Gianna's Grit | ✓

III: Holy Gumbo, Who are You?

GIANNA

I spent some extra time with aunt Philly, who was now all but skin and bones, before making my way towards the delicious smell wafting from the kitchen. The smell was more than familiar; I knew aunt Georgia's gumbo matter what. I furrowed my brow when I noticed a brown skinned man in all black sitting at the table eating a bowl of freshly made gumbo, but made my way to my aunt anyway.

"It's about time you got here," Georgia said disapprovingly, "Brielle is always on time."

"Brielle's not here, though, is she?" I reminded her as she gave me a halfhearted hug and shoved a bowl of gumbo into my hands.

"Brielle has children and a husband, do you?" She shot back, targeting my conscious choice to stay away from romance due to my fear of heartbreak.

"I don't have time for relationships," I made my way over to the man, sitting across from him.

"Brielle always had handsome boyfriends and little boys following her around," Georgia added. "She always let me pick out her outfits for dates, too."

"That's why she ran off as soon as she turned eighteen," I reminded her sharply, making Georgia's jaw drop.

I smiled at her inability to respond, That's what I like to hear.

I silently enjoyed my gumbo for as long as I could, before my curiosity got the best of me, "Who are you?"

"Gianna May!" Georgia slapped my arm before continuing to nurse her pot of gumbo.

The man's frown didn't lighten, and he didn't respond either.

I smiled and held my hand out anyway, "Gianna Kingsley, the future Chicago CEO of Sinn Entertainment."

His large and rough hand grasped my smaller one as he curtly replied, "King."

"Look at me," I said, not releasing his hand, even as his brown eyes met mine. I thought for a few seconds before frowning, "What's your real name?"

I know those eyes.

He brought his brows together and snatched away from me, crossing his arms as he sat back, "That is my name, Gianna."

The way he stressed my name was a clear first warning, but I was never good at submitting to those, "We've met before."

He narrowed his eyes, "Are you deaf or something?"

"Georgia's been asking me the same question for over a decade, try something new," I shot back, obviously getting on his nerves the more I spoke.

"You don't know who you're talking to, do you?" He smirked cruelly.

"You used to smile more— real smiles too," I eyed his full lips before wandering back to his eyes, "didn't you?"

"You're walking on a thin line, ma," he clenched his jaw.

"I always do," I said before guessing, "It starts with a Z—"

"Shut the fuck up," he snapped.

"If you would just tell me then I wouldn't keep—"

He suddenly slammed a gun down on the table, the barrel now pointing right at me.

This frightened aunt Georgia, making her jump and drop her ladle. It fell to the floor, and she rushed to retrieve it. She cleaned up her mess and silently washed off the utensil.

I turned and saw all of my relatives averting their eyes, most of them looking down at the carpet.

I narrowed my eyes and turned back to King, "What'd you do to my family?"

He tightened his grasp on his weapon and turned it upright, making me shut my mouth and eye the trigger, "Are you finished talking now?"

I nodded rigidly.

"Alright," he dragged his chair to sit beside me, gun aimed at me the entire way, "this is how it's gonna go, Gianna Kingsley."