Page 7 of The Bonventi War
I ignore him, reaching for the phone on the desk. I turn to him as he's approaching and pick up the phone. "If you don't leave, I'm calling the police."
Without hesitation, Gio's massive frame is there, leaning over the desk. His hand shoots out, snatching the phone from my grasp. The force of it makes me stumble back. His large hand slams the phone down. I jerk back, startled.
"Try that again," he growls, "and I'll break that fucking phone into a million pieces." He grips the desk with both hands, his muscles rippling beneath his suit. "Now, Ravenna, tell me about your dad."
The threat in his voice makes me nauseous. I take an involuntary step back, trying to put some distance between me and this psychopath, my hip bumping against something, but I don't even look—I'm not taking my eyes off of him.
"Okay, first off, it's Raven, and second of all, are you fucking crazy? Who do you think you are that you can come into my gallery and what? Because you removed someone harassing me, you think that gives you a pass to then harass me yourself?"
I see his jaw clenching, his neck tattoos shifting as he tenses up, thinking of his response to me.
I don't want it. I just want this asshole gone.
"He's gone," I continue, my voice rising. "And no, I don't know where. He's not exactly Father of the Year material. I haven't seen him in years."
I pause, memories of my dad and Johnny flashing through my mind. The lies, the half-truths, the shady dealings disguised as legitimate business. My stomach churns as I remember how they'd bend the truth to sell paintings, manipulating clients and fabricating artwork origins.
"Him and my brother always..." I trail off, shaking my head. "It doesn't matter. I've got enough on my plate trying to run this damn place and deal with the mountain of work they just left behind. Because if I don't, then people will want their money back, and guess what? Where the hell is that money supposed to come from?"
My chest heaves as I struggle to catch my breath. The words are pouring out of me now, unstoppable.
"So please," I spit out, my voice laced with frustration and anger, "just leave me the fuck alone."
Gio doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he rounds the desk, closing the distance between us. I stumble back, nearly falling into a chair, but I force myself to remain standing. His eyes bore into mine, searching for something—a lie, perhaps, or some secret I'm keeping from him.
"Your father," Gio says, his voice low and controlled, "Frank Carvello. Is that right?"
I don't answer. This time, it's my jaw clenching.
Gio leans down, invading my personal space. His cologne, something expensive and spicy, fills my nostrils. I can feel theheat radiating off his body, see the faint stubble on his face. He's so close I can make out the individual flecks of gold in his green eyes.
"Your dad's name," he repeats, more insistent this time.
I swallow hard, my throat dry. "Yes. Frank Carvello," I confirm, hating how small my voice sounds.
He nods slowly, processing this information. Then his eyes lock onto mine again.
"And the Russians? What do you know about them?"
I blink, confusion momentarily overriding my fear and anger. "Like, people? That they're either from or live in Russia? What the hell do you mean?"
A low growl escapes Gio's throat. "You know what I mean."
"Uh, I don't," I shoot back, finding any spark of defiance I have. "Seriously, this is the part where you leave."
Instead of leaving, Gio lifts his hands. I flinch, my body tensing for a blow that doesn't come. His fingers brush my shoulder, and I feel something fall away. He's picked off a piece of lint or fuzz, I realize, and watches as he tosses it to the ground.
"You'll see me again, Raven" he says, his voice a promise and a threat all at once.
He turns to walk away.
"Hopefully not," I reply without thinking.
Gio stops, his back to me. For a moment, I think he might turn around, might come back and do… what? I don't know. But I sure as hell don't want to find out.
He doesn't.
Instead, he keeps walking, pushing through the gallery doors and stepping out onto the street.
