The low murmur of conversation and the clink of cutlery against fine china felt jarringly normal. Dinner in the Colleoni villa's formal dining room was nothing if not a production.
Murano glass chandeliers cast a warm glow over the long, polished table laden with platters of roasted meats, glistening vegetables, and crusty bread. Leo held court at one end, sketching intricate diagrams on a napkin for Kon, who listened with a slightly confused frown on his face.
Athena and Frederica debated the merits of different explosive compounds with unnerving enthusiasm, punctuating their points by stabbing their forks into the tablecloth.
Dante was methodically dismantling a roasted quail, occasionally offering a murmured comment to Leo. Dario, seated beside Giana, kept up a steady stream of irreverent commentary, making her laugh at his antics.
Rodrigo sat at the head of the table, a watchful presence while they all ate. His gaze periodically swept the room, lingering longest on Giana. Every time his eyes met hers, a freshwave of heat washed over her, warring with the deep-seated ache in her muscles from their training session.
The feel of his body pinning hers, the cold steel against her throat, the heat in his eyes had replayed in her mind all day and tangled up her insides.
Her hatred was gone, and in its place swirled confusion, a terrifying flicker of hope, and an undeniable attraction that seemed to short-circuit her rational thoughts.
It's nothing. You could always acknowledge how handsome he was,she tried to tell herself, pushing a piece of roasted potato around her plate.
The laughter around the table—Dante's loud guffaw at one of his own jokes and Athena's sharp bark of amusement—felt distant, filtered through the haze of her own spiraling thoughts. She was hyper-aware of Rodrigo and the way the candlelight caught the sharp angles of his face.
This is insane, she thought, forcing herself to take a sip of a truly excellent Veneto wine.
So what if he had confessed his role, his regrets, his long-hidden protection, and looked at her like she was the only thing anchoring him to sanity?Mio Dio, if she couldn't handle dinner, how was she supposed to carry out the rest of their plan?
That night, Giana was supposed to start sharing his private wing of the villa for the benefit of the cameras outside it and the hacker who was about to gain access to them.
You can do this, she reminded herself. She had lived through far worse things than sharing a room.
As the meal wound down, an alert chimed, and Leo pulled out his laptop.
"Our digital voyeur is active and currently focused on the main corridors and the guest wing entrance feeds. Time to give them something interesting to watch."
His gaze landed pointedly on Rodrigo and Giana. Rodrigo stood, the movement fluid and commanding. He didn't look at Giana, but his calm voice cut through the lingering chatter.
"Giana, if you'll come with me," he said and offered her his hand.
Giana swallowed the sudden dryness in her throat. She pushed her chair back, ignoring the sympathetic glance Dario shot her and the speculative look from Frederica.
She placed her hand in his and followed Rodrigo out of the dining room, the click of her heels on the marble floor echoing too loudly in the sudden quiet that fell behind them.
The villa felt different at night, the ancient stone whispering secrets and the portraits of long-dead Colleonis seeming to watch their progress with impassive eyes. There were a lot more spaces on the walls than she remembered.
Rodrigo moved his arm around Giana's waist before he nuzzled her ear and whispered, "Smile like I'm saying something very sexy to you and look at the ceiling to the right."
Giana didn't have to fake her blush as she smiled and scanned the high ceiling corners, spotting the discreet black domes of cameras. A prickle of unease danced down her spine.
"They are watching us," Rodrigo added, his nose brushing the hair at her temple and inhaling. "God, why do you always smell so good?"
Giana reached up and tugged on his silk tie before whispering back, "Why do you wear these all the time and tempt me to choke you?"
Rodrigo laughed, a deep, rolling sound that made her toes curl in her heels. "Under the right circumstances, I might even ask you to."
"You did not just say that…" she stammered, putting a hand over her scarlet face.
Rodrigo chuckled and stopped before a heavy, dark wood door Giana had never seen before. It was set apart from the main guest corridors, deeper within the private family wing. He produced an old-fashioned iron key and unlocked it, pushing it open.
"After you,bella mia," he said sweetly.
Giana stepped past him into Rodrigo's private domain. The air inside smelled faintly of leather, old paper, expensive cologne, and something uniquely masculine that she knew was just Rodrigo.
The space was a suite rather than a single room. The main area was dominated by a massive stone fireplace, currently cold and dark. Plush Turkish rugs softened the expanse of dark wood flooring. One wall was lined floor-to-ceiling with books, a mix of leather-bound volumes and modern hardcovers. A large, imposing desk sat near tall windows, currently shuttered against the night. Opposite the fireplace was a wide archway that led to a bedroom.
