He sighs, fake smile creeping in.
"Please, let me take you out tonight,Rava."
I nod like I just closed a deal. "Okay." I walk away from him. He's still staring at me. Frozen.
What a dumbass.
I snap my fingers in his face. "Wake up, idiot."
He blinks. Focus returns. "Right. Great." He claps his hands once like he's trying to reset the scene.
"Heading out now so I don't witness the vein on your dad's forehead pop when he sees me still breathing."
I don't look at him. But I smile. "Didn't know the hatred was mutual. I thought it was just him that couldn't stand you. He is pretty convinced you're the human version of a crime wave in designer clothes."
My eyes drop to his rings, the dark shirt, the scars on his knuckles, then back to his face. I give a slow, fake-thoughtful nod. "To be fair... he's not entirely wrong," I tell him.
Gio stops. Turns back. "Don't make this harder than it is," he says, clearly pissed.
What the fuck?
We stare at each other.
"I'll be waiting downstairs. Don't take forever, please."
…
What do people even wear to clubs?
God, this is embarrassing. I'm twenty-two and I still don't know how to dress for going out. And now I'm doing it in Italy, where everyone looks like they stepped out of a magazine.
Since I'm already being dragged out, I want to at least look... decent. Nice and presentable.
But nothing I own looks anything like Gio's clothes. His wardrobe screamsI'm here to ruin your peacewhile mine still screamsplease don't look at me too long, this is humiliating.
I'm probably overthinking. He wouldn't think about what I'm wearing. He wouldn't care.
So why should I?
Actually... no. You know what? Not only am Inotdressing nicely, I'm dressing on purpose badly.
Let everyone judge him for the people he hangs out with. Let them think, wow, Fontana brought... that? Perfect.
I pull on khaki pants and a plain white polo. Very "I'm here by force."
I adjust the chain on my wrist. That's the only thing about me that looks remotely alive.
Do I look out of place? Absolutely. Great.
Maybe that means we can leave earlier. I step outside.
There's a burgundy SF90 Stradale fucking Ferrari.
Of course it's his. Of course. Because Gio Fontana wouldn't be caught dead driving something normal.
God forbid he breathes the same air as the rest of us. I stop in front of it, cross my arms, and just stare. The audacity of this man. I bite the inside of my cheek.
"Seriously?" I snap. "You're taking a Ferrari to a club? You want to get robbed or shot first?"
