Her heels sink slightly into the fine gravel of the path, her stride unhurried, deliberate. Even here in the quiet of the garden, her presence feels too intrusive. Her posture is perfect, every step measured, her gaze locked on me in a way that makes the warm air feel suddenly thinner.
The memory of our last meeting rises unbidden, her voice curling through my mind, each word still potent enough to sting.
She stops just close enough to make her presence felt, the distance between us charged with the weight of her arrival. Her smile is the same as before, polished and deliberate, a perfect mask that conceals as much as it reveals. Beautiful, yes, but edged like glass.
I have managed to avoid her until now, careful with my steps through the villa and gardens, but apparently, I cannot always succeed.
“Liliana,” she greets, her voice smooth, her words touched with a warmth that feels wrong. “Out enjoying the garden again?”
I don’t answer, my hands still at my sides.
Her gaze drifts over me in a slow sweep, eyes narrowing slightly before they return to my face. “It’s impressive how well you’ve settled in. Truly. I imagine it takes a great deal of effort to keep up the illusion.”
The words slide over me with the same chill as last time, lodging deep, but I keep my stance even. My chest tightens, though I do not move.
She steps closer, each movement precise. Her perfume drifts between us, expensive and cloying, a scent that makes the air feel heavier. “I wonder if Giovanni knows how skilled you’ve become at pretending. Or perhaps he is still under the impression this is something more than convenience.”
Her tone remains light, as though she speaks of nothing important, but every syllable carries its edge.
My gaze flickers briefly toward Zoro. His head remains bent to his work, the flowers before him commanding his full attention. His avoidance is careful, intentional.
Camilla tilts her head, studying me. “Still quiet,” she says, her voice taking on a hint of amusement. “Like I said before, part of why makes you appealing.”
I keep my eyes on hers, steady, even as my pulse rises in my throat.
She closes the distance another fraction, enough that the faint shift of her expression is clear to me. “Do you ever wonder,” she continues, her voice softening with false sweetness, “if he compares you to women who give him more? Women who don’t disappear into the background?”
The words unfurl in my mind, tangling themselves into the spaces I’ve tried to keep clear.
Before I can summon any response, a sudden churn in my stomach breaks my focus. It comes fast, urgent, a wave that makes my breath catch.
I take a small step back, trying to keep my composure as the feeling twists tighter. Camilla is still speaking, but I no longer hear her. The pressure builds until it leaves me with no choice.
I turn abruptly, stepping away from her and toward a quiet corner of the garden where the hedges grow high. There are no flowers here to disturb, only space enough to hide what I know is coming.
I brace one hand against the low stone wall and bend forward as the nausea peaks. My body jolts once, twice, before I retch, the sound low but sharp in my ears. My throat burns, my eyes water.
When it passes, I stay there for a moment, my hand pressed to my stomach. The strange weakness lingers, leaving me unsettled.
It’s not something that happens to me. Ever. I tell myself it must be the breakfast I had—warm bread, soft eggs, rich enough to still be heavy in my stomach. Or perhaps it is Camilla herself, her presence thick and unpleasant enough to turn anything sour.
I straighten slowly, wiping at my mouth with the back of my hand. The relief is sharp but fragile, like it could vanish at any moment.
I take a breath, deep and steady, but my thoughts are still tangled. I know I need to stand up to her. I know I need to make her stop. But every time she’s in front of me, I freeze. Her words sink deeper than I want to admit, cutting into places I thought Giovanni had begun to quiet.
Despite everything, despite the closeness that has begun to grow between Giovanni and me, her presence reminds me of everything I am not. She is beautiful, composed, certain. She fits into his world without effort.
And I can’t help but wonder, even as the air steadies in my lungs, how long it will be before Giovanni realizes that too. How long before he turns from me and back to her.
The thought follows me as I turn back toward the path, the sound of the garden folding over the silence between us.
15
GIOVANNI
The papers in front of me are a mess of names, numbers, and dates, each one tying into the meeting I have tonight. The summit is necessary, though I don’t enjoy the theatrics that come with it. Various Mafia groups, all with their own agendas, will gather at one of my clubs to discuss business and posture, and make the usual veiled threats. It is as tedious as it is important.
I close the folder and set it aside, already planning the evening in my head. My hand drifts toward the phone on my desk, hesitating for only a second before I decide I will not be going alone.
