Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty-Six

The manager of the building hands Giovanni his phone, with no real clue to what's just happened. Dixon's just pulling away from the curb, and Giovanni, still firmly in protective mode, doesn't even want me to watch him go, urging me toward the elevators. "Will do, sir."

We step into the small elevator, and sit in our silence.

I hear my own fits, my chest crashing up and down in a panic. I wait for the blindness to come, for all of this to come to hilt, but my eyesight doesn't waver, frozen on the silver walls as we climb the stories with only my gasps and cheerful orchestral music as a background.

All of his work. His reputation. His family. Maria, her home.

As much as I want to leap in his arms, and douse him with my relief and gratitude, my subconscious won't let that happen, too consumed in what he's done. What he's done—because of me. What he's done against my wishes, and behind my back.

And I'm sure he knows what he's done, and what's coming. If his stance, which is still ridged and predatory, and his silence have anything to say about it, he's armed and ready for my explosion.

I go through a checklist in my mind of all that he's given up, what informing on his father's laundering will do to him. Every time I think I've come up with all of them, another appears and I'm in disbelief again.

How could he not even tell me? He sent those flowers. He knew what he was doing then.

My hands twist, my fingers gnarling as I revel in this situation. We're passing the fifteenth floor when he slams his hand onto the button to stop the elevator car in its ascent. We both falter at the abruptness. My eyes rise from the wall when he plants himself in front of me.

We both begin to argue at the same time, my anger, his defiance bubbling over our ability to think straight.

"I cannot believe you did this without telling me—"

"You were never going to let me do it, Scarlett, come on—"

"Damn right, I wouldn't have! What were you thinking—"

"He was holding you by the fucking throat! What do you think I was thinking—"

"This is my fault. This is my fault for fucking calling you. This is why I keep things from you! Because you react impulsively and hurt yourself—"

"This was my decision! Not yours—"

"BUT IT WASN'T, GIOVANNI!"

"Um...is everything alright?"

We're nose to nose, when the car is filled by another voice. We both tear our eyes away from each other, realizing it's the manager in the speakers.

Oh right, we're not moving.

The moment Giovanni turns, my whole body deflates. He exhales heavily. "Fine, sir. Thank you."

He presses on the button again, and the car begins to rise.

It's while he's turned that I'm able to look at him without him knowing it, and appreciate that he's in this elevator with me. Appreciate what he just did out there. Because it was heroic. It was powerful and declaring—I've always known Giovanni to be a different breed of man, but this is something else entirely.

I'm so angry. I'm shaking angry. But, it's not even really at him.

It's at myself. It's at the self-programmed doubt I've created over the years. It's the voice in my head that tells me he's just made the largest mistake of his life, that very loud voice that tells me he'll regret this choice, he'll regret staking his faith in someone like me.