Giovanni's eyes narrow slightly, but he gives a single, curt nod.
"Your behavior—" Giovanni starts, his voice measured, controlled, "—and your reactions to Jino's aftercare last night have forced a change in the rules."
He practically spits the word "aftercare" like it's coated in battery acid.
"You are responding to Jino's touch in a way that allows him to make a claim on you."
"Claim?" I repeat, my brain struggling to process this medieval terminology. "What is this, the bro-code version of calling dibs? I'm not a fucking parking spot."
Jino steps forward, his hand outstretched but stopping short of actually touching me. The sudden shift to requesting consent is jarring after yesterday's forced positioning and manhandling.
"Can I?" he asks, gesturing toward my body with those tattooed fingers.
I look to Giovanni, suspicion crystallizing in my chest. This doesn't track. Giovanni Bavga is not a man who shares. He's made that abundantly clear from the moment he pulled me into his lap at Rico's party and fucked me in front of everyone just to prove I was his property.
But Giovanni's face tells a different story now. His jaw is clenched so tight I can practically hear his molars cracking. Every muscle in his body seems coiled, ready to strike. He's a volcano pretending to be dormant while magma churns beneath the surface.
He's letting Jino ask, but every cell in his body is screaming against it.
Whatever this new development is, Giovanni isn't happy about it. But he's going to allow it to happen—if I give Jino permission.
Which means this isn't about Jino at all. This is another test. Another trap. Another way to make me choose the exact shape and texture of my own degradation.
I stand frozen between them, the key digging into my palm, a decision I can't yet articulate hanging in the balance just as Jino's request hangs in the air. My heart does a violent little tap dance under my ribs, like it's testing how badly I want to stay alive. The power to say yes or no should feel good—like agency, like control. But it's more like being asked which limb I'd prefer to lose.
"No." The word escapes without fanfare. Simple. Clean. Possibly the only honest syllable I've uttered since entering this house.
Jino nods, a professional accepting rejection, but it's Giovanni's reaction that twists my stomach. His jaw remains tight, but something in his eyes—a flash of relief, maybe—vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Heallowedthis. He stood there while another man asked to touch me, and he didn't immediately rip the man's arms off.
That's what terrifies me most. Not the question, but Giovanni's willingness to tolerate it.
"I think I deserve to know what the fuck this is," I say. "Either explain yourselves and this... this game, in detail, or I'm taking the money and leaving. For good."
My voice cracks on the last word. Humiliating.
Giovanni's eyes narrow, his gaze cold and calculating. "Interesting that you're willing to hear us out before leaving."
And there it is. Another goddamn test. Another little nugget of manipulation dressed up as an observation.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Something ignites in my chest—a bright, righteous anger that burns away the fear and confusion. "You know what, no. I'm done being your psychological science experiment. You know I want you. You know I like you. And yet, you refuse?—"
"ENOUGH!" Giovanni's voice crashes through the room like a wrecking ball. His control snaps, rage pouring out like he's been cut open. "You think this is a fucking game? I'm trying to keep you alive! Did you forget that I splattered Rico's brain all over the fucking pool house to save you?"
The silence that follows is nuclear.
Jino's face goes utterly blank, the kind of stillness that happens right before an earthquake. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Oh god. He really didn't know. How the hell did he not know? The deep fake cousin. The fictitious trip to Bangkok. Jino didn't know.
Giovanni's glare swings to me, his finger jabbing in my direction like a weapon. "See? SEE! You're gonna get us both killed!" His chest heaves with exertion. "Take the key and get the fuck out!"
The last word is a roar that makes me physically jump backward. My throat constricts, eyes burning as tears threaten. The floor seems to tilt beneath my feet.
"Okay, back the fuck up." Jino's voice is dangerously calm. "What. The. Hell. Is going on here?"
Giovanni explains in clipped sentences, each word causing ripples through the galaxy the size of black holes. Rico found me naked. Rico tried to rape me. Rico wouldn't stop. Giovanni killed Rico.
With each revelation, Jino's expression hardens, his eyes sliding between Giovanni and me, lingering on me longer each time. Not with desire now, but with accusation. Like I'm Patient Zero for some plague that's infected his family.