Page 31 of Giovanni the Savage

Lord, take me now. Wait; Lucas.

“If you can’t fulfill this at the end of five months, your brother dies.”

My eyes well up, but I fight to keep it down because I know that’s what he wants to see.

“And if I do?” I dare to ask.

“If,” he emphasizes, “you do, then consider the debt cleared.”

He snaps his fingers.

He makes it look easy, but I’m not stupid. It must be serious or dangerous if he’s using my father’s debt to clear this.

But it’s worth a shot. To finally live a normal life and stop this debt from hanging over my head. Also, to stop looking back every time and to protect Lucas. It’ll all be worth it.

I only have to figure out how to get it.

“Deal.”

CHAPTER EIGHT – Giovanni

My intercom beeps, and I tap on it, waiting for my secretary to speak.

“Sir, the candidate for the interview is here.”

I smirk at her words. It’s been over a week since Eric made a bet with me, and since I realized that if I don’t get an assistant, I’ll burn myself out.

Admittedly, it was a little challenging to find an assistant. But not because they weren’t good enough but because their resume didn't look appealing. Until two days ago, when a last-minute email was sent to my account. Normally, I’d dispose of the email and cancel the interview, but the candidate had an almost perfect resume.

“Send her in,” I respond before pressing the end button.

I usually have a vague idea of what to expect from people’s names, but I can’t say the same for this one.

Luna Majors.

Quite unfamiliar, but then again, I don’t have my ears on the ground all the time.

A soft knock sounds, and I peruse my screen without looking at the door.

I finally do, and then, I lose every semblance of composure when my breath stalls in my throat.

There’s a familiar aura surrounding her the second she walks in. A strange calmness settles in my chest, and I realize why the second I look up.

Her jet-black waves cascade over her shoulders, her rich brown eyes glisten. Just the way they were the night we met.

She turns to close the door, and I shamefully allow my eyes to wander down her body.

Perfect.

She’s dressed in a black, fitting dress that hugs her in the right places and stilettos that were made for her perfect feet and long legs.

Her deodorant wafts into my nostrils, and I greedily take breaths full of it.

All this happens in a moment, and when she turns back to look at me, her smile falters for a second, but she still maintains a slight smirk on her face.

“Good morning, sir,” she greets and looks down briefly.

She recognizes me.

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