Page 85 of The Bonventi War
It's crazy to think four days ago, I was terrified, certain I was going to die in the trunk of that car. Now, I'm standing naked in my apartment with a man who's done so much for me, all without hesitation.
I place the glass in the sink and turn to find Gio standing there, having pulled on his boxers. His eyes rake over me, and I see the desire flare again.
"Come back to bed," he says, his voice low and commanding.
"Okay, Bossy," I murmur, as I walk toward him.
He pulls me against him, his hands sliding down to cup my ass. "You like it when I'm bossy." His lips find my neck, and I tilt my head to give him better access.
"Maybe," I breathe, my hands exploring the hard planes of his six-pack.
He lifts me suddenly, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me back to the bedroom. My back hits the mattress, and he curls up next to me, holding me close. My protector.
As I try my best to fight off sleep, I just relish this moment, but I'm too tired. As I drift off, I feel so happy. So loved. So content. For the first time, life seems perfect.
A harsh ringing pierces through my sleep like a knife. My heart slams against my chest before my eyes can even open.
"What the—" Gio jerks upright beside me, instantly alert and reaching for his gun.
The persistent, ear-splitting alarm continues as I blink away sleep. Red emergency lights flash through the windows, casting an eerie, pulsating glow across Gio's tense face.
"FIRE! FIRE!" We hear people shouting from the hallway.
My blood turns to ice. "The gallery."
Gio's already moving, grabbing clothes from the floor. "Get dressed. Now."
I scramble out of bed, my legs tangling in the sheets. Panic claws at me as I yank on the first clothes I find—a pair of leggings and a white t-shirt I wore yesterday.
"Raven, hurry!" Gio's already dressed in jeans, a black shirt, and boots, with his gun in hand. The sight would be jarring if I hadn't grown so accustomed to his constant state of readiness.
My hands shake as I shove my feet into sneakers without socks. We run toward the front door, and I see it - smoke seeping under the door like a poisonous snake.
Gio presses his palm against the door before opening it. He pulls back briefly, cursing under his breath. "Stay low, behind me. Cover your mouth. We'll head to the stairs."
When he swings the door open, a wall of thick smoke rolls in. The hallway is barely visible through the haze, illuminated only by intermittent flashes of emergency lights.
I pull the neck of my shirt over my mouth and nose, crouching low as we step into the corridor. My eyes instantly burn and become watery. Gio reaches back and grabs my hand, pulling me.
"OVER HERE!" The voice sounds distant over the alarms.
Gio leads me toward the stairwell. We can't see more than a few feet ahead. My lungs already ache from the effort of trying not to breathe in too deeply.
The stairwell door feels hot when Gio pushes it open, and the smoke is even thicker inside. We start descending, my free hand trailing along the wall for balance as we hurry down.
"Careful," Gio warns, his voice muffled. "Stay close."
As we descend the stairs, I can hear the chaos below. Shouting, sirens, the crackling roar of flames consuming whatever is burning.
When we reach the bottom, Gio pushes the door open, and hell greets us.
The gallery—my gallery, my mother's legacy—is engulfed in flames. Fire dances across the walls where paintings once hung, consuming frames and canvases with an endless hunger. The central display cases have collapsed, their glass shattered across the floor, reflecting the inferno like demonic mirrors.
"This way!" a firefighter shouts, waving us away from the building frantically.
"Go, go!" Gio shoves me forward, hand firm against my lower back.
The cool night air feels like salvation against my smoke-ravaged lungs. I cough violently as Gio drags me further from the building, away from the firefighters battling the blaze.
