Page 16 of The Bonventi War
Gio looks back at me. "Car. Now."
"No. You don't get to order me around."
Gio places both hands on the table, leaning down until his face is inches from mine. "Don't make me cause a scene."
"You're already causing one," I hiss, noticing others starting to watch us.
"Walk to my car, or I'll carry you there myself."
I stare at him, and while I don't know much about him, I know that look in his eyes. He'll do it. He'll create a spectacle right here on Michigan Avenue.
"I'm so sorry, Marcus," I say, standing. "I'll call you later."
I storm past Gio toward the Rolls-Royce. His driver opens the door, and I slide inside, my hands shaking with rage.
Gio follows, his presence filling the backseat. "Drive," he commands, and the car pulls away from the curb.
I try to tell myself it was the right thing to do. For me, and for Marcus. I don't need him dragged into this mess, let alone whatever Gio would do to him.
But my rage doesn't falter.
"How dare you—" I start.
"How dare I?" he cuts me off. "You leave without a word, meet some unknown man?—"
"He's a friend from college!"
"I don't care if he's the fucking Pope," Gio snarls. "You don't go anywhere without telling me first from now on."
"What am I, your damn prisoner?"
"No." His hand shoots out, gripping my chin. "You're mine to protect. And you'll learn to accept that, one way or another."
I smack his hand away. "Don't fucking touch me."
The silence in the car is suffocating. I stare out the window, watching the Chicago streets blur past, refusing to look at him, my hands clenched into fists to stop my frustration from showing.
"Since you clearly can't be trusted to make smart decisions," Gio says, his voice cutting through the tension, "we're going to establish some ground rules."
I bark out a laugh. "Rules? I don't even know y?—"
"Rule number one," he interrupts, as if I hadn't spoken. "No leaving without telling me where you're going."
"Absolutely not."
"Rule two." His voice becomes more firm. "When I'm not around, you check in every few hours via text."
The leather seat creaks as I turn to face him. "Are you delusional?"
"Rule three." His green eyes lock onto mine, intense and unyielding. "I'm taking over gallery security. I or my men will be there full-time."
"Like hell you are! That's my?—"
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small device. "And rule four. This Apple AirTag stays in your purse at all times."
My stomach churns at the sight of the innocent-looking tracking device. "You want to tag me like I'm some kind of animal? Why don't you just put a collar around my damn neck and?—"
"I could if that's your sort of thing."
