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I wrap my arms around myself, feeling suddenly small. "So you're saying I have no chance? That he won't even listen."
"I didn't say that." Giovanni grips my shoulder firmly until I meet his earnest gaze again. "I know my brother. When his heart gets involved, his judgment can get clouded by emotion. He rejects anything that contradicts what he wants to believe."
Giovanni's mouth twists in a bitter smile. "But he still has a heart buried deep down. You can reach him, Clara. With patience and persistence." His expression turns grave once more. "Just don't do anything rash that makes you look guilty. No more nighttime escapes. Let me talk to Antonio first."
I take a shaky breath, absorbing his words. He's right - if I flee now or fall to pieces, I'll lose any chance of getting through to Antonio again. "So what should I do? Stay confined to my room indefinitely?" The thought of returning to that locked room makes my skin crawl.
Giovanni shakes his head sharply. "I'll come up with something. Just...try to keep your head until I can make Antonio see reason." He rakes a hand through his hair, glancing around warily. "We should get moving. The longer we're out here..."
He doesn't need to finish the thought. I know too well what would happen if we're discovered together like this. Giovanni would likely bear the brunt of his brother's infamous temper.
"Thank you, Giovanni." I touch his arm lightly. "For having an open mind. And heart. Not everyone in your family can say the same right now."
His mouth quirks into a sad half-smile. "Yeah, well. I've learned things aren't always what they appear to be at first glance." He gestures for me to follow him. "Come on. Let's get you back inside before you get pneumonia out here."
We make our way through the shadowed gardens, moving silently as prowling cats. Giovanni leads me through an entrance unfamiliar to me, then up a back servants' staircase. My heart pounds with each creaking footfall, despite his assurance we won't run into anyone.
At last we reach my hallway. Giovanni gives a quick glance around before pulling a ring of keys from his pocket. He unlocks my door swiftly, easing it open just enough for me to slip through.
I hesitate, turning back to grasp his hand and meet his eyes one last time. "Thank you, Giovanni. For everything."
He gives my hand a brief squeeze in return.
Before I can respond, he closes the door firmly between us. The lock snaps into place, sealing me once more in solitude. I press my ear to the wood paneling until his footfalls fade away down the hall.
My nerves still thrum with exhilaration as I move to the window seat and gaze out at the moonlit Ricci estate. The pain and fear I felt looking at it earlier haven't vanished. But now, a new sense of purpose steels within me. I am not utterly powerless here. And I won't let their lies win without a fight.
CHAPTER12
ANTONIO
The weight of betrayal presses heavy on my chest, every beat of my heart echoing Clara's face—her gentle smile, her sparkling eyes. Now those memories feel tainted, the image of her innocence shattered.
My study, normally a sanctuary offering solace from the pressures of the family business, now feels more like a prison suffocating me. I pour another glass of aged bourbon, desperate to dull the gnawing ache in my gut. The sharp burn as I swallow does little to banish the clawing emptiness inside. I set the crystal glass down on the desk harder than intended, the echo ricocheting off the dark wood-paneled walls.
This house, these halls were supposed to be the seat of my power, the empire I was groomed to rule. Now they feel haunted with ghosts, all my hopes turned to ashes.
Restless, I push up from the leather chair and begin to pace. Betrayal is a bitter pill to swallow under any circumstance. But from Clara? The thought makes my gut twist and bile rise in my throat.
A growl rumbles in my throat, fury boiling up to displace the pain. I sweep my arm angrily across the desk, sending papers, pens, and a heavy marble paperweight crashing to the floor. Damn the Ferraros. Damn their deceitful ploys and schemes to undermine me. They were the ones who had lured Clara in, preyed upon her naivete. I had treated her with nothing but respect and courtesy, despite the staggering gambling debt her father owed me. And this is how she repays me? By sneaking my secrets to my sworn enemies?
The sharp rap at the study door jerks me from my bitter thoughts. Before I can even summon the words to grant entrance, the door is already swinging open. Giovanni strides in, his normal easygoing, carefree manner gone. His jaw is set, his eyes burning with intensity.
"We need to talk, Antonio," he says, his voice tight but determined. It's a stronger tone than he's ever dared use with me before.
I turn slowly, squaring my shoulders. "If this is about Clara, the evidence is quite damning already," I reply coldly.
He closes the distance between us in long, urgent strides. "But have you even spoken to her yourself? Given her a chance to explain?" He's nearly shouting now, on the edge of insubordination. Another oddity for my normally deferential youngest brother. At the liquor cart, he helps himself to a generous pour of whiskey and tosses it back—highly irregular behavior for him.
"Or have you only cared about your own assumptions, as usual?" he fires at me accusingly.
Anger flickers inside me, threatening to ignite. How dare he question me here, in my own domain? I keep my voice lethally soft. "You're a fool if you think she hasn't wrapped you around her delicate little finger, just like she did me. The Ferraros clearly poisoned her against all of us."
With sudden violence, his fist collides with my jaw. Pain explodes in my face, coppery blood filling my mouth. With a roar, I retaliate on instinct, driving my own fist into his gut, then his temple. He staggers back with a grunt, colliding with a bookcase.
Years of pent up rage, jealousy and torment boil over between us as we trade blows. I tackle him back against my desk, but his elbow cracks against my mouth. Fresh pain fuels my fury. We crash wildly into the bookcases, shattering glass and toppling books to the floor as we grapple. I want to pummel him, pound the naivete right out of him, show him the folly of his blind faith in a pretty pair of eyes. I want to show him the true price of being a Ricci.
Somehow, he twists away, tackling me bodily over the back of the leather couch. We crash heavily onto the floor, rolling and grappling for advantage.
