Page 122 of The Silence Lies

His thumb strokes delicate circles over the back of my hand. It’s absentminded, but filled with unspoken affection.

I smile up at him, wondering what is churning up in that head of his. Of course, the reminder of his daughter could be at the forefront, but I’ve realized there are many more layers to Giovanni that I want to get to know.

“Your voice isn’t how I imagined,” I chuckle lightly.

“Is that a bad thing?”

I shake my head. It’s anything but that. His voice is like a new kind of music that I’ve only just experienced, one that has my whole body moving towards it. My ears are attuned, my heart skips, beating heavier in anticipation to hear more. It’s a whole new addiction, one that I want to lose myself in.

“Where did you grow up?”

He frowns at me, and I laugh. Sue me for wanting to get to know him. Now that I have the opportunity and he trusts me enough to speak, I want to know everything.

I turn my body on the bed so that I’m leaning against the headboard beside Giovanni. With our hands still entwined, we let the silence envelop us. It’s just like it always has been between us, comforting silence, blissful silence. A quietude that seems so effortlessly natural that I know wouldn’t get this kind of feeling with anyone else.

Eventually, that silence is broken by Giovanni’s sigh. He spreads his hand, flexing his palm, then wraps his fingers around mine over and over again. “Sicily,” he finally answers.

“That answers a lot,” I laugh.

“Taci, Principessa,” he smirks, his tone playful.

“Principessa?” I gasp, slapping the back of my hand against his chest, careful not to hurt him further.

He grabs my wrist, bringing my hand to his lips. I’d be a liar if I said that the connection between us doesn’t spark fireworks, but this is neither the place nor time for those errant thoughts to emerge.

Regardless of what I tell myself, my eyes still drop to the delicious curve of his mouth. It’s almost automatic, a subconscious reaction. My chest stutters with apprehension, oxygen getting caught in my throat the longer my gaze sits there. I’ve thought about it, time and time again. Those moments where Giovanni is there to provide me the strength I need to chip away at the wall I’ve only allowed Luca and Levi to get past. I’m so close to the edge of giving in to this man and forgetting who I am to him. So close, ready to plummet into the vast chasm of the unknown; Giovanni.

But he pulls away, almost like he’s suddenly all too aware of the cavernous drop that threatens to change our dynamic.

I tilt my head towards him, my brows knitting together.

“Why is Luca mad at you?” he asks, placing the photograph on the table beside his bed.

It’s my turn to go silent now, holding back my worries and doubts that my father somehow managed to coax out of me a few days ago.

“Serafina,” Giovanni huffs. It seems that now we are on speaking terms, Giovanni is using that to get answers out of me that he wouldn't be able to otherwise. And I can guarantee that I wouldn’t be voicing them openly.

But there’s something in his gaze that always leaves me feeling safe and comfortable, like it doesn’t matter what I tell him, because it would never go past these walls.

“My father,” I answer, but it’s vague and he picks up on that.

He frowns, still trying to figure out how one led to the other. “I saw your interaction. What did he say to you?”

My eyes land on my lap, watching the way my fingers rub against one another. Giovanni reaches across and takes one of my hands, giving me that comforting squeeze that always weakens me.

“My father doesn’t trust me to lead the family,” I sigh. Though it’s only half of the truth, it still hurts to say the words out loud.

“Is that it?”

My brows contort as I lift my gaze to his. “He told me to end things with Marchese and Fontana before they destroy me.”

“Ah…” Giovanni relents. By now, he is more than aware of the situation between Luca, Levi, and I, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest by that dynamic. “So Luca is mad about that?”

I shake my head, feeling the burn of guilt well in my eyes. “He doesn’t know. He’s angry because of what happened after. It could have been me, Gio. And he just thinks I was leaving the party early to get away.”

“Why haven’t you told him?”

I shrug. In all honesty, I’ve asked myself that countless times over the last few days, but I keep coming back to the same answer; I don’t want my fathers words to sow seeds of doubt in anyone’s mind. It’s already started to weed my own, I don’t want to give Luca or Levi another reason to think this might not work between us.

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