He shakes his head. “Stupidest thing she ever did was run off on you.” His expression turns to one of chagrin. “Hell, all I ever want to do is run after you. And I’m getting tired of holding myself back.”
I manage a watery smile. “I have to admit, I like being chased. Way too much.”
Gio pulls me into him, straddling his lap. “Is that why you keep running?” There’s a serious edge to his voice that tears right through my defenses. Shreds the thin walls of the tent I’m camped in.
“No,” I admit.
He runs his hands up and down my back. “Then why? Because I’m a Tacone?”
I drop my forehead against his chest. I don’t want to admit it. I know it will hurt him. He may be a badass Family man, but he takes offense easily—at least with me he does. “I’m sorry, Gio,” I whisper.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I don’t want to.
I really don’t want to.
But he waits until I lift my head and meet his gaze.
“I can’t help the family I was born into. And I can’t change what I’ve been. The things I’ve done. But I want you to know things are different now. Our dad is in jail. Nico’s made us a fortune with a legitimate casino/hotel business. And after the bratva shit went down last year, Junior shut down all our remaining business in Chicago.” He lifts his arms as if to show me his waist. “Look—I left the gun in the car. I let your boss live, angel. I’ve changed. I almost died last year. And I’ve had a real hard time figuring out the point of living since then. But now I think I found it.”
My gaze flicks to the piano, but he catches my chin and pulls it back to him. “No, not the piano. Although that’s wonderful, too. No, it’s you, baby. You’re bringing me back to life. That must be why I kept dreaming about you. La Madonna was showing me where life was worth living.”
I burst into messy tears, and Gio pulls me up against him tight. I wrap my arms around his neck with a strangulating hold.
“I’m keeping you, baby. I just gotta figure out how to get you on board with that.”
“I’m on board.” I sniff against his neck. “Yeah, I’m on board. Take me to your place, Gio.”
Chapter 11
Gio
I don’t want to wake Marissa. Her face is so soft and innocent and she’s only had five hours of sleep. But she has to open at Milano’s, and I said I’d get her there.
Still, I don’t move. I just drink in the sight of her. I had the nightmare again. Woke in a cold sweat from the horror of seeing her with a gun at her head.
But she’s right here. In my bed. Safe and sound.
Where I want to keep her always. Where she belongs. I just have to figure out how to convince her of that.
I trail kisses along her hairline. “Wake up, angel. We have to get going.”
“Hmm? Mmm.” Her lids flutter, but she slips right back into slumber.
“I wish the fuck I could let you sleep, doll, but I promised you I’d get you to Milano’s on time.”
“Hmm?” She sits up at the word Milano’s. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” Her smile is sweet and fucking gracious. I want to kiss her, but if I do, I’ll be holding her down and feasting between her legs for the next hour, and there’s no time for that.
“I’m sorry, bella. I hate to wake you.”
“No, it’s good.” She pushes a limp hand through her hair. “Thank you.”
I hand her the latte I paid the doorman to fetch and help her out of bed.
“Gio.” I love the way her voice is husky with sleep. “You’re so good to me. Thank you.”
“Get used to it, baby,” I tell her, giving her bare, beautiful ass a light slap when she stands. “I keep trying to spoil you. Are you ready to finally let me?”
She stops trying to step into her jeans and blinks at me. “Yes.”
I cup her chin and give her a light kiss. “Good girl.” I leave the room to keep from distracting her from getting dressed. When she emerges, we head downstairs together, my fingers laced through hers.
I like the way this feels. Being in charge of Marissa. Waking her up, getting her where she needs to be. I’ve never had someone to care for before. Never wanted that. That’s why I didn’t look for the wife and family deal.
But this—it feels so right. So good.
I drive her to Milano’s, trying to figure out how I can help. The girl works too hard. And I’m a bastard, because I want more of her time.
“So, Milano’s. What would it take for you to be able to quit?”
She sighs as she twists her hair on the top of her head with a scrunchie. “Mia growing up to help my aunt run it.”