Not Yet
1307 Words
Gia POV
Gia hadn’t felt this alive in years.
She was still basking in the afterglow of the gala—gliding through the ballroom like she owned it. Not even Leo’s shameless boasting about Aubriella’s pregnancy could shake her. He’d paraded his mistress around like a trophy, and Aubriella had eaten it up, throwing Gia smug glances every chance she got.
But Gia had smiled. Laughed. Danced. Because she was done letting Leo break her.
The car ride home had been excruciating. Aubriella sat in Leo’s lap like a pet, whispering in his ear, while Leo kept darting pointed looks at Gia—expecting a reaction.
He didn’t get one.
Not until they stepped inside the house and he grabbed her arm the second the door closed behind them.
“What the hell is going on with you?” he hissed, his grip just shy of bruising.
“With me?” Gia blinked up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. “What do you mean?”
Leo’s jaw clenched. His eyes burned.
And then—
“Leo!” Aubriella’s shrill voice echoed from down the hall. “Where did you go?”
Gia smiled sweetly. “Oh, it sounds like your mistress needs you.”
She pulled her arm free and walked away without looking back.
Her new bedroom was smaller than the one she’d once shared with Leo, but it had something far more important: a lock on the door.
She told everyone she’d moved because Luca kicked in his sleep. That part was true—but it wasn’t the reason.
She needed space. Privacy. Somewhere she could breathe… and plan.
The soft flick of her hairbrush echoed in the quiet room as she sat at her vanity, running the bristles through her long, dark waves. The woman in the mirror stared back at her—refined, regal, but sharper now. Her reflection no longer looked like a victim of her marriage. She looked like a woman preparing for battle.
She’d searched Leo’s private study three times this week. And each time, she came up empty. The drawer she needed—the one that likely held the contract her father had signed when she married Leo—was locked. Tight. Reinforced.
And Leo… wore the key around his neck like some smug trophy.
Her fingers curled around the brush handle as she recalled the way he’d tucked the gold chain beneath his shirt at dinner, fingers brushing it like it was second nature. She’d caught the glint of it once when he undid his top button and leaned over to whisper something to one of his men.
But when in the shower or making love to her—he would take it off. That would have to be her time to strike.
He didn’t suspect she was looking for it, but that could change if she wasn’t careful. That made this dangerous.
But without that contract—without seeing what, exactly, her father had signed away—she couldn’t move forward. Couldn’t break free. Couldn’t take back the seat at the table that should have been hers from the start.
There was also the matter of the laws. Outdated, patriarchal Mafia laws that still forbade a woman from rising as Don—with the unanimous vote of the council.
She would need support. Proof. Influence. And patience.
A soft knock at the door made her freeze.
She turned just as it opened slowly, and Leo stepped inside.
Uninvited.
“Leo,” she said, voice calm but firm. “It’s late.”
He ignored the warning and walked closer, his eyes scanning her slowly, lingering on her loose silk robe and the way her hair spilled down her back.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said softly. “I miss you.”
Gia turned back to the mirror, picking up a small vial of perfume and dabbing it onto her neck. “I’m sure Aubriella would be happy to help with that.”
Leo came up behind her, resting his hands gently on her shoulders. “I don’t want her tonight. I want you.”
She didn’t move. “Leo. I’m tired.”
He reached out, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, the motion soft—tender, even. “You know I’ve always loved your hair.”
She stared at their reflection in the mirror, her face unreadable.
“We should go to dinner tomorrow,” he said, voice lowering. “Just the two of us. I’ll have Marco take Aubriella somewhere. I’ll come to your room after, and we can—start over.”
Gia turned to face him, slowly rising to her feet. She placed a hand gently on his chest, right above where the gold chain lay hidden beneath his shirt.
“You’ve said that before,” she said softly.
He smiled, leaning in to kiss her, but she turned her head.
“I’m tired,” she repeated. “Goodnight, Leo.”
His jaw ticked, but he said nothing. Just stared at her for a long moment before walking to the door.
“Don’t lock it tonight,” he said before leaving. “I just want to be near you.”
But Gia did lock the door.
And then she walked back to her desk, pulled open the drawer where she’d hidden her notes, and added one more item to her list:
– Get the key.
The next morning, Gia dropped Luca off at his preschool like she always did—kissing the top of his head and smoothing his hair as she sent him off. He was clinging a little tighter these days, and she didn’t blame him. Neither of them were sleeping well.
She made her way into the city afterward, to the tall glass building where her charity offices were housed. The space had been a gift from Leo, once upon a time—though “gift” was the wrong word. It had always come with strings. Appearances. Control. But it was hers now, at least in name. And soon, maybe in truth.
Her assistant, Francesca, waved as she stepped into the lobby.
“Morning, Mrs. Costa,” she said, a bit too brightly.
Gia returned the smile with practiced ease. “Morning, Francesca. Just hold my calls for a bit—I’ll be in my office.”
She rode the elevator up in silence, eyes on her reflection in the polished doors. Clean lines. Calm expression. Soft power.
She was almost proud of the way she’d learned to wear herself like armor.
Once inside her office, she dropped her purse on the couch and moved toward her desk. It wasn’t a late start—Leo was expecting her for dinner tonight, and she didn’t want to give him any reason to snoop. Or rage.
She was just reaching for her laptop when there was a light knock on the door.
“Come in,” she said.
Francesca peeked her head in. “This was dropped off for you. A courier—no return name.”
Gia’s heart gave the faintest flutter. “Thank you.”
The envelope was thick, sealed in matte black paper with no markings. She waited until the door clicked shut again before sliding it open.
Inside was a small, burner-style phone. No note. No explanation.
But she didn’t need one.
She sat down slowly, the weight of it in her palm. After a long moment, she turned it over and pressed the power button.
The screen blinked to life.
Only one number was saved in the contacts.
D.
She exhaled and stood, crossing to her personal filing cabinet. Behind a row of grant proposals and donor paperwork, she kept a false drawer panel. Gia tucked the phone in there and slid it shut with a soft, precise click.
She would respond.
Just… not yet.
- Writer
