My eyes were becoming too enchanted by looking at her, and I had to rip them away and in the direction she had pointed. I almost did a double take, and then my feet seemed to go to the case without thought. Behind the glass, at least a seven-carat ruby in the shape of a heart glistened in the firelight, along with the diamonds that framed it.
For whatever reason, I looked between the ring and Sistine.
This time, her eyebrows lifted. “You can have a replica of that one made, with different materials, but under no circumstances can it be taken out of the case, unless instructed by someone other than the people in this building.”
“Tell me,” I said in Italian.
She chucked her chin toward the case. “The history is there for you to read. That is not a ruby you are looking at, Signor Fausti, but a true red diamond in the center.”
Reluctantly, I turned my eyes back to the ring. Underneath its perfect placement was a note written by someone with impeccable handwriting. The ink was as preserved as the ring. The firelight passed over it in waves of heat that couldn’t touch the paper or the metal but still gave life to both.
The name of the ring was listed:Fate’s Blood.
Underneath the name was the ring’s history. The ring itself dated back to the Renaissance Era, but the red diamond didn’t have a date. It was never tested for its true age and never would be. One of my ancestors was given the blood diamond as a gift in return for his gallant service. The giver assumed it was a ruby,and my ancestor logged it in as such when it was brought to the Cappello store.
It wasn’t until years later that one of the jewelers who belonged to the store was logging in information and came across the truth. It was a rare red diamond. No other blood diamond in history could measure up to its size—seven karats. It was flawless and had been found naturally in the shape of a heart. The truth of it was kept under wraps because of its value.
I continued to read how only a man strong of faith could even attempt to make a bid for it. The ring was at the center of the rift that caused the law to be made. No man from the Fausti family could marry, or associate, with a woman from the jewelry family after the feud was all said and done. The couple’s relationship almost tore apart the relationship between the Fausti family and the Cappellos.
However, any man in my family could make a bid for the ring, but under one condition: Fate would decide if the couple was meant to be or not.
Meaning, the couple needed to be brought to a labyrinth, and if he found her in it, they could wed, and the ring was his to give to her. If not, the wedding couldn’t take place, and the ring stayed put.
The highest stake?
The relationship would stall out. It was an all-in situation. The man would face death if he attempted to be with her after Fate had the last say.
I hesitated before I turned back to Sistine. I could see that she was watching me through the glass case, unaware that I noticed she was. She was fixated on me. And not just on my face. Her eyes kept dropping to my hands. Maybe she was trying to figure out if my hands were in proportion to my…feet. I grinned, and her eyes stilled on my face.
As soon as I turned toward her, she seemed to force herself to blink, and she swallowed hard.
I stabbed my thumb toward the case. “That’s a bit dramatic, ah?”
“The ring belongs to your family.” She shrugged. “The law was made by one of yours.”
Translated:your familyisdramatic, and I expect no less from them.
Fair enough.
Her subtlety made me grin again. She narrowed her eyes almost in suspicion, and I took a step toward her. She took a step back. When she realized I was enjoying the dance, she planted her boots on the floor, looking up at me with defiance in her hardened eyes. My kaleidoscope was locked, the colors refusing to move, to allow me entrance to the connection that we both knew existed beyond the depths.
“Let’s strip away our names for a few minutes. I’m Mariano and you’re Sistine—no last names.” I switched to Italian. “You have something on your mind. Speak it without the bars that surround us.”
“Who areyouto givemepermission to speak or not?” she whispered, but the snap couldn’t be missed.
“You need it, or you would’ve already said what’s on your mind.”
“What if I have nothing on my mind? Nothing but getting through this workday as if it’s any other day.” She had an Italian accent, but I noticed it wasn’t as heavy as her grandfather’s, or anyone else who belonged to her family. That fact made me even more curious about her.
“Your facial expressions say otherwise.” I made some of the same faces she had been— rolling her eyes, scrunching up her nose, pinching her lips. I was sure if she could produce smoke, it would have blown out of her nostrils and ears.
She huffed at me. “You are so entitled.” She took a step closer to me, but I refused to budge.
If she kept coming forward, we would collide, and that was exactly what I fucking wanted. I wanted her with me in the chaos she had started in my life the moment our eyes met, and I was flung off that proverbial cliff.
“You come here smelling like a million bucks—perhaps your custom-made suit and jacket costs that much—and you walk around your family’s vault as if it wereyouwho personally put in hundreds and hundreds of hours logging in every diamond, every jewel, every piece of gold as if it was as precious as a human body. And out of allllthe Fausti men I have ever met, you,Casanova Prince, are the most pompous of them all.” She stabbed a finger into my chest, then flicked my tie to the side, causing it to hang over my shoulder. She did an about face and went to hustle away from me in the opposite direction.
“Sistine,” I called.
