I don’t wait for his excuse. “Where is she?” My voice is a growl, sharp and unforgiving, and his eyes widen, hands lifting in defense. He mumbles about patrols, but I’m already barking at the guards behind him, their faces paling as they scramble to check the feeds.
Fury burns through me, hot and jagged, and I slam my fist against the wall, the sting barely registering.
“You had one job,” I snarl at Tomasso, my voice low, lethal. “Keep her safe, and you let her slip away?” He flinches, but I don’t care. All I can see is Liliana, alone, vulnerable, with Martelli’s warning circling like a vulture.
My mother finds me in the hall. I didn't even realize she'd arrived. I know she's here to quiz me about the party I threw. I don't have the time for her now.
Her eyes, sharp and knowing, take me in, and she rests a hand on my arm, her touch firm. “Giovanni, calm yourself. Check with Renato. She might be there.”
The words hit like a stone, heavy and cold. Renato, that bastard. His disdain for her cuts deeper than any knife. Knowing I wouldn't let her see him, had he found other means to lure her out?
The thought of her facing him alone fuels my rage, but I nod, my hands clenching as I head for the garage.
The drive to his mansion is a blur, the city’s lights streaking past, my knuckles white on the wheel. Every second stretches, my mind conjuring images of Liliana hurt, trapped, or worse. I curse myself for leaving her, for trusting the security to do their job.
The mansion looms, cold stone and iron gates, and I’m out of the car before it stops, boots crunching on gravel as I storm toward the door. The guards step aside, their faces blank, and I push through, my heart pounding with fear and fury.
The study door is ajar, and I freeze, my breath catching as I see her. Liliana stands there, spine straight, hands still, her eyes blazing with defiance. Camilla’s beside her, face flushed as she says something about damning it all and coming back for an answer. Renato sits at his desk, his sneer a familiar poison.
Relief floods me, but it’s swallowed by rage, a fire roaring to life.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The words are meant for Liliana, but my eyes cut to Camilla. “And you—trying to get her hurt? Is that what this is? Some petty game you’re playing?”
Camilla’s brows draw tight, her mouth parting.
Liliana’s hands move sharply. Stop.
I ignore it. My glare stays on Camilla. “You know exactly what kind of man he is, and you brought her here?”
Her lips press into a thin line. “She asked me to come. I didn’t force her.”
“You should have refused.”
Liliana rises, her hands already moving, the speed of her signing sharp. That’s enough. I asked her, Giovanni. Not the other way around. You owe her an apology.
The word lands like a stone in my chest. “For keeping you from making reckless decisions?”
Her jaw sets. For accusing her of trying to sabotage me.
Her fury catches me off guard. The silence in the room stretches. I feel every eye on me—hers, Camilla’s, and Renato’s from behind his desk. I drag my gaze from Liliana to Camilla.
“Fine,” I say, the word clipped. “I was wrong. You have my apology.”
Camilla’s eyes narrow like she’s not sure she believes me, but she nods once. Liliana’s posture softens by a fraction, though her eyes stay on me, measuring.
Then I turn to Renato. “You and I are going to be clear. You stay away from her. You don’t call her, you don’t send for her, and if I find out you’ve been anywhere near her, there won’t be enough walls in this house to keep me from you.”
His mouth twists into something cold. “She’s my daughter.”
“You lost the right to use that word the day you sold her off. Don’t test me on this.”
Liliana steps forward, a silent plea in the way she holds herself, but I don’t break my stare until Renato looks away. Only then do I turn back to her.
“We’re leaving.”
I grab Liliana’s hand, pulling her toward the door. She resists, but I tug her along anyway.
The drive back is tense, Liliana’s silence louder than words.
