigned - scutter across my face before his brows turn inward in anguish.

"I didn’t know how to tell you that the world... it can't see you." His voice carries with it the anguish of having kept a secret far too burdensome for one shoulder alone.

I blink, the words registering yet not quite processing. It sounds like he’s saying what I’ve always known, and to hear these words should offer some form of collective solace. Yet, it does no such thing. "What do you mean, 'can't see me'?"

He sighs, closing his eyes in tandem with a deep breath for strength. "You're invisible to them. To everyone but me."

The confession hangs heavy in the air, each syllable laden with sorrow. Memories flood back—the waiter who never took my order, the shopkeeper's eyes sliding past me, and the utter lack of acknowledgment from Gianni's associates. It all makes a terrible kind of sense.

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