I trail them at a distance, silent, measured, letting the darkness swallow me as I turn the corner—and I nearly step out too soon. Giacomo has her backed against the wall, close enough that his breath stirs a strand of her hair, and she’s standing perfectly still with her gaze lowered, the kind of stillness that isn’t obedience but self-preservation.
Rage surges up my spine so fast it almost blinds me. Every instinct demands I tear him away from her, put him on the floor, make sure he never looks at her like that again—but I force myself to remain hidden, jaw clenched, blood roaring in my ears. If I storm in now, I’ll blow everything apart, and she’ll pay the price for my temper.
So I freeze in the shadows, every muscle coiled, watching him invade her space while I fight the primal urge to burn the whole damn hallway down just to get her out of it.
“Did you enjoy yourself out there?” Giacomo asks, his voice as casual as a knife at the throat. “Do you have any idea what your little stunt has done?”
“What are you talking about?” Beatrice’s voice wavers.
“Dancing with him—Matteo fucking Davacalli.” He hisses like a snake in her face. “I told you about these people and how horrid they are, and yet you accept a dance from him? To make it worse, everyone was staring—watching my fiancée dance with my mortal enemy.”
Mortal enemy?Please. He isn’t high enough on my radar to hold a position of such importance.
Her breath comes out shaky. “It was just a dance. I didn’t think anything of it, and he asked me nicely.”
“Oh, he asked nicely? If he asked to fuck you nicely, would you have opened your legs for him like a common whore?”
There’s a beat of silence so sharp I can feel it like a blade on skin. I ball my fists at my sides, wanting to sucker-punch this fool in the mouth. But I hold my ground.
She can handle herself, I’m sure. And my appearance will only make things worse for her—and that is the last thing I want.
“Don’t be crass, Giacomo,” she says, quieter now. “You left me to go and schmooze your business partners, and he came up and spoke to me. I am wearing your ring, I walked in with you, we are going to be married in less than four months. Why would I want to go after another man when you have branded me so loudly?”
He steps closer—I hear it in the way her voice drops, defensive and tight.
“Branded?” He spits the word in her face. “I did not brand you, Beatrice.”
She lifts her chin. “Oh no? Giacomo, I may as well have a sign on my forehead that saysGiacomo’s property.You prepped me for this night for weeks. You had me in alterations and working out so I looked the picture of the perfect bride-to-be for you.”
“We discussed this already. I am to be?—”
“—king of the city. I know, you have said this over and over again, and I have told you that I am willing to do my part. I am going to try to see the man behind the suit, like you said.” She sounds tired and frustrated. “I am trying, Giacomo. I am doing my best, but you have so many rules and regulations for me that it… it gets exhausting. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
He steps closer, then lowers his voice. “No, you didn’t, but you’re mine now. And that means we come as a package deal. When people see you, they see me,cara mia.You can’t make me look weak in front of people like him. Because if you do, there will be consequences. I refuse to be humiliated. Not by him. And certainly not by you.”
“You’re doing that on your own,” she snaps. “And who cares what other people think? Kings do not busy themselves with the words of peasants—isn’t that what you once said to me?”
The two just stare at each other. She looks tired, but there is a fire in her that I sense even from where I stand. She is not someone who will be easily pushed over.
Good girl.
But Giacomo… he looks like he’s holding on by the smallest of threads.
She sighs and shakes her head. “I’m going to grab a drink while you cool off. We will talk about this later.”
She tries to sidestep him, but he blocks her path. She moves again, but he blocks her yet again. They do this dance a few times before he grabs her hand and pulls her toward him.
His voice is sharp, like a double-edged sword. “We aren’t done here,amore.”
“Yes, we are.” She tries to pull her hand away, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and exhaustion. “I want to leave now, Giacomo. I want to go home.”
He yanks her closer, forcing her to collide with his chest, his grip tightening as if he owns the right to decide when she can breathe.
“I said we’re not done,” he growls, each word a command meant to cage her in.
That’s when I move.
I step out from the dark corner of the corridor, my presence cutting through the space like a blade, my footsteps slow, deliberate, echoing with the kind of warning only a fool would ignore.
