Why risk Gabriella's wrath? Why give her the means to potentially hurt his family? Why come for her in Izmir? Why the rage at the birdcage? Why the softness when he looked at her? All the unanswered questions were going to drive her insane.
"Shut up, brain," she groaned in frustration.
Her shield of hatred was a flimsy defense against the confusing storm of feelings swirling inside her. There was fear, gratitude, a treacherous flicker of something warm and dangerously like attraction. Affection? She shoved that thought down violently.
No. Not that. Not ever.
He was Rodrigo Colleoni. His family had destroyed hers. He had watched her, controlled her, and manipulated her freedom.
He had also come to rescue her and looked at her as if she were something precious. Something worth breaking his own hand over.
"Fuck. I hate him.I do," she whispered it like a mantra, but the conviction was gone. The words tasted like a lie she was telling herself because the truth was too complicated, too dangerous.
She couldn't like Rodrigo. It was absurd. Yet, the feeling of his lips on her palm, the warmth in his eyes when he smiled…it didn't feel monstrous. Flawed and dangerous. More than a little fucked up. But it was also real.
A sharp knock at her door echoed, shattering her spiraling thoughts.
Giana froze, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Every instinct screamed at her to stay silent, to pretend she was asleep to buy herself more time to unravel the impossible knot of her feelings.
The knock came again.
"Giana." Rodrigo's voice resonated through the heavy wood. Not angry. Not demanding. Just waiting.
Taking a shuddering breath, Giana walked toward the door, each step feeling like a surrender and a leap into the unknown. Her good hand hovered over the brass handle.
Can I do this?The question wasn't about the war with Vincenzo anymore. It was about the man on the other side of the door, who made her feel things she absolutely, categorically,should notfeel.
Maybe she was as fucked up as he was, because her fingers closed around the cool metal, and she turned the handle.
13
Rodrigo stood outside Giana's door, his knuckles throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He had washed the blood off and hastily wrapped a bandage around them. The pain was a grounding counterpoint to the chaos churning inside him.
He wouldn't blame Giana if she didn't answer the door. Not after the anger that had consumed him at the sight of that gilded fucking birdcage.
The press of her touch on his chest burned hotter than the raw skin on his hurt hand. All the rage bled out until all he could see was her, and he could think straight again.
Rodrigo raised his left hand, the uninjured one, and knocked again. He forced his breathing to even out, wrestling the feral beast inside him back into its cage.
She needs calm, you asshole. Not the monster Gabriella made.
"Giana," he said as softly as he could.Please answer.
She opened the door, looking rumpled and tired. He wanted to wrap her in a blanket and never let anyone near her again. Herhair was a messy dark halo around her face, her bangs askew.Beautiful.
Her gaze met his, wary, questioning, stripped of the easy hatred that had always been in them. That absence left Rodrigo feeling exposed, but she had always been able to do that to him. She could cut him open with a single glance.
"Rodrigo." Her voice was quiet, husky with exhaustion and lingering pain.
"Giana." His own voice sounded rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. "May I come in?"
Hesitation crossed her face, quickly masked as she stepped back and opened the door wider. "Sure. It's your house."
He ignored the barb, stepping past her and trying not to inhale the jasmine perfume she favored.
He kept his distance, moving toward the center of the spacious room, his back to the ornate bed. He turned to face her as she closed the door and watched him with those unnervingly perceptive eyes.
"Are you all right?" he asked, the question feeling inadequate. He gestured vaguely at her bandaged hand, her ribs. "The pain?"
