Page 94 of The Bonventi War
"Give me your hand," he says suddenly.
I place my hand in his without hesitation, feeling the warmth of his skin. He leads me out of the bedroom and through the house, down a corridor I haven't explored yet. We emerge onto a terrace overlooking a garden that takes my breath away.
A Mediterranean-style landscape extends before us, complete with olive trees and cypress creating natural borders around beds of lavender and rosemary. A stone path winds through it all, leading to a small fountain at the center. The morning sunlight catches on the water, sending prisms of light dancing across the stone.
"It's beautiful," I whisper, genuinely awed by the scene.
Gio squeezes my hand. "I was going to wait until I had something more planned, but making you feel at ease and safe with me is my only plan, so..."
He stops speaking, and I turn to find him dropping down to one knee. My heart jumps into my throat as he pulls a small black velvet box from his pocket. When he opens it, I gasp. The diamond inside is enormous, set in platinum, flanked by smaller sapphires that seem to dance in the morning light.
"Ravenna Carvello," he says, his voice steady and sure, "will you marry me?"
The world seems to stop. I stare at the ring, at Gio's face, unable to process what's happening.
"I..." My voice catches, and I realize I'm crying from the overwhelming feeling exploding inside me. "Gio, are you sure? I mean, we haven't known each other that long and?—"
"Time doesn't matter," he interrupts, his eyes burning with intensity. "Love does. I will always protect you, provide for you, support you, and keep you safe. I will burn down the world for you if I have to."
He pauses, a hint of vulnerability crossing his face. "But I need you to trust me, Raven. Trust that I'm not like your father or any other men in your life. Trust that when I say forever, I mean it, and the only way I will not be yours is if I no longer walk this earth."
My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear over the rush of blood in my ears. Every instinct for self-preservation tells me this is too fast, too soon. But my heart—my heart knows better. My heart recognizes its match in this man who has seen my darkness and embraced it, who offers me not just protection but partnership.
"Yes," I say quietly, then louder, "Yes, I'll marry you, Gio."
His face transforms with a smile as he slips the ring onto my finger—it fits perfectly, of course it does—and rises to his feet in one smooth motion.
Before I can say anything else, he pulls me to him, his mouth crashing down on mine. The kiss is possessive, claiming, aphysical manifestation of the vow we've just made. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I moan against him.
When we break apart, he presses his forehead to mine. "No more talk of pharmacies," he says, his voice rough. "No more doubts. No more thinking we're temporary, no more talk of shiny objects. You're mine now, officially. And if we make a baby, we make a baby."
I look at the ring glittering on my finger, then back at Gio's face—this man who has upended my entire existence, who has shown me a depth of passion I never knew was possible. The last of my doubts dissolve like morning mist.
"I love you," I say simply, because in the end, that's what matters most.
"I love you, too," he replies, the words naturally flowing off his tongue. "Forever."
Standing in the garden, with his ring on my finger and the promise of a future I never dared imagine, I finally understand what it means to be claimed—not as possession, but as treasure. As something precious and irreplaceable.
And I claim him right back.
39
GIO
Iglide the all-black Mercedes to a stop, cutting the engine and allowing the silence of the night to resume. I step out, grabbing the duffle bag from the passenger seat.
I'm dressed head to toe in black—tactical pants, combat boots, a fitted long-sleeve shirt that won't restrict my movement when I need to move fast. I've left my watch and rings behind, except for one—a simple gold band with the Bonventi crest on it. If I'm going to kill tonight, I'll do it with my family's blessing.
The air at the dock is thick with the stale bite of diesel and the damp musk of rotting wood, laced with a faint, metallic tang of cold lake water. No crashing waves, just the eerie stillness of Lake Michigan, its dark surface swallowing the city's glow, ready to drown whatever sins we are about to commit.
My men approach from the shadows, nodding respectfully. They're dressed similarly, faces hard and focused. This isn't their first rodeo, but tonight is different. Tonight isn't just business—it's personal.
In the opposite direction, Ares emerges from between two containers, his men flanking him. He's taller than everyone, with shoulders like a linebacker.
"My friend," he calls, his voice carrying across the short distance between us.
"Right on time," I comment, setting my duffle down and unzipping it. Inside, my weapons are arranged neatly—guns, knives, a club I probably won't use but bring anyway. Old habits.
