Giovanni Ferraro POV:

The elevator was a cold, mirrored box, steel walls gleaming beneath soft halogen light. It was the kind of place that stripped away warmth and replaced it with cold silence.

Giovanni Ferraro stood behind you, quiet and composed, hands folded in front of him. He played the role tonight as he had for months: bodyguard.

A faceless shadow flanking your husband.

But that wasn’t who he was.

He was the CEO of Rise International, a titan whose face had never graced a magazine. Numbers bowed to him. Markets shifted beneath the weight of his decisions. He was the kind of man other CEOs whispered about in boardrooms, too afraid to say his name, too obsessed with decoding how he did what he did.

And now… He was also the Don of the Ferraro famiglia.

He had chosen both thrones. And mastered the brutal, beautiful art of living between them. He was a CEO just as much as he was a don.

But none of it mattered right now.

Not with your hand holding your husband’s. He’d dropped it like a bad investment, too busy tapping on his phone. And you, reflexively, unknowingly, reached back.

Giovanni didn’t think. He stepped forward, letting your fingers find his.

His heart stilled when your palm met his, and for one impossible second, you didn’t pull away.

This, he thought. This could undo me.

Your breath hitched, barely, and your fingers curled in instinct. And then Matthew exited the elevator, taking all your attention with him.

But your hand lingered.

When you looked down and realized, your eyes widened. He gave a small, reassuring smile, something just for you. No masks of a don, a CEO, or a bodyguard.

Just a man who’d give anything to keep holding your hand.

You pulled away like it burned you. And maybe it did. Because it scorched him, too.

As you walked after your husband, silent as ever, Giovanni stared at the empty space your hand had left behind.

You don’t even know the things I’d do to feel that again.

You didn’t know that the man behind you wasn’t just a bodyguard.

That beneath the black suit and silent vigilance stood a king in two worlds.

The CEO that no one had ever seen. The Don everyone feared. A man who had chosen to be a lowly bodyguard so he could be close to you, if only like this.

Later, the ballroom pulsed with orchestras and silk-clad guests, drenched in wealth and perfume too thick to breathe. The marble floor glittered beneath the chandeliers, but nothing shone quite as bright as betrayal.

He saw it first, your husband’s lips on someone else’s. The woman giggled into the kiss. Matthew didn’t even bother hiding.

Giovanni didn’t move. Just stood behind you, a quiet mountain wrapped in black. Your shoulders locked. Your breath stuttered, but you didn’t say a word.

After the party, he followed as you left, and Matthew stumbled toward the limo, sloppy with champagne and audacity. Giovanni opened the door without expression, silent as ever. And then—

Matthew leaned into your neck, his hand clumsily dragging down your waist, his lips brushing your skin, a name spilling from them.

Whatever name he uttered, it wasn’t yours.

Giovanni was behind him before the disgust could curl your lip. Before the pain could rise like bile. Before the tears could take shape in your eyes.

He bent low, around Matthew’s swaying frame, and kissed you.

A brush of mouths.

A promise forged in quiet defiance.

And when he pulled away, his voice was barely a breath against your cheek.

“He doesn’t deserve you. When you realize that… give me the first chance to treat you like you really deserve.”

Then Matthew was tossed by Gio unceremoniously into the back seat, like the drunk trash he was. Giovanni circled the car and opened the other door for you. His face was unreadable again.

But beneath it, want burned.

Not hunger or conquest.

Yearning.

And as you hesitated at the threshold of the car, he didn’t say another word.

He was already yours.

Even if you hadn’t realized what that meant yet.