No Strings Attached

Chapter Thirty

"Mr. Martinelli?" Rog questions uncomfortably as the raging Italian giant ignores him, storming towards the doors in anger. I'm right behind him, begging him to stop.

Giovanni's hand slams into the door and it smashes into the brick building, nearly shattering the glass. No. I clasp onto his arm with all my might as we enter the frigid night, my bare feet dragging in the deep snow as I attempt to stop Giovanni from moving towards my ex-husband standing at the other side of the street.

It doesn't work. He's like a wall of stone.

"Stay here, Scarlett," he growls, crossing through the cars, entering the street. I look at Dixon, who is barely upright. He's shedding his jacket on the sidewalk, looking past the angry man bounding towards him, looking to me.

"Giovanni, stop!" I shout, hearing Rog behind me asking if he needs to call the police.

"No, do not call them!" I shout before I start crossing the street too, knowing if the cops show up, Giovanni and I are public. Giovanni will be on the news within mere minutes, scandalized by a domestic dispute in the apartment building of his publicist slash whore.

Dixon holds out his arm to me, the bandaged one, backing up as Giovanni nears him. "You did this, Scarlett! You lead me to—"

Giovanni points at him to get his attention and then to himself.

"No, you look at me, asshole!" Giovanni barks, walking straight up into his face. "I fucking told you what would happen if you came here again."

"This doesn't involve you!" Dixon seethes in his face, not intimidated whatsoever. Dixon's drunk, but he's a cop. And a decorated one. He knows how to defend himself.

"Stop this right fucking now," I hiss, walking up to them. Giovanni's nose is practically touching Dixon's face; their chests are level to one another. The sight is a terrifying one.

"You have no idea what you are in right now. She was MY wife!"

"Who you abused mentally and physically! Who you've tormented for years against her fucking will!" Giovanni shakes his head, fisting Dixon's shirt into his hands. "You are lucky she has let you get away with this shit for this long. I—"

Dixon leans his head back, laughing and Giovanni's eyes widen murderously.

Oh shit.

"Giovanni," I whisper cautiously.

"Look at him, Scar! Look at this goddamn show he's putting on for you! He's got quite a temper, doesn't he?"

My nails dig into my arm.

"You are lucky he hasn't hit you yet," I snap.

"Lucky?" Dixon sizes up Giovanni, which looks almost pathetic, comparing Giovanni's healthy muscular form to Dixon's newly fragile one. "I can take him."

I walk up to Giovanni, grabbing onto his shoulder. "Giovanni, you can't do this. If someone calls the cops—"

"Who gives a fuck?"

"I do! You are my client!" I snarl, pulling him back. Dixon stuns me with his speed as he jumps from Giovanni's grip, grabbing onto my arm tightly. I gasp as he attempts to pull me to him, nearly snapping my arm from it's socket.

But then his grip is gone.

I watch Giovanni slam him into the wall with one swift push before his fist blows into Dixon's stomach, knocking any air in his body into the chilly night. And he doesn't stop there. Giovanni, having him cornered, begins to beat the utter shit out of him.