"It's necessary," Rodrigo countered. "I won't always be there, and she needs to be able to protect herself."
The thought was a blade to his gut, but it was the truth he'd ignored for too long. His protection, however fierce, had limits. Her freedom required her own strength.
"Andafterthe weapons training?" Leo pressed, leaning forward, intrigued despite himself. "How exactly do you plan this grand persuasion? Flowers? Chocolates? A declarationwritten in the blood of her enemies?" His tone was dry, but there was no malice, only a brotherly skepticism mixed with curiosity.
Rodrigo shrugged. "I don't have a twelve-step plan, Leo. Only a few ideas. I just know I can't let her walk away again. She wants to build something new out of our family's legacies. I want that too, but with her."
"I think you're going to need a lot of help," Leo stated bluntly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Though she is kind of perfect for you, you know? She doesn't put up with any of your bossy, controlling bullshit. She calls you on it. And she stopped you from punching a hole through the wall with your bare hands. That's a skill we've all lacked for years."
Dario barked a laugh. "Maybe she can teach us the trick of Rodrigo whispering."
Rodrigo ignored him, focusing on Leo's earlier point. "So? Will you help? Both of you? Not just with Vincenzo. With… her?"
He gestured vaguely, encompassing the impossible task of winning Giana.
Leo met his gaze, and he raised his beer bottle in a small salute. "Always, brother. Even if it's just to watch the train wreck of you trying to court someone."
Dario clapped Rodrigo on the back again, harder this time. "Hell yes. Watching you try to romance someone who sees through your scary-Colleoni-boss act like it's tissue paper? That's entertainment I'm not missing. And if wecan'thelp… Well, it'll be fucking hilarious to watch her walk all over you."
"Thanks, assholes." Rodrigo rolled his eyes, but a warmth spread through his chest, unfamiliar and welcome. He picked up his beer bottle, clinking it against Leo's, then Dario's. "To the train wreck."
For the first time in longer than he could remember, he didn't feel entirely alone.
15
The low groan that escaped Giana's lips as she pushed herself upright the following morning was embarrassingly loud in the quiet of her bedroom. Every muscle protested, but she forced herself to get up. Rodrigo had promised to brush up on her old fighting skills, and she wasn't going to be accused of sleeping in or not taking it seriously.
The thought of having close physical contact with Rodrigo sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cool morning air. His confession last night had shifted something inside her. She had never known how much he had protected her, not just from the other mafia families but from Gabriella herself. She had been left feeling grateful and overwhelmed by a terrifying flicker of attraction.
More than a flicker.
"Argh, focus on training," she grumbled.
If she had kept up with all the lessons her parents had drilled into her through the years, maybe things would have been different in Turkey, and she wouldn't have ended up in a fucking dog crate.
That thought alone propelled her out of bed. She wouldn't be prey, and she wasdonebeing the protected pawn.
She dressed in practical black leggings and a fitted, long-sleeved top, the fabric soft against her hand's bandages. She studied them for a moment before unravelling them.
Her fingers were bruised but not broken, and the damaged nail beds were healing. She flexed them. They were better than yesterday, and the bandage felt too restrictive, so she left it off.
Gingerly, she pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail. Usually, it would be a braid, but her sore fingers didn't have the dexterity for it. She downed a glass of water and some painkillers the doctor had left her and headed for the door.
The villa was quiet as Giana made her way downstairs. The smell of coffee and pastry drifted from the kitchen, but she bypassed it, drawn instead toward the lower levels, where the gym was.
She wanted to run through some basic drills before Rodrigo found her so she wasn't completely rusty.
The gym was a vast, echoing hall that spoke of generations of martial discipline. High, arched windows let in shafts of morning light, illuminating dust motes dancing above an expanse of polished wooden flooring.
One entire wall was mirrored, reflecting the impressive array of equipment. Racks of free weights stood like sentinels near weight machines, and on the opposite wall were weapons. Dozens of gleaming blades of every conceivable shape and size were mounted in precise rows. Sabers with elegant, curved hilts hung beside straight, deadly rapiers. Heavy broadswords shared space with wicked-looking daggers and ornate, spiked maces.
Giana spotted Athena moving with deadly grace, a long, slender blade flashing in her hand, the steel catching the light with a sharp glint.
Athena flowed through a complex sequence, all of her movements precise and perfect. She wore simple workout gear, her blonde hair in a severe braid, sweat glistening on her brow. Her expression was serene and almost entirely vacant, as if she were looking at a world different from the one around her.
The blade she wielded looked ancient, its hilt intricately carved, the metal bearing the subtle marks of age and use. It looked like it belonged in a display case, not in the hands of a mercenary warming up.
Athena finished the sequence with a final, sharp thrust into an imaginary opponent's heart, the point stopping dead an inch from the mirrored wall. She lowered the blade, her chest rising and falling steadily. She turned, her eyes refocusing on Giana instantly. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips.
