Page 36 of Knot Made to Break: Part Two

The designer, clearly experienced in navigating couples’ discussions, discreetly slid over the catalog for the premium line, probably hoping for a bigger sale.

My eyes widened at the specifications of the top model. “Six rack positions? Convection and steam functions?”

My fingers hovered over the page, almost reverently. These were the kind of features I’d only dreamed about when watching professional baking shows.

“Gio, this is professional grade. It’s too much. I’m just a hobbyist.” But even as I protested, I couldn’t tear my eyes from the specs—precise temperature control, steam injection for artisan bread, space for multiple sheet pans at once.

Giovanni’s expression softened as he watched me practically vibrating with excitement. “Nothing’s too much for you,” he said quietly, and the simple statement carried such weight that I had to look away, overwhelmed by the emotion behind it.

I’d never had anyone care about my happiness this way—never had someone who noticed the little things that lit me up from within. The Valentinos had seen me as property, a thing to use and abuse. Before them, foster families had viewed me as a paycheck at best, a burden at worst. But Giovanni—all my Alphas, really—saw me. They noticed what made me come alive and went out of their way to nurture those things.

Like reading with Tommy. Driving with Marco. Quiet intimacy with Dimitri. And this very moment with Gio.

My mind already raced with the confections I could create in such an oven—macaroons with perfect feet, delicate choux pastry, crusty artisan breads with open, airy crumb structures—each possibility making my mouth water. I could almost smell the buttery, sweet scents.

“We’ll take this one,” Giovanni told the contractor, who nodded and noted down our choice. “And I’d like to do double wall ovens, not single.”

I opened my mouth to protest the extravagance but closed it again when Gio gave me that look—the one that said arguing was pointless. Instead, I leaned into his side, quietly accepting his generosity, still learning that it was okay to receive without feeling guilty.

My phone chimed from my pocket, breaking my reverie. I smiled apologetically at the designer. “Sorry, that might be the contractor looking for a decision about the bathroom fixtures we were discussing yesterday.”

I pulled out my phone, expecting a message from Joey. He’d been incredible with communication, always making sure to include me in every decision. Honestly, he might be the guys’ cousin, but the man knew what he was doing when it came to construction and renovations. We were lucky he cleared his schedule to take on our project.

But as I glanced at the screen, my smile froze, blood draining from my face so fast I felt dizzy.

The text was from that same unknown number…

Enjoy playing house while you can. It won’t last.

My fingers tightened around the phone, my chest constricting as panic flared hot and bright. Rocco. It just had to be him. No one else would take such pleasure in tormenting me, in reminding me that my happiness was temporary, fragile, and under threat. The words blurred as my vision tunneled, my breathing becoming shallow and quick.

Giovanni, always attuned to my emotional state, was behind me in an instant. His body tensed as he caught the shift in my scent—fear, sharp and acrid, so cutting evenmynose wrinkled from the bitter notes that had risen between one heartbeat and the next.

“Kitania?” One of Gio’s hands went to the curve of my hip while the other tucked back some of my hair, pulling it over my shoulder.

Tall as he was, he had a straight line of vision to the phone I was staring at. Before I could hide the screen, his hand captured mine, tilting the phone to read the message. His body went rigid.

“What the fuck is this?” The words came out as a growl, his Alpha aura swelling around us so powerfully that I instinctively wrenched my neck sideways, a primal submission response I couldn’t control. My body recognized the predator behind me, even if my mind knew he’d never hurt me.

The designer took two hasty steps backward, muttering something about checking measurements and disappearing to the kitchen with impressive speed. Even though he was a Beta, he clearly recognized when an Alpha was on the edge of losing control.

Giovanni’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking visibly as he struggled to contain his rage. He took a deliberate breath, clearly trying to rein in his Alpha presence for my sake, but his eyes remained dangerously dark, the hazel now almost black with fury.

“I’m sorry.” The apology was automatic. Old habits from a difficult past died hard—apologize first, try to defuse the situation, make yourself small and unthreatening.

Giovanni’s expression softened marginally as he cupped my face with his free hand, titling my head sideways and up so he could see my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. The gentleness contrasted sharply with the barely contained violence in his eyes.

“No more secrets—not about this.” He took my phone, scrolling up to read the first one from the same number. “When did these start?”

I swallowed hard, guilt washing over me for not telling them sooner. “Last week. That’s only the second one, but...”

“But you didn’t want to worry us.” It wasn’t a question. Giovanni knew me too well by now.

“You’re already working on taking Rocco down. I didn’t think the messages would change that—just make you angry.”

“Damn right, I’m angry.”

I winced.

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