Page 31 of The Bonventi War
"Please, Ravenna," Frank begs again, and each word makes my trigger finger itch.
But I stay still.
Then it hits me. I'm showing restraint. Me. Giovanni fucking Bonventi. The man who once broke someone's jaw for looking at Marco wrong. The underboss who makes grown men piss themselves with just a look.
And I'm holding back.
For her.
Knowing full well beating this man up in front of Raven will solve nothing and only cause her more pain.
I've seen men betray their families before, but this? This is a new level of fucked up. Trading your own daughter to the Russian mob? My stomach turns at the thought of what they'd do to her.
I watch as Raven stumbles backward, gasping for air. "I need some air," she chokes out.
Part of me wants to go after her, to make sure she's okay, but first, I turn my attention back to Frank, who's still calling out to her.
"Please, Ravenna," he begs, his voice pathetic and weak.
I step closer to him, purposely blocking his view of the door Raven just left through. I grab him by the throat, my fingers digging into the bruises already there. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up."
Fear spreads across his face as he looks up at me. Good. He should be afraid.
"You don't get to say her name. You lost that right the moment you decided to trade her like a fucking commodity."
I squeeze tighter, and he starts to turn red. I lean in close, my face inches from his.
"You better pray to whatever god you believe in that we can fix this," I say firmly. "Because if anything happens to her because of you, I will personally make sure you suffer in ways you can't even imagine."
I let him go, and I straighten up, disgust churning in my gut. "Get him the fuck out of my sight," I order my men, not even bothering to look at Frank again.
As they drag him away, I turn toward the door Raven left through.
Walking out of the warehouse, my body is rigid with fury. I'm still trying to crush the desire to go back in there and paint the walls with Frank's blood, to tear him apart with my bare hands.
But my driver nods to me, and when I approach, I see Raven's already inside. My anger dampens, replaced by something I'm not used to feeling. Something that makes my chest tight.
Without hesitation, I quickly slide in beside her, my driver shutting the door behind me. The silence in the car is deafening. I open my mouth, trying to find the right words.
"I..." but the words die in my throat. What the fuck do you say to someone whose father just tried to sell them to the Russian mob?
"Please, Gio. I don't feel like talking." Her voice cracks on my name.
I signal to my driver, and the car starts to move. In the darkness of the backseat, I hear her trying to muffle her sobs. Each choked-back cry feels like a small blade between my ribs.
She's turned away from me, pressed against the door, shoulders shaking with the effort of containing her grief.
My own rage simmers beneath the surface. I rub my hands on my thighs. The woman who stood up to me, who threw a fucking shoe at my camera, who refused to be intimidated—reduced to this. By her own blood.
Fuck.
I've spent my whole life being the dangerous one, the one people fear. But right now, looking at her, I see something I've never really considered before. An innocent. A victim. Jesus, I was so caught up in my own shit—protecting my family, getting to the bottom of this mess—that I never stopped to think about her feelings. Never considered that maybe, just maybe, she really didn't know anything about all this and she was telling me the truth.
As we continue our way back to the gallery, my desire to speak to her grows. To just talk to her, despite the fact that I'm not good with this kind of shit. Women crying, emotions, comfort—that's not my fucking forte. But watching her try to hold herself together, something inside me shifts.
I clear my throat, my voice rougher than intended. "You don't have to talk, but you're not going with them. Not now, not ever."
Raven turns to face me, eyes blazing with fury despite the tears in her eyes. "What kind of world do you all live in? Huh? Where it's even discussed about someone just getting carted off like a fucking pawn? I have a voice. I matter. It's my life, last I checked."
