Gio

“Key it.” Bernie tells me seriously.

Laughter bubbles up in my chest. I would love to see Gio’s face when he sees scratches across that perfect black paint job.

I won’t do it though. I’m not that type of girl. I won’t be spiteful.

“Do you love him?” Bernie asks once my laughter has settled.

I think about that question. Do I love him?

I love the way he touches me, the way he says my name, opens the car door for me. I love watching him with his family, dancing at his cousin’s wedding, telling stories about his sister. I love the way he looked at me that first day, and every day after.

He’s fiercely loyal, something I’ve never experienced before.

“I think so,” I say.

“Take it from an old man,” Bernie gives me a toothy grin. “Love isn't always easy, but it’s always worth it.”

The incessant calls have ceased only for Gio to be pounding on my door instead. I know it’s him. He’s the only person in my life who knocks so aggressively. Even Charlie only lightly pounded.

I take a steadying breath before I open the door.

He’s sinfully handsome, wearing jeans and his leather jacket, but I’m determined not to let his looks distract me.

“What did I tell you?” He asks me. He’s seething. His dark eyes hold me captive under their glare.

I’m taken aback by the anger. “What?”

He pushes through the door in a ball of fury, slamming it behind us. “Rule number one,” he points to the couch. “You were sitting right there when I told you to always answer my calls.”

I’m blinded by red. It fills me up, rising from my toes, making my hands curl into fists, coats my eyes and fuels my broken heart.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” the words tear from my lips. “What did you do to Johnny?”

Gio’s eyes flicker with something. Regret, maybe?

“That’s what this is about?” He exhales.

“I heard you on the phone. You said he was gone, that you wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Gio runs a hand through his messy hair. “Why didn’t you come and talk to me?”

“Where is he, Gio? Did you kill him?”

His eyes change from deep sympathetic brown to bold anger. “Seriously? Do you really think I would do that to you?” He waits for an answer.

“I don’t know.” I huff. “I don’t think I know you.”

His hands grasp my shoulder in a second. “You know me. You fucking know me, Annie.”

I will the tears that are forming in my eyes to stay in place, to not embarrass me now, but it’s no use, they begin to stream down my cheeks.

“I would never hurt you. I was trying to protect you.” He holds me in place. Holds me steady.

“How?”

“He was gambling again. He was drunk and belligerent. I had someone pick him up and put him in rehab.”

I met his eyes for the first time. “What?”