Julian moved to stand beside him, his cool blue eyes following the two women. He took a slow sip from a crystal tumbler of whiskey that a silent attendant had provided.
"Remarkable woman, my Altun," he murmured, his voice full of smitten admiration. "She always knowspreciselywhen to make a contact that is going to pay off."
Rodrigo remained silent, watching Altun laugh at something Giana said, the sound rich and warm.
"She sees a power player," Julian continued, his gaze fixed on Giana. "Someone whose star is ascending and is worth mentoring."
He finally turned to look directly at Rodrigo, his expression full of mischief. "You should be terrified, Colleoni. Altun Baruk taking an interest in your fiancée? That should worry you far more than Vincenzo Falcone and his clumsy thugs."
Rodrigo met Julian's gaze squarely. He was still smiling, but he knew too much of how the game was played, and suddenly the thought of Giana under Altun's powerful, enigmatic wingwasdaunting.
The sorceress always played a deeper, more complex game than simple territory or wealth. Her motivations were often inscrutable, her alliances fluid.
Yet, looking at Giana now, standing tall beside her, a spark of joy and intelligence in her eyes as she engaged with Altun and Frederica, Rodrigo felt no fear for her safety. Only a fierce, protective pride.
"The more allies Giana has, especially allies of Altun's caliber, the safer she becomes. That's all that matters," Rodrigo replied.
Julian studied him for a long moment, then he gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. He raised his glass slightly in a silent toast, an acknowledgment of a new player on the board.
Rodrigo's attention was already pulled back to Giana. Altun was leaning in, speaking intently, a playful glint in her eyes. Giana listened, rapt, then threw back her head and laughed again, the sound echoing in the grand hall, bright and fearless. It was the sound of a woman stepping into her power. Of his queen claiming her court.
The performance for the spy in their cameras was underway, but watching Giana shine, Rodrigo knew the most dangerous ruse wasn't the one they were staging for their enemies.
It was the one he was playing on himself, pretending this fierce, luminous woman beside Altun Baruk could ever truly be part of an act.
19
Later that evening, at the fake engagement dinner, no one around the Colleoni dining table was having a bad time.
The mercenaries were in the mood to party, and laughter and conversation swirled around them effortlessly. It wasn't that they didn't all know that being attacked by Vincenzo that night wasn't a real possibility; it was that the threat of a fight was never enough to slow the extended Edgeworth family down.
Rodrigo sat at the head of the table, Giana radiant beside him in a deep crimson silk dress that clung to her curves. She was playing her part flawlessly, laughing at Julian's barbed compliments, and engaging Altun in conversation about ancient Byzantine art. For most of the time, her hand rested lightly on Rodrigo's forearm. Every brush of her fingers, every shared glance orchestrated for the cameras, felt like a brand. Performance and reality were blurring, the lines dissolving like sugar in strong espresso.
She smells like jasmine and desire, he thought, taking a slow sip of his drink, the rich wine doing nothing to quench the deeper thirst coiling inside him. Being beside her was a torture he wasn't fully prepared for.
The small, red velvet box felt like a hot coal in his jacket pocket, burning against his ribs. His grandmother had pressed it into his palm when he was sixteen, her rheumy eyes sharp.
"For the woman you choose to claim with final and absolute love, nipote mio. Guard it well."
He had scoffed then, a cynical teenager already steeped in Gabriella's poison who had no time for love. He never imagined the woman he would give it to would be Giana Sorrentino, the prisoner he would be ordered to watch and break if he was ordered to.
Now, the thought of sliding a ring onto her finger that was both a symbol of his family's twisted legacy, yet also the purest token he possessed, threatened to unravel him.
It wasn't just part of the ruse anymore. It was a declaration he wasn't sure he was ready to make. He almost hated how much he wanted it to be real.
Dario, seated further down beside Frederica, caught his eye. His brother gave a barely perceptible nod, his expression uncharacteristically serious.It's time.
The hacker was watching, and it was time to put on a show.
Rodrigo took a slow, steadying breath, and pushed his chair back slightly, the scrape of wood on marble cutting through the lively conversation. Heads turned toward him.
Giana's eyes lifted to his, a question in their dark depths, perfectly playing the part of the attentive fiancée. He saw the flicker of something else beneath the performance. The artist assessing her subject. Or the monster. He wasn't sure he wanted to know which.
"Giana," Rodrigo began, his voice low but carrying easily in the quiet. He cleared his throat, suddenly nervous, and forced the practiced charm he usually wielded like a weapon to take over.
"Six weeks ago, you walked out of this house thinking you were free of the Colleoni name and of me." He held her gaze, willing her to see the truth beneath the performance. "Life, it seems, had other plans. Plans that brought you back here to me."
He saw her breath catch, a subtle tightening around her eyes. He pressed on, the words feeling both like a script and a confession ripped from his chest.
