I breathe in slowly, deeply. Then I lift my hands and sign, calm but deliberate. I accept your apology. But I need you to understand that the next time you insult me, you will regret it more than you can imagine. I have tolerated you because of my husband and his mother; you are like family to them, but the disrespect ends now.
Her eyes widen, and for the first time, I see her caught off guard. Like she's shocked that I have claws, and I'm showing them.
Then she laughs. It's not cruel, not mocking. Just a quiet, surprised sound that’s almost human.
“Fair. I'll take it.” She hesitates. “Thank you, Liliana.”
She says nothing else. Just nods once, and walks out.
But this time, she doesn’t do it with her chin lifted in superiority or her eyes scanning me like I’m something she’s trying to scrub out of the picture. She walks out quieter. Like maybe she’s realized I’m not going anywhere.
I don't move immediately, I stay there a moment longer. Still.
My heart doesn’t slow immediately. The tension doesn’t bleed out right away. Because part of me expected her to twist the moment, to turn and strike when I was close. The habit of caution isn’t so easy to shed.
But maybe that was real. Maybe.
And even if it wasn’t, I know one thing for certain. I’m not that quiet, timid girl anymore.
Later, I find Giovanni in his study, standing at the window with a half-empty glass of something dark in his hand. I slip inside, and he turns at the sound.
I sign without hesitation. Camilla apologized.
He lifts a brow. “She did?”
I nod. I helped her earlier. She was... sincere.
He sets the glass aside and pulls me into his arms. His hand rests low at my back, his chin dipping until his forehead touches mine.
“I’m glad,” he murmurs. “It’s about time.”
I nod once, closing my eyes. The weight of the day begins to settle, but not heavily. Not like before.
This time, it feels like something is softening around the edges.
Maybe not everything is safe. But for now, here in his arms, I let myself believe it might be.
21
GIOVANNI
The tie tightens cleanly at my collar, but I barely feel it. My mind is elsewhere. Down the hall, in the bedroom I left ten minutes ago, Liliana is getting dressed. I should be reviewing the final guest list or scanning the estate feed for weak points. I should be checking in with Tomasso or making sure the caterers haven't fucked something up.
Instead, I’m standing in front of a mirror, thinking about how the curve of her mouth looked when she smiled at me this morning.
The door opens behind me. I don't turn. I don't have to. I feel her before I see her.
She comes up slowly, her steps soft, careful, but there’s nothing unsure about them. She stops just behind me. I let my eyes meet hers in the mirror.
She’s stunning.
The dress is deep emerald, fitted, with thin straps that leave her shoulders bare. Her hair is swept up, loose tendrils falling around her face, and her eyes—God, her eyes—are locked on mine like she already knows exactly what I’m thinking. I turn.
“You’re going to kill someone tonight,” I murmur.
Her lips curve into the smallest smirk. She lifts her hands and signs, Just one.
My hands find her waist, and I pull her in before I lose my restraint. Her body fits against mine like she was made for it, and when I lower my head to kiss her, she doesn’t hesitate. Her mouth opens to mine, soft and warm and already familiar. I kiss her deeply, slowly, one hand sliding up to cup the back of her neck, the other pressing to the small of her back. She responds in kind, her fingers tightening against my chest, her breath coming faster.
