Her head lifts then, her eyes finding mine, and something shifts in the air between us. There is no guilt there, no fear, but there is something there. Something guarded, unyielding, something that makes me want to strip it away until I know what it hides.
I hold her gaze a beat too long. Then I turn and walk out before I decide whether to drag the truth from her now or after I’ve dealt with Greco.
But the image follows me.
Her, sitting rigid in that chair. The photograph between us is like a wound neither of us is touching. The silence she wrapped around herself like armor, daring me to break it.
It stays with me as I cross the hall, as I pass Tomasso, as we move toward the next fight.
And it does not let go.
28
LILIANA
I do not cry when he leaves. I sit in the quiet, my fingers pressed into my knees until the ache travels all the way up my arms. The study door had closed behind him with the weight of something final, but the echo has not stopped ringing in my head.
He thinks I have been playing him. That I have been sitting in his bed, letting him love me, while I plotted against him with my father and Vittorio Greco.
I had not known it was possible for words to cut through bone, but his had.
It is not the first time someone has doubted me. It is not the first time my silence has been turned into proof of guilt. But it is the first time it has mattered.
Because it is him.
It hurts me beyond words that he thinks I betrayed him, that I sat with Vittorio Greco, connived with my father to steal from his, that my silence, my struggle to speak, is all an act to deceive him.
The photograph of me at that bar, the ledger with my name, they’re chains around my trust, and his disbelief is a weight I can’t shake. I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands trembling, the ache in my chest a constant pulse.
I love him, more than I’ve ever loved anything, and the thought that he sees me as a liar, a schemer, cracks something deep inside me.
I sit like that for a long time, until the sunlight shifts across the floor and the ache in my legs forces me to move. By then, I have made my decision.
When he returns, I will tell him everything. The parts I had kept locked away. The parts I had thought would only bring more trouble if I spoke them aloud.
I had believed protecting him meant keeping some things buried. That time my father had mentioned that Vittorio would definitely come for vengeance and he'd make Giovanni pay. Ididn't tell Giovanni then, because I thought it was an empty threat, and I felt sure that whatever came Giovanni's way, he'd deal with it.
I'm not so sure anymore now. Someone had deliberately sought to stir trouble with that picture and ledger, which only means Vittorio might be gaining on Giovanni. Even though I know Giovanni is tough as nails, I fear for him.
And he thinks I'm colluding with that snake. Now I understand how easily silence can be mistaken for deceit.
Giovanni returns at dusk, his boots heavy on the marble, his face a mask of exhaustion and anger. He strides into the bedroom, his eyes barely meeting mine, and the distance between us feels like a chasm.
I stand, my heart pounding, and sign, We need to talk.
He shakes his head, his voice rough. “I don’t want to hear it, Liliana.”
His dismissal stings, but I step closer, my hands moving, insistent. Please. Let me explain.
He turns away, his shoulders tense, but I persist, my signs sharp and desperate. I need you to know the truth.
He pauses, his jaw tight, and finally nods, a reluctant gesture that gives me a sliver of hope.
I sit on the chaise, my hands trembling as I sign. That day… at the bar… My father took me. It was the only time he ever brought me anywhere. I didn’t know Vittorio’s plans, or what my father owed him. I sat there, silent, because I was afraid. The money… I didn’t know about it. My father used my name, my accounts, without telling me.
I see the doubt in Giovanni’s eyes, the hardness that doesn’t soften.
I didn’t betray you, I sign, my fingers frantic. I love you.
