The Woman in the Trunk

Some day, this family would be mine. Keeping it from turning into a complete shitshow before then was important.

Now if I could just get that fucking woman out of my mind, that would be great.

I found myself wondering what she was doing in the apartment when I was out. When I was in, I wondered if she had enough food and drinks in her room since she refused to come out to eat dinner with me. And at night? Alone in my bed? Yeah, let's just say she took the dominant place in my mind then, leaving me hard and frustrated, a strong part of me wanting to charge across the hall and get another round.

It took more self-control than I knew I was capable of not to, to go to sleep unsatisfied.

But it was almost over.

The deadline was here.

"Yeah?" I asked, answering my phone on the second to last ring, not wanting to deal with my father, but knowing I had no excuse not to pick up.

"Bring the girl here at six."

"What?" I asked, confused. There hadn't been any talk about bringing Giana with me to the meeting with her father. And, quite frankly, it was not good that my father ordered she be there. He wanted to make a spectacle of her, to chain her to a chair, to gag her. He wanted a reaction out of Leon. My father had always thrived on the fear he could instill. But it was one thing if the fear was that of the person who had fucked him over in some way. It was a complete other to make Gigi pay for the sins of her father.

"What part of that was hard to understand?" my father asked, tone cold.

"Why would the daughter need to be there?"

"Leverage. If he tries to dick us around, we have her there."

We'd have her there.

My stomach twisted as his words settled in and his meaning became clear.

If Leon tried to stall, if he didn't have what he needed to, my father would order harm to Giana in front of her father.

And if anyone tried to step in—myself included—he would put a bullet in us.

I had no delusions about my father, about his feelings toward me. I was his underboss because I was the hardest worker, the biggest earner, because I had a body count that surpassed anyone but Brio.

I was the best option.

It had nothing to do with fatherly love.

My father wasn't capable of it.

He would take me out if he thought I was making him look bad. He'd drive a spike through me if he knew how I'd been running things behind his back for years.

This was not good.

And my fucking hands were tied.

"Six, Lorenzo."

And with that, silence.

As my heart pounded and my thoughts raced, while I tried to think of a single way to get us out of this situation.

I'd given her my word that I would take care of her. My father slicing off one of her fingers in my presence wasn't exactly me keeping it.

"Fuck," I hissed, grabbing my glass, throwing it at the wall, feeling a small amount of satisfaction as it shattered to the ground.

"What is going on?" Gigi asked, shocking me. It had been days since I'd heard her voice.

Or seen her face, I reminded myself as I turned so quickly that the room spun for a second.

There she was. In a white tee and a pair of short shorts. No bra, judging by her nipples peeking out through the fabric.

I didn't need my cock to stiffen right then, but there was no denying it did.

I sighed as I raked a hand through my hair before turning to grab two new glasses, uncapping the whiskey, pouring us each a double, then holding one out.

"Trust me, babe, you're going to want it."

Hesitantly, she moved forward, reaching out for the glass, careful not to brush my fingers with hers as she took it.

"My father hasn't paid," she said, not sounding surprised, but the hollowness in her voice was a knife to the gut.

"The meeting is at seven," I told her. "At my father's house."

"Oh."

"You need to be ready by six."

"Okay."

"Giana," I called when she turned, to go find something more appropriate to wear.

"What?"

"It's not good that my father wants you to be there tonight," I told her, trying to ease her into it.

I should have known better. Giana wasn't stupid. She knew more about the mafia than she let on. She knew how shit worked.

"He plans to use me against my father if he doesn't pay," she said. To her credit, she didn't tear up. But I saw her fear. It was in the tightness in her jaw, the way she jutted chin up to hide the tremble of her lower lip.

"That's my thinking," I agreed.

"In what way?" she asked, swallowing hard, and I didn't want to think of all the awful things that were likely running through her mind right then.