Page 11 of The Silence Lies

“I am an ally, Serafina,” he says assuringly. “But that doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

The last words don’t sting as much as I thought they would. Still, I don’t turn to watch him leave, his words are enough. I wait until the door clicks shut before I slump into the seat Luca vacated, burying my head in my arms. The weight of the situation is getting heavier, and I haven’t even started planning how I’m going to make the Verdis pay.

We could have used the Rocco family’s help, but I should have known their position when it came to me. Not everyone is on board with me leading, but I don’t need everyone. I just need a few allies. Luckily, there are still a few more families to reach out to. At least we have the arms dealers on our side, which means we have the means to attack if and when we need to.

Now that Luca is definitely on our side, I should really start thinking about my plan of attack. Levi was right about one thing yesterday. I did need that closure. I needed to say goodbye to Enzo before moving onwards. Living in the past won’t help me. Except it’s so damn hard to move on. I see nothing but darkness ahead, death and deterioration of this organization. I can’t let that happen.

I just can’t.

The heavy clunk of boots entering the room grabs my attention. I half expect Levi to wrap his arms around me and tell me some stupid joke about Luca’s hairstyle or something. Instead, I am met with silence.

Silence.

Lifting my head, I meet Giovanni’s gaze. He stands stoically by my side, looking down at me with a softness rounding his eyes.

“I’m fine,” I sniff, swiping at my wet cheeks. I have no doubt that I look a mess, but it doesn’t seem to faze my bodyguard. “I’ll be fine,” I reassure, standing up from the table.

Giovanni grabs my arm before I can get away. It’s not hard enough to bruise, but his grip is firm enough to keep me in place. His green eyes are narrowed on me, like he’s silently asking me a question.

For a moment, we just stare at one another. While I’m trying to work out what his silence means, he’s solely focused on my eyes. There’s a weird tension drawing me to him, and it plays at my heartbeat.

His lips twitch, but he still doesn’t say a thing. I can’t tell if I enjoy the silence, or his presence. Whatever it is, I feel a calm wash over me. And when his eyes soften, I feel it; that understanding flowing between us. It’s like he gets me, he comprehends the pain I’m feeling, the guilt I’m harboring.

I want to ask why, but from what I know of the man, I’ll never receive the answer.

No matter what anyone says, I still blame myself for what happened that day. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t say anything. Maybe that’s why I enjoy his silence. His looks seem to say more than words ever could.

I smile weakly, a silent thank you portrayed in my eyes.

“Hey, Ser—”

Giovanni snatches his hand away like I’ve stung him. It’s an attempt to conceal whatever was passing between us, but I’m pretty sure Levi already noticed.

“Everything okay?” he asks behind me.

I look up to meet Giovanni’s gaze. There’s no telling what’s going on in that man’s head, I don’t know him well enough to decipher every single one of his looks, so I turn to Levi and smile. “We’re good.”

“Good.” He slumps down in one of the chairs, running a hand through his dark hair. “Because it’s time to get the chessboard out.”

Luca

A single hand walks up my arm, delicate yet sharp fingers poking at my skin. “Fontana, come on. I can make you feel good.”

I throw back the remnants of my whiskey before I slide my gaze to the blonde currently trying to seduce me. “Somehow, I don’t think you can give me what I really want.”

Her brows furrow. “Try me.”

I admire the challenge she puts forth, but I’m really not in the mood—and that’s saying something. Since coming face to face with Serafina for the first time in a couple of months, I’m suddenly feeling a whirlwind of emotions. Emotions I don’t want to address, but they’re there nonetheless.

Today has forced me to face it all. I want to hate Serafina for what happened to my father. For the past three weeks, I have done just that. It’s easier to hate her, because it pushes aside the other feelings; the betraying, contradictory emotions.

I’ll never forget the first time my eyes landed on her at one of the family gatherings. She was wearing a gold dress that sparkled every time the light caught it. Her brown hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall, but all I really remember was her eyes, those big brown eyes twinkling back at me as our fathers introduced us. She was as stunning as she was oblivious to it. She was sweet, friendly, and innocently charming. She was attentive, listening to every single word I said and not just in the polite sense.

She was charismatic.

She was perfect.

But then she let my father die. She allowed him to fall, and now I’m the only living person to carry on my family name. The last Fontana.

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