Rodrigo ignored him, hitting the wall again and again. Paint and plaster dust puffed into the air. Blood bloomed across his knuckles, and his breath came in ragged gasps, his entire body shaking with the effort of containing an explosion that threatened to level the room.
Giana stepped in front of him and placed a firm hand on Rodrigo's chest, stopping the next blow.
"Enough," she said, cutting through Rodrigo's silent fury. "Breaking your hand won't break him. Stop, Rodrigo. Please."
Rodrigo glared at her, still breathing hard. The raw, animalistic rage in his eyes was terrifying. It wasn't just anger at the threat, at the insult. It was rage at someone who dared to threaten her andtaunthim for it.
"He's exposed himself, and now we will be ready for him," she said, her voice low and steady. "This moron isn't worth hurting yourself over."
Rodrigo's heart beat frantically against her palm, but she left it on his chest. He stood frozen, blood dripping from his ruined knuckles onto the pristine marble floor. The anger in hiseyes shifted to a desperate, almost panicked intensity focused entirely on her.
"He dies," Rodrigo stated. "Slowly. Screaming. I will tear his world apart brick by fucking brick."
His voice was thick with violence, but beneath it, Giana heard something that confused her far more than his rage.Fear.
"Wewill tear it apart," she corrected, and something softened in his expression.
"We," he confirmed.
Frederica let out a low whistle, breaking the tension. "Well, let's see what we have here," she drawled, holstering her pistol and stepping toward the table. She picked up the delicate birdcage, examining it with a critical eye.
"Antique. Probably late 18thcentury and French. Nice workmanship. Worth a pretty penny." She gave the cage a little shake. "Subtle as a brick to the face, ourSignorFalcone. Guess the game's officially on. So who wants to help me pick out the perfect spot for this? I'm thinking right above the main gate as a welcome gift for when he turns up."
"Ohhhh, good thinking, Fred." Athena grinned, displaying a sharp flash of teeth. "I know just the charges to make sure it's memorable."
Rodrigo didn't react to their dark humor. He was still staring at Giana, the storm in his eyes unresolved, the blood dripping steadily from his fist. She dropped her hand away from his chest, and he let out a shuddery breath.
"Let's get to work," he said, and walked away before she could say another word.
11
The door of the guest room clicked shut behind Giana, and she leaned against it, the cool, solid wood a temporary anchor against the storm raging inside her.
Her bandaged left hand throbbed in time with her heartbeat, a dull, insistent ache beneath the layers of gauze. The pain was a constant reminder of the cage in Izmir, of Vincenzo's mocking gift now destined for the villa gates, and the fact that safety was an illusion and that her body was still a battlefield.
Deep breaths. In. Out.
The air in the room was cool, scented faintly with lemon polish and the bed's expensive linen. The Colleoni villa wrapped its jewel-toned luxury around her, beautiful and deadly, just like its master.
Rodrigo's face swam before her closed eyes. It wasn't his usual cold, controlled mask, but the raw, shattered expression as he pounded his fist into the stone wall. The anger was terrifying in its intensity, but beneath it lay that horrible fear.
Fear for me. The thought sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine, mixing with the heat of his lips on her palm. The gentle pressure, the unexpected warmth of his breath, the wayhe looked at her stripped away layers of pretense she had erected.
As my fiancée wishes.
"Fuck, this can't be happening," Giana whispered, pushing off the door, the movement sending a fresh wave of dizziness washing over her.
Six weeks of freedom was a piss-poor attempt to outrun her past and the shadow of the man who now paced the halls outside, ready to burn the world for her. The man she wassupposedto hate. She had always been so sure he hated her too.
Giana stumbled toward the large, canopied bed, its dark silk duvet looking impossibly inviting. Her ribs screamed in protest as she lowered herself onto the edge, the soft mattress yielding beneath her weight.
She looked down at her bandaged hand, the stark white gauze a symbol of her vulnerability and how easily they had taken her, and how they would try again.
Am I strong enough for this fight?The question echoed inside her, hollow and terrifying.
Playing the game with Vincenzo was one thing. Playing with Rodrigo Colleoni, the man who knew her fears and weaknesses better than she knew them herself, was suicide.
Yet, she had demanded partnership. She had staked her claim at his table. And the look in his eyes when she'd done it… that hadn't been the look of a man facing an inconvenient pawn. It had been respect. Challenge.Heat.
