Chapter 3 - The Ride Home
By ten o’clock that night, the farce at the Bellmont Grand had reached its natural conclusion. My mother had locked herself in the ladies' room to hyperventilate over a glass of tap water, Sophia was in tears because her wedding photos had been entirely photobombed by Chicago’s most notorious syndicate boss, and Tyler had fled the premises before dessert was even served.
I walked out the heavy glass doors of the grand hotel into the biting November chill, pulling my thrift-store wool coat tightly around my neck.
A sleek, black armored Maybach was idling at the curb, its hazard lights blinking softly against the wet asphalt. The rear door opened instantly, and Giovanni’s head security guard—a mountain of a man named Dante with a scar running across his jaw—stepped out, holding a large black umbrella over the gap between the hotel awning and the car.
"Step inside, Mrs. Fierro," Dante said respectfully, holding the door.
I stopped dead in my tracks. "I'm not getting in that car."
"The wind chill is twenty degrees, and your shoes have a hole in the sole," a deep voice came from the darkened interior of the back seat.
Giovanni slid across the leather upholstery, pushing open the opposite door to make room. He looked comfortable, his suit jacket unbuttoned, his tie resting loosely in his hand as he watched me standing on the sidewalk like a deer caught in headlights.
"Mr. Fierro—"
"Giovanni," he corrected firmly. "We're legally married in the theater of your family's imagination. You can at least use my first name."
"This was a one-hour arrangement," I said, crossing my arms over my chest as the freezing wind whipped my hair across my face. "You needed to get rid of your aunt's matchmaking attempt, and I needed a way to wipe that smug look off Tyler's face. We're even. You can drop me at the nearest CTA subway station, and we never have to speak of this insanity again."
Giovanni didn't move. He simply reached out a long, powerful arm, grabbed my wrist gently, and pulled me forward into the warm, leather-scented sanctuary of the car.
Before I could protest, Dante closed the door with a heavy, satisfying thud, cutting off the roar of the city traffic.
"Subway stations are drafty at this hour," Giovanni said calmly, releasing my wrist and pressing a button on the console that slid a dark, soundproof glass partition between us and the front driver's seat. "Besides, we have a logistical problem."
I eyed him warily, sinking into the plush heated seats. "What problem?"
"My aunt Martha is currently staying at my estate in Lincoln Park," Giovanni explained, swirling a glass of scotch he had poured from the built-in bar. "She watched us leave the ballroom together. If I drop you off at a one-bedroom apartment in a rundown district, she will have her private investigator take photographs within forty-eight hours, and the illusion collapses."
"So your solution is... what? Kidnapping me?"
"It's protective custody," he corrected with a faint, maddening smirk. "You spend the night at my estate. In the morning, my lawyers will draft a comprehensive, completely legal separation and non-disclosure agreement with a very generous severance package. You walk away with enough money to pay off your hospital bills, put a down payment on a house, and never look at Tyler Brooks again."
I stared at him, my mind racing through the terrifying, intoxicating logic of his offer.
"You'll pay my hospital bills?"
"And your daughter's college fund, if you're inclined to negotiate."
"You don't even know my daughter's name," I said defensively.
"Lily," Giovanni replied instantly. "Five years old. Loves burgundy thrift-store dresses, draws pictures of purple cats, and is currently staying with your best friend Sarah on Racine Avenue."
My breath caught in my throat. "You had me investigated before you asked me to dance?"
"In my line of work, Jessica, data collection is a reflex," he said smoothly, taking a slow sip of his scotch. "I knew who you were the moment you sat down at Table Twelve. I was simply waiting for the right moment to introduce myself."
The Maybach glided smoothly through the wet Chicago streets, turning north toward the sprawling, iron-gated estates of Lincoln Park. I looked out the tinted window at the blurred neon lights of the city, feeling like Alice tumbling down a very dark, very expensive rabbit hole.
"And if I say no to the estate?" I asked quietly.
May you like
Giovanni turned his head, his amber-flecked eyes meeting mine in the dim cabin light.
"Then I'll just have to prove to your aunt Martha that I am deeply, irrevocably, madly in love with you," he said, his voice dropping into a low, velvety purr. "And trust me, Jessica... I am a very convincing actor."
