His driver had started apologising. Giovanni hadn’t looked at him once.
He’d taken off his sunglasses instead. And when his eyes met mine, something hot and violent and electric had ripped straight through my body.
Dark eyes turned sharp. Laser focused. Like he’d just found something he hadn’t known he was looking for.
“I was in the wrong,” he said simply. “I apologise.”
It shouldn’t have undone me. But oh boy did it. Because powerful men didn’t apologise like that.
Not to women like me.
“You could’ve killed me,” I’d shot back, shaking now that the adrenaline was wearing off.
“Yes,” he’d agreed. “That would have been unacceptable.”
I’d stared at him, thrown off completely. “You’re… weird,” I’d blurted.
A corner of his mouth had curved. Not quite a smile yet. “Usually I’m told that I’m terrifying.”
“Well,” I’d said, bending to grab my phone, “congratulations. You’re terrifying and weird.”
His driver had cleared his throat and I’d caught a look of shock on his paling face.
Giovanni had ignored him again. “What is your name?” he’d asked me.
“Why?”
“Because I would like to know the name of the woman who just threatened to sue me into bankruptcy on a public sidewalk.”
I’d frozen. “You’re a little psycho too, aren’t you?”
“Occasionally.”
I most definitely should’ve walked away then, when every instinct I possessed told me to run.
Instead, I’d said, in an alarmingly breathless voice. “I’m Lucia.”
And he’d repeated it like it mattered.
“Lucia,” he’d said quietly. “I am Giovanni.”
We stood there too long.
Traffic honking.
People staring.
Neither of us moving.
It’d felt like something ancient and irreversible had just been set in motion.
“You nearly ran me over,” I’d finally said. “The least you can do is buy me a coffee.”
His mouth had curved fully then.
“Then the least I will do,” he’d replied, “is buy you the best coffee in Queens.”
And I’d gone.
