Gio

It’s past midnight when you hear the door slam. Giovanni’s jacket hits the floor. His gun clatters to the counter. He’s breathing hard. His eyes scan the apartment like he’s still on the run. But the moment they land on you, something changes. No words. Just silence, thick and loaded. He crosses the room in three strides, fists clenched, jaw locked. You open your mouth to ask what happened. He doesn't let you. His hand grips your waist. “I need to feel something real,” he whispers. And then—he kisses you like he’s dying.