The door clicks shut behind him, and I stand there for a long moment, staring at the empty space he’s left behind. The air feels colder now. Quieter. I tell myself I will not cry, that he has taken enough from me today, but my throat still tightens.
The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence he leaves behind feels heavier than his presence ever did. I stand there, still wrapped in the sheet, staring at the empty space where he stood. My chest is tight, my throat aching, but no tears come. Not yet.
I dress slowly, each movement deliberate, as if rushing will make me fall apart. The fabric feels wrong against my skin, too heavy, too sharp in places. I sink into the chair by the window, arms wrapped around myself, and stare out at the garden without really seeing it.
It should have meant something, what we just did. It should have been proof, not a question mark. But the way he wouldn’t look at me, the way his body was still warm against mine while his trust was already gone… it’s enough to hollow me out from the inside.
I tell myself I’ll wait. That when he’s ready, I’ll try again. But beneath the ache is something restless. The need to do something. To prove to him that he’s wrong about me. To drag the truth into his hands until he has no choice but to see it.
It is later in the day when I hear the soft vibration on the table beside me. The sound is almost nothing against the hush of the room, but it pulls me out of the fog I’ve been sitting in since Giovanni left.
The phone screen lights, and the name there stills me.
Vittorio Greco.
For a long moment, I do not move. The light fades, the screen goes dark again, but my pulse is already in my throat. I should delete it without opening it. Pretend it never reached me. Pretend my body hasn’t already gone cold at the thought of him knowing how to reach me at all.
I unlock the screen. The message is short. No wasted words.
I want to see you. Tonight. You know where.
I stare at it until the letters stop making sense. There is no threat in the wording, but I hear it all the same. There is no explanation, but I know he never sends for someone without reason.
My first thought is to go to Giovanni. To tell him. To put the phone in his hand and let him see for himself. But I can already imagine his face when he reads it, the look in his eyes that has been there since he found those photographs. The doubt that will deepen, harden, until it is no longer doubt at all.
If I tell him, he will not think I am warning him. He will think I have been caught. That I am going to him willingly because I have always belonged there.
And maybe, in his mind, this message will be the proof he has been waiting for.
I set the phone down on the table, then pick it up again almost immediately. My fingers hover over the screen, my breath shallow.
If I go, I could find out what Vittorio wants from me. I could find something to bring back to Giovanni that will make him see I am not his enemy. That I have never been.
But I can't go without Giovanni's knowledge or consent. The thought comes hard and fast. Even with everything between us now, he has to know. I have to let him know. But the thought of facing him, of seeing that hardness in his eyes, twists my stomach, but I won’t go behind his back. Not now, not ever.
I do not hesitate. I pocket my phone, then proceed to the study, where I know he is in a meeting with Tomasso and some of his men. The door is slightly ajar. I take a deep breath and push it open.
Giovanni looks up. His eyes narrow at the sight of me. The men freeze. The room holds its breath. He is angry. That much is clear. His jaw tight, his shoulders stiff.
“What are you doing here, Liliana?” he asks, his voice low, edged with irritation.
The men shift, sensing the tension, and Tomasso clears his throat, standing. “We’ll give you a moment,” he says, and the others follow, filing out quietly, leaving us alone in the heavy silence.
I step forward, my hands trembling as I pull the phone from my pocket. I know he’s angry, that he thinks I’ve betrayed him, but I won’t hide this. My pulse races as I unlock the screen and hold it out to him, my fingers steady despite the storm in my chest.
He takes it, his eyes scanning the words, and his face darkens, a bitter laugh escaping him. “What’s this, Liliana? A secretrendezvous? Why show me this? Planning to slip away and meet him behind my back?”
The sarcasm in his voice is a cut deep, and pain blooms in my chest. I swallow it down, forcing patience, knowing his anger comes from hurt.
I sign, my hands deliberate, I’m showing you because I love you. I’d never go behind your back.
His eyes narrow, doubt etched in every line of his face, but I hold his gaze, willing him to see the truth
“No,” he says abruptly, rising to his full height. “Over my dead body.”
I keep my voice steady as I sign again. “I have to. I want to know what he is planning.”
Giovanni shakes his head violently as he begins to pace. “I said no. You are not going.”
