“Thank you, Danny,” I say without looking away from her. “Leave us.”
He hesitates. I can feel his disapproval radiating off him in waves. But ultimately he obeys, closing the study doors behind him that sounds unnaturally loud in the silence.
“Sit,” I tell her, gesturing to the chair in front of my desk.
But Giuliana doesn’t sit.
She stands in the middle of my study with her spine straight and her chin raised, waiting.
Not scared exactly, but cautious.
Like she’s facing down a dangerous animal and trying to decide whether it’s going to attack or ignore her.
“Maria approached you this morning,” I begin, my voice carefully neutral as I lean against my desk with my arms crossed.
“Yes.” No hesitation, no attempt to deny or deflect.
“Romano offered you two million dollars and safe passage.” I study her face, looking for cracks in her composure that might reveal anything. “That’s a generous offer.”
“It was.” Her tone is flat and emotionless, revealing nothing.
“Most people in your position would have taken it.” I let the silence stretch between us, watching for any sign of doubt or second-guessing. “Two million dollars buys a lot of freedom. A new identity, a new country, a fresh start far away from all of this.” I wave my hand in the air.
“I’m aware of what two million dollars can buy.” There’s a hint of annoyance in her voice now. A flash of the defiance that makes her so much more complicated than I want her to be.
I pounce on that. “Then why didn’t you take it?”
Silence. Giuliana’s jaw tightens, and I see her hands clench briefly at her sides before she forces them to relax. She’s carefully controlling her reactions and maintaining composure despite the pressure I’m applying.
Interesting. So veryinteresting.
“Because I’m not a traitor,” she says finally, the words coming out precise and measured. “Whatever else I am—prisoner, pawn, tool for your revenge—I’m not someone who betrays people formoney.” She spits the word out like it’s venom.
“Even when those people are holding you captive?” I push away from the desk, taking a step closer to her, invading her space deliberately. “Even when they’ve destroyed your life and clearly have no regard for your wellbeing?”
This close, I can see the pulse jumping at the base of her throat, the slight dilation of her pupils as I move into her personal space.
Her skin is flushed from the confrontation, color high in her cheeks, and there’s something about the way she refuses to back down—chin raised, eyes blazing—that makes her striking.
I force the observation away, refocusing on the interrogation.
This isn’t about how she looks.
It’s about understanding why she made the choice she did.
“Even then.” She meets my gaze without flinching, and I have to respect the courage that takes. “I may hate you for what you’ve done to me, Luca, and spend every night wishing I could escape this nightmare. But I’m not my father. I won’t sell information that could get people killed just to save myself.”
The comparison to Antonio makes me jolt.
This is exactly what her father did.
He sold information to save himself from debt, and people died because of it.
And now his daughter, given the exact same choice, makes the opposite decision.
The integrity of it forces me to reassess everything I thought I knew about the Conti family.
Antonio was weak, cowardly, willing to betray anyone to save his own skin.
