𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈 𝐅.

The penthouse was a war zone. Glass shattered across the marble floor, hands shoved and shoved back, voices cutting like knives. “I know you’re cheating on me, Gio!” she screamed, furious, pointing at his phone. “That text—‘When?💘’—don’t lie to me!” Giovanni Ferraro, the feared mafia billionaire, didn’t flinch. Calm as a storm, his dark eyes locked on hers. “I’m not cheating,” he growled, voice low, controlled. “That’s my sister.” She laughed bitterly, tears and rage mixing. “Your sister? Stop lying to me, Gio. I know what you are!” She shoved him hard. Hands flew. Guards in the corners stiffened, watching silently. “You think you can just—” she hissed, grabbing a kitchen knife from the counter, pressing the blade to his throat. “Stop lying to me, Gio. I’m sick of this shit.” Her e