Page 51 of Claimed Through Deception

Gia turns her head at the sound. The smug, vicious smirk on her face vanishes instantly. The color drains completely out of her skin, leaving her looking like a wax corpse. Her eyes go wide, her mouth falling open as she registers my towering frame stalking down the corridor.

"Don Niccolò," she gasps, taking a frantic step backward.

I do not speak.

I close the distance in three massive strides.

Gia holds her hands up, her back hitting the wall. "Sir, I—she was being insubordinate. She refused to clean the—"

17

Livia

"Don Niccolò." Gia’s gasp is a wet, pathetic sound. "Sir, I—she was being insubordinate. She refused to clean the—"

I look up.

Niccolò fills the corridor. His dark suit absorbs the ambient light of the wall sconces. He looks like a god of war stepping out of the shadows. His jaw is locked in a harsh line. His eyes are fixed on Gia.

I drop the photo.

I push myself off the floor. My joints ache, but I do not feel the pain.

Gia is still stammering, pressing her back against the floral wallpaper, trying desperately to appease the monster walking toward her. She doesn't even look at me. She assumes I am defeated. She assumes I am the weak, submissive little rat she called me.

I don't think. I swing my arm.

My palm connects with Gia’s cheekbone.

The crack echoes down the hallway like a gunshot. The force of the slap sends a sharp shockwave up my forearm. Gia's head snaps violently to the side. She cries out, her hand flying to her rapidly reddening face. Her eyes widen in shock, staring at me as if I just grew horns.

I slap her again, then again and again until she crumbles at my feet. My hand drops to my side, stinging and numb. I look at Gia with undisguised contempt, then my gaze drags to Niccolò. I just struck a member of his staff. I disrupted the order of his household.

I step back, my bare heel crunching on a broken piece of glass. I wrap my arms tightly around my middle, close my eyes, and bow my head. I wait for the brutal consequences of losing my temper. That is what men do. Last night changes nothing.

Footsteps approach, then bypass me. A choked, wet gagging sound fills the hall, and I open my eyes.

Niccolò is not looking at me. He has Gia pinned against the wall. His large hand is wrapped around her throat. He holds her feet an inch off the ground.

Gia thrashes, her hands clawing desperately at his thick wrist as her face turns a mottled, ugly purple.

"You think you enforce the rules in my house?" Niccolò asks. His voice is a low, vibrating hum that resonates in my own core. "You think you breathe my air and make decisions about who is punished?"

I stand frozen. He isn't punishing me. He is executing her.

"Please," Gia wheezes, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

"I should break your neck right here," Niccolò murmurs, leaning his face close to hers. "Did you touch Livia?"

He is killing her. He is actually going to kill her in front of me. The violence is terrifying, but it isn't aimed at me.

For the first time in my life, a man is using his strength to shield me. He is using his capacity for murder to build an impenetrable wall between me and the person who hurt me. He isn't my father. My father hurt us because he was small. He needed to break my mother to feel big. Niccolò is a giant. He doesn't need to break me to prove his power. He is hurting Gia because she made me bleed.

"Niccolò," I whisper.

He doesn't hear me. Or he ignores me. His thumb presses harder against Gia's windpipe.

"Niccolò, stop." My voice is stronger this time, and I take a step forward.