“Alone?”
“Yes, as far as I can tell, he's not hiding.”
No, of course not. Men like Marchelli never believe they’ll get caught. Not until the knife’s already at their throat.
I rise to my feet. “Get the car.”
Tomasso doesn’t ask questions. He nods and walks out. I follow him a few minutes later, shrugging into my coat. The sky is grey when we step outside. Not a single goddamn bird in sight.
The ride is quiet. I stare out the window, watching the hills roll by like they don’t know the world’s shifted on its axis. I don’t say much. I’m thinking about what I’m going to say, about how I want to handle it. I’m angry, yes, but I’m also tired. It’s been a long week.
We pull into Renato’s estate, and my mood is already on red alert. The gate’s open. The guards are nowhere to be seen. Something tells me he’s expecting me.
Good.
Tomasso parks, but I don’t wait for him to get out. I push the door open and head for the front steps. I'm in a haste to look that bastard in the eye and make sure he understands just how much he's going to pay. He is not going to make the new don look weak.
Renato opens the door before I can knock, and I'm faced with the bulk of him.
He smiles. The bastard fucking smiles.
“Don Giovanni,” he says. “Wasn’t expecting you.”
“Liar.”
He leads me into his study, stammering apologies he mistakes for diplomacy. There’s the usual groveling, expected polished lies dipped in exaggerated fear, excuses that leave a bitter taste as I take it all in. I let him talk. Let him scramble, but I’m not listening.
I'll let him make a fool of himself before I pounce on him. He's not getting out of this unscathed. I watch him take a seat behind his desk, my eyes trailing his every move like a hawk. I can't let my guard down.
“Take a seat,” he says, gesturing to the seat across from him.
There's a knowing glint in his eyes. He knows I won't take it. He's eyeing me as though I'm the enemy when he's the one whoskimmed half a million euros from my organization. The nerve of him.
I hear a soft shuffle, and before I can react, the door creaks open. I quickly swivel to see who it is in case there's an attack. I expected it, and it's definitely something I can handle, but I still need to know where the attack might come from.
My gaze flicks up and freezes when I see the person in front of me. It's not an attacker. It's a woman. A breathtaking woman.
She pauses just inside the doorway, barefoot and still. As if she realizes too late that she’s stepped into the wrong room at the wrong time. Her big, blue eyes are wide and startled as they shift from Renato to me. And then stay.
She doesn't speak. Not a single word. She just stands there, hands clenched at her sides as if she might dissolve into the floor if she stays still enough. I’ve never seen her before, yet something inside me coils tightly, as if I have. An instant recognition rips me.
Her presence slices through the tension that had begun to brew since the moment I learnt of Renato's betrayal. It's not in a threatening way. It's in a rather soothing way, that's almost… unwelcome.
And fuck, she's beautiful.
Her hair is the first thing I notice. Soft brown waves that fall past her shoulders, unbrushed and wild in a way that makes my chestclench. Not because it’s messy, but because it’s real. No polish, no superficialities. Just hair. Natural. Untamed.
And then there's her face.
The kind of face that launched a thousand wars in the past. Delicate, ethereal. Big, blue eyes that are huge, almost too wide for her face, but it's a perfect balance. They sit under dark, fanned lashes, and they do more talking than most people I know. There's something haunted in them, but also alert, like she’s memorizing the layout of the room in case she has to run.
Her features are soft, almost fragile. High cheekbones, full lips that press together as if she’s never too sure what to say. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, as though the sun never dares to reach her. There’s a faint rosiness on her cheeks, not from makeup, but from something rawer. Maybe shame. Maybe fear.
There’s something ghostlike about her, but not in a way that unsettles. It's in a way that draws attention, and mine is well and truly drawn.
And she's looking at me, like I’m not real, like I’m a mirage her mind hasn’t caught up with. I feel her gaze drag across my form and rest on my face, and Dio, I forget how to breathe. My body stirs. Hard.
“Liliana,” Renato snaps, and it's like I'd been drawn into a trance, in a world where just the both of us existed.
