"What do you think our first activity should be when we get to Italy?" she asks over the hum of the hair dryer.
"I'm not sure, but I think I'll be too jet-lagged for any activities," I say, and she pouts through the mirror, nodding herhead. I know we're late, and I shouldn't, but I can't keep my eyes off her. I walk up behind her, slowly and gently take the hair dryer from her hand.
She looks at me through the mirror, her brow raising in curiosity. But she lets go. I switch the dryer to a lower setting, running my hand slowly through her hair as I work. The strands slide through my fingers like silk. Every time my knuckles graze the curve of her neck or the side of her shoulder, I feel her tense slightly, then exhale, like she's trying to hide the way she responds to me.
She's failing, and I love that. A small smile tugs at my lips, and she catches it.
"What's funny?" she asks, her gaze narrowing at me.
"Nothing," I reply, trying to suppress my laughter.
She grabs the dryer from me. "I can dry my hair myself. We're already late and you're too slow," she says, and my smile deepens knowing she's pissed.
Finally, I grab Gianna's suitcase and mine, heading out the door. Gianna follows behind me, and when we step outside, I look around for my car. It's gone. "Where's the car?" I ask, turning to Gianna.
"At the abandoned building," she answers, closing the door behind us. "A taxi brought us home last night. We were too drunk to drive." That explains how we got home last night. My eyes widen. "How do we get to the airport?" I glance down at my watch. We're one hour away from 4:00 o'clock.
"Don't worry," Gianna says with no worry. "We have a ride, and they should get here... now."
A Range Rover SV LWB rolls into the compound, its shiny frame humming as it slows and stops right in front of us. The body glints beneath the afternoon sun. I glance at Gianna, brow raised. She shrugs, her lips breaking into a smile. "They wantedto escort us to the airport," she says, and before I can ask who, the tinted window slides down with a smooth mechanical hiss.
It's Marco and Dante, Vito's trusted men. "Get in," Dante says coolly from the passenger seat. His face is unreadable, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses that reflect our image back to us. Gianna doesn't hesitate. She opens the back door and slides in without a word.
I bring our suitcases to the back, lift them in, and slam the hatch shut before sliding into the seat beside Gianna and pulling the door closed with a soft thud.
"Where's Vito?" Gianna asks, adjusting into the leather seat.
"He's waiting at the airport," Marco replies from the driver's seat, his voice calm. He starts the car and pulls out, the tires crunching softly over gravel. I take a deep breath and lean into the seat, relieved I don't have to drive.
The drive is quiet and silent, the best kind of ride. But Gianna breaks the silence a few times, asking about Sofia and Elena. Her voice softens as she talks about them, warmth threading through her words. I catch her smiling a little as Marco answers with short updates. From the way her face lights up when she speaks of these women, I know they mean a lot to her.
The rest of the drive slips by, smooth and uneventful, the city blurring past in motion. We pull into the private wing of the airport in just under thirty minutes. Gianna and I step out of the car just as another vehicle comes to a stop nearby. The door opens, and Vito steps out of his car.
I grab our suitcases from the trunk just as Vito begins to walk towards us. His steps are slow, deliberate, and controlled—typical. Gianna stands tall. The girl who used to cower at the sound or sight of her brother is no longer here, and pride fills my heart.
That's my girl.
"You didn't have to see us off," Gianna says to Vito, voice neutral but laced with something warmer. Despite her tone, it's obvious she's happy he's here.
Vito gazes at her with that unreadable face. "Rina insisted," he says plainly. "She would have come herself, but she's not feeling well. She told me not to let you leave without saying goodbye."
Typical Vito. His words are always blunt and cold, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that with Vito, emotions don't live in his tone. They hide in his actions. And we both know Rina didn't have to push him very hard.
Gianna stares at him a beat longer than necessary, and I know she understands the gesture. "My husband and I need to leave now," Gianna says, tugging my hand into hers like she's claiming territory. I bite back a smirk. There's a glint in her eye, a challenge, and I know she's doing it to mess with him.
Vito glances at me like he's just realizing I'm standing here. His eyes linger, sharp and unreadable, as if trying to decide whether to issue a warning or a blessing. Honestly, it feels like a bit of both. I choose to believe it's a blessing. "You both have a safe journey. Call me when you arrive," he says, and just like that, he turns on his heel without waiting for a response. The door to his car opens and shuts with a smooth finality, and just like that, he's gone, vanishing behind tinted glass and the armor of distance he always wears so well.
I'd always thought he didn't care about Gianna. A bad brother with only power and revenge driving him. But when I spoke to him that night about Gianna being in trouble, he sounded concerned, and he actually showed up at the Greenhouse.
I guess that was when my perception of him started to change, even though I still don't fully like him.
Gianna shakes her head beside me, lips twitching like she's not sure whether to laugh or roll her eyes. "Classic," she murmurs.
We start walking towards the entrance of the private terminal, hand in hand, when something—or rather someone—catches my eye. I stop in my tracks, Gianna gently tugging to a halt beside me. She follows my line of sight. "Liam?" Gianna asks, surprise laced in her voice.
There he is.
Sitting behind the wheel of a matte black car parked just beyond the terminal fence, half-shadowed by the tinted windshield. His elbow rests casually on the open window, and a smirk dances across his lips like he knows exactly what he's doing.
