Her training, the litany of rules her father and then Rodrigo had trained into her over the years, surfaced from the depths of her memory.
Two men are a pattern.
Keeping her movements relaxed and lazy, Giana brushed her dark hair over her shoulder. She scanned past the couple sharing a plate of calamari and the tired-looking family packing up their beach bags.
There.
Another one. Standing near a simit cart at the end of the promenade. He had a different build, thicker and shorter, but he had the same predatory focus that was aimed in her direction. He was pretending to look at his phone, but his thumb wasn't moving, and the screen was dark.
Giana's heart didn't race. It slowed, each beat a heavy drum against her ribs.Thump. Thump. Thump.
The world sharpened, and the colors grew more vibrant, the sounds more distinct. The smell of salt was suddenly overpowering. Hyperawareness kicked in, a brutal shot of adrenaline that cleared her head.
This wasn't Rodrigo's suffocating protection. This was the thing Rodrigo had been protecting herfrom.
The Sorrentino Family's past wasn't dead. It had just been dormant. Now, it had finally caught up to her.
Three men are a plan.
Where was the third? In the alley? Behind her? On a rooftop?
Don't panic, Giana. Panic gets you killed. Assess and then act.
Her phone was on the table, next to her empty coffee cup. Her purse, with a can of military-grade pepper spray, was on the chair opposite her. Too far away.
The phone was closer. One touch would activate a silent alarm connected to a private security firm she had hired. It was a pale imitation of Colleoni resources, but it was better than nothing.
The man at the table hadn't moved, but the one by the cart was slowly starting to drift in her direction. They were going to box her in.
Her plan formed in a second. Create a scene. Flip the table. Scream. Run for the crowded part of the promenade. Disappear into the chaos.
They wouldn't risk a public spectacle. Not unless they were professionals of the highest order. And if they were, she was already dead.
Her hand moved slowly across the table toward her phone. Her muscles were coiled, springs wound tight, ready to explodeinto motion. Just another inch. Her fingertips brushed the cool glass screen.
Now.
She was about to shove the table, to fill her lungs with air and scream, when a shadow fell over her from behind. A hand clamped over her mouth and nose, silencing her before it could come out. An arm wrapped around her chest, pinning her arms to her sides, lifting her from the chair with terrifying ease as she struggled. A sharp, chemical scent filled her nostrils.
Lazy bastards, Rodrigo whispered in disgust.
Giana's body thrashed, a useless, frantic fight. Her vision swam, the beautiful, sun-drenched café blurring at the edges.
The man at the other table rose calmly and dropped some money on the table. He gave her a dead-eyed look of utter indifference as her world dissolved into black pinpricks.
Her last coherent thought wasn't of freedom or fear or the faces of the family that had been stolen from her.
It was a single, furious, desperate prayer.Rodrigo, help me!
And then…nothing.
2
The Colleoni villa was silent. It wasn't the peaceful quiet of a country night, but a dead, hollow silence that resonated from the ancient stone walls. It was the sound of absence because it was a world withoutherin it.
Rodrigo stared at the screen in front of him, a glass of red wine by his hand. He hadn't noticed the name of the vintage. He had just grabbed the closest bottle and started drinking.
On the 8K monitor that took up half the wall, a single, frozen frame held her captive. Thick dark fringe. Red lips. Defiance in every line of her curved body.
