Gia's husband
1408 Words
Five years later….
Gia POV
Gia adjusted her skirt, making sure it fell just above the knee. Her hands trembled as she buttoned up her silk blouse, smoothing it down to perfection. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail—just the way her husband liked it.
After leaving her wedding reception that night, Gia had been terrified. She was pregnant, humiliated, and alone. Her family, deeply religious, would have been devastated if the news got out—a child born out of wedlock would’ve been seen as a disgrace. A stain on the Moretti name.
So she did the only thing she could think of.
She agreed to a marriage.
It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even comfort. It was survival.
She remembered that moment like it was yesterday. Her father, still fuming with rage, had taken her home and immediately called the family lawyers to file for an annulment. Gia had sat in silence, numb and hollow, while her parents raged—plotting revenge, discussing ways to punish the Mancinis.
But Gia? She just wanted it to be over. She needed to be strong. For her baby.
So she’d spoken—voice low, heart pounding.
“Papa, could you… set up a contract marriage for me?”
The room went silent. Her mother’s breath caught. Her father’s eyes narrowed.
“Gia—are you sure about this?” he asked. “You’re still grieving. You’ve been humiliated, and—”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I’m sure.”
And so it had begun.
Her father arranged a marriage with Leonardo Costa, son of Don Costa. The Costas were an up-and-coming Mafia family. Not quite old money, not yet top-tier, but ruthless and rising fast. Their influence was spreading, their name gaining power.
The wedding took place just five days after the disaster with Dante.
Before the ceremony, Gia had pulled Leonardo aside. Her heart was racing. Her hands were cold.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered, her voice shaking.
Leonardo—a handsome, composed man in his early thirties—tilted his head and studied her. His silence stretched too long. Gia began to panic, rambling.
“I thought Dante would marry me,” she said quickly. “I understand if this is a dealbreaker, but I thought you should know. I don’t want to start a marriage with a lie.”
Leonardo blinked once.
“Why?” he asked, not unkindly.
“Because I could have pretended it was yours,” Gia admitted. “But I couldn’t live with that.”
He stared at her, then finally gave a short nod. “Thank you for telling me.”
Her stomach twisted. “Does that mean… the wedding is off?”
Leonardo smirked. “Oh no,” he said, stepping closer. “You are mine, Gia Moretti. A beauty like you is a rare thing. I don’t care whose child it is—I’ll raise it as my own.”
Relief washed over her. Gratitude too.
She even smiled.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all…
The first few months had been… fine. Not happy, exactly, but survivable.
Leonardo had been kind. Attentive. Maybe a little too controlling, but Gia had chalked that up to old-school values and a possessive streak. That was normal in their world, right?
But then things shifted.
It was subtle at first—corrections in front of his men, a tight grip on her wrist when she interrupted, little digs about how she dressed or walked or laughed.
Then came the rules.
Don’t wear red. It’s too loud.
No phone calls after eight. What kind of wife talks to people that late?
No going to the market alone. You’ll embarrass me.
She swallowed it all. For her son. For survival.
She told herself she was safe. Provided for. That was more than most.
But even now, five years later, she still triple-checked the stove after every meal. Still timed how long she took in the shower. Still braced herself every time she heard his voice on the stairs.
And today… today he was already in a mood.
She could feel it in the silence. The house was too quiet. No music, no clinking glasses, no conversation from the staff. Just the heavy ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall and the soft, distant hum of her son—Luca—murmuring to his toys in the next room.
She peeked around the corner. His tiny back was to her, sitting cross-legged on the rug, building something with blocks and whispering a story to himself.
Her heart clenched.
He was four now. Sweet. Smart. Sensitive in the way that scared her most.
Too much like her.
And Leonardo hated that.
He wanted a strong son. A fearless boy. But Luca flinched too easily. Cried too softly. And lately… he asked too many questions.
Gia turned away, fixing her posture just in time to hear the front door open.
Leonardo’s shoes clicked across the marble, each step deliberate. Controlled.
She stood straighter.
He appeared in the archway, tall and handsome, like a man who belonged in magazines. Except his jaw was tight. His cufflinks were missing. And his eyes locked on her like she’d already disappointed him.
“You changed the schedule.”
Her mouth went dry. “I—only by a few minutes. The driver was late and—”
“I didn’t ask why,” he cut in. “I told you. Things run on my time. Not yours.”
Gia nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t reply. Just walked past her, heading straight for Luca.
Her stomach knotted.
“Luca,” she called gently. “Come give Papa a hug.”
Luca jumped up, all sunshine and innocence. “Papa!” he chirped, running toward him, arms open. Leonardo bent, but not to embrace him. He held out a hand.
“Handshake first,” he said flatly.
Luca blinked. The smile slipped a little, but he obeyed—tiny hand sliding into his father’s.
“Firm,” Leonardo instructed. “You’re not a baby.”
Gia bit her lip.
Once Luca had retreated, Leonardo turned back to her.
“Dinner at seven,” he said. “And wear the navy dress. The black one makes you look tired.”
She waited until he disappeared upstairs before she let her shoulders sag.
Luca came back over, climbing into her arms, his small hands curling into her blouse.
“Did I do good, Mama?”
Gia’s throat tightened.
“You were perfect, sweetheart,” she whispered. “You’re always perfect.”
And as she held him close, she wondered—how much longer could she pretend this was a life worth surviving?
—
The car was warm and dimly lit, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. Luca was home with the nanny, fast asleep by now. Gia kept her gaze fixed on the passing streetlights, counting them like prayers.
Leonardo sat beside her, sprawled out like he owned the world. Maybe he did. He certainly made her feel like she belonged to it — like an acquisition he’d locked away behind glass.
His breath reeked of the expensive red wine he'd been drinking all night, smooth and aged, just like the persona he wore so effortlessly in public. In private, the mask always slipped.
His hand slid over her knee, fingers trailing higher as he leaned in, lips brushing her shoulder.
“You were radiant tonight,” he murmured. “So composed. So poised. So… mine.”
She gave a small smile, trying not to flinch as he kissed her collarbone.
“We’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?” he whispered. “I want a baby who looks like me.”
Gia tensed.
“I’ve been patient,” he went on. “You finished your degree like I asked. You’ve studied. Learned how to carry yourself in a room. Soon, you’ll be giving lectures to real companies. Men will listen. They'll admire. But they’ll know you belong to me.”
Her stomach twisted.
“I want a child who can carry my name,” he said. “Not a reminder of someone else’s mistake.”
Her fingers dug into her silk skirt, her voice caught in her throat. She wanted to say no. Wanted to scream. But she’d learned by now — with Leonardo, resistance always came at a price.
- Writer
