Chapter 23 Giuliana
GIULIANA
I scramble with the door handle, hands slipping against the cool metal as I frantically try to open the door. “Come on, come on,” I sob, before my trembling fingers close around the handle and I twist it open.
Flinging myself into the room, I slam the door shut behind me and sink against it, taking in deep breaths. I’m alone again. Trapped again.
I rush over and sink onto the bed, my legs giving out beneath me, and I press my palms against my eyes. My hands are still raw from the wall, dried blood cracking in the creases of my skin. The pain is sharp and immediate, grounding me in the physical when my mind threatens to spiral into chaos.
What have I done?
The question circles through my brain on repeat, getting louder with each rotation. I dropped the bomb about Romano—threw it at Luca like a grenade designed to cause maximum damage. And it worked. God, it worked.
His face flashes through my mind. The way the color drained from his face when I said Salvatore’s name, leaving him ashen and gray like someone had physically struck him.
Those dark eyes—nearly black in the dim light of his office—went wide with shock first, pupils dilating until the brown was almost completely swallowed.
Then came the fury, hot and immediate, turning those eyes into something molten and dangerous.
But it was his mouth that haunts me most. The way his lips parted in shock, that perfectly sculpted upper lip trembling for just a fraction of a second before he clamped down on the reaction.
The way his jaw—sharp and defined, the kind of jawline that should be on marble statues—went slack before tightening so hard I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
His hair had been disheveled from running his hands through it, those thick dark strands falling across his forehead in a way that itched for me to touch.
I’d watched him rake his fingers through it again during our fight, that unconscious gesture of agitation that told me he was losing control even as he tried to maintain his composure.
And his hands. God, his hands. Those elegant, deadly hands that had held me so gently just days ago had curled into fists at his sides, knuckles going white with the force of his grip. I’d watched him dig his nails into his palms hard enough that I wondered if he was drawing blood.
The guilt makes me feel sick.
I betrayed him. I lied to him for too many weeks about the most important thing in his world: the identity of Marco’s killer.
I watched him suffer, watched the way grief made his shoulders bow under an invisible weight, watched those expressive eyes go distant and haunted when he talked about his cousin.
I watched him torture himself trying to piece together who orchestrated his cousin’s death, and I said nothing.
I could have ended his suffering. I could have given him the closure he desperately needed, could have redirected his rage toward the right target weeks ago. But I chose silence instead, chose self-preservation, chose—
No.
I mentally slap myself hard enough that if it were physical it would leave a mark.
Why am I feeling guilty? Why am I sitting here torturing myself over Luca’s pain when he was planning to murder me?
The recording I kept secret? That was about survival. About protecting myself from a man who had literally kidnapped me, forced me into marriage, and—according to what I overheard—had planned my execution. Planned to make my father watch before killing him too.
My secret was about survival. His was about murder.
There’s no comparison. There can’t be a comparison.
And yet…
The image of his face when I said Romano’s name won’t leave me alone.
He looked like I just shattered the last piece of him that was still intact.
His hand had come up to his chest unconsciously, pressing against his heart like he could hold himself together through the revelation.
His breathing had gone shallow and rapid, and for a moment I genuinely thought he might pass out from the shock.
I’d done that to him. I’d broken him with the truth he needed but wasn’t ready to hear.
I hug my arms around myself, trying to ward off a chill that has nothing to do with the temperature. My chest feels tight, like someone’s wrapped a band around it and is slowly pulling it tighter. Each breath comes shallow and quick, not quite enough oxygen getting to my brain.
The phone on my nightstand catches my eye. Cracked and useless. Just another reminder of how thoroughly Luca controls every aspect of my existence. I can’t call Katie. I can’t reach out to anyone for help or comfort.
I’m all alone. And I stay alone for hours.
Suddenly, the phone rings.
I stare at it in disbelief. No one calls me. The only calls I’ve received have been from him or Danny, and those have been brief, monitored conversations about nothing important. It can’t be the surgical supplier I had called recently, since it’s after hours.
So who—?
I reach for it with trembling fingers, half expecting it to bite. The screen shows an unknown number.
For a moment, I consider not answering. Nothing good can come from mysterious phone calls in the middle of this nightmare. But curiosity—or maybe just desperate need for any kind of contact with the outside world—makes me swipe to accept.
“Hello?” My voice is gravely from the crying and screaming.
“Giuliana. I hope I’m not calling at a bad time.”
The world seems to slow down, and my nausea rises with a vengeance.
I know that voice. I’ve heard it in my nightmares, and more recently at the Romano gathering where I sat beside Luca and smiled while Marco’s killer toasted our marriage.
Salvatore Romano.
“How—” I can’t finish the question. How does he have this number? How is he calling me on a phone that Luca swore was untraceable?
“How am I able to reach you?” He sounds amused, like he’s enjoying my confusion. “My dear girl, I have people everywhere. Including within your husband’s organization.” He pauses, letting that sink in. “Did you really think Luca Marchetti was as untouchable as he believes?”
Panic claws at my throat. If Romano has people inside Luca’s operation, then he knows—what does he know? How much did his spies report back?
“What do you want?” I force the words out, trying to sound braver than I feel.
“Straight to business. I appreciate that.” I can hear the smile in his voice, and it makes my skin crawl.
“I’ve heard some very interesting rumors this evening.
Apparently, there was quite a commotion at the Marchetti estate.
Security breaches, a failed escape attempt, raised voices that carried to the guards outside.
” Another pause. “And apparently, you and Luca had quite the explosive confrontation. Something about accusations and revelations regarding the past?”
My heart stops.
He knows. Or he suspects. Or—god, how much did his people hear?
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, but even I can hear how unconvincing it sounds.
Romano laughs, and it makes the hair on the back of my neck rise.
“Please, Giuliana. We’re both intelligent people.
Let’s not insult each other with obvious deceptions.
” His tone shifts, becomes harder. “I’ve always known that Antonio Conti was a potential problem.
A weak link who might talk if pushed hard enough.
And his daughter. Well”—he laughs again but softly—“daughters notice things, don’t they?
Especially daughters who care enough to check on their troubled fathers late at night. ”
My knees grow weak. He’s known. This entire time, he’s known that I might be a threat. That I might have witnessed or heard something that night three years ago.
“So here’s the situation,” Romano continues, businesslike now. “Your father is currently in my custody. I had him retrieved from Luca’s safehouse about an hour ago. Rather easy, actually—my people knew exactly where to look.”
The room tilts sideways. “No…”
“He’s alive,” Romano says quickly, like he’s doing me a favor by clarifying. “For now. But his continued health depends entirely on your cooperation.” He pauses. “And your husband’s.”
My vision blurs with tears I refuse to let fall. “What do you want?” I croak.
“You and Luca will come to a location I specify,” he instructs.
“Alone, unarmed, within the next two hours.” He rattles off an address I scramble to memorize.
“If you’re late, if you bring backup, if I detect any attempt at deception, your father dies.
Slowly. Painfully. While I make sure you hear every scream. ”
“You’re insane,” I whisper.
“I’m thorough,” he corrects. “And I’m tired of waiting for loose ends to potentially unravel.
Whatever you told Luca tonight—whatever accusations you made—it’s clear that my name has finally entered the conversation.
I’d rather deal with that problem now, on my terms, than wait for it to become something I can’t control. ”
The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone, my mind racing. Romano has my father. Romano has known this entire time that I might be a liability. Romano has people inside Luca’s organization feeding him information.
And now he’s forcing me to walk into what is obviously a trap, using my father as bait.
I have to tell Luca.
The thought makes me want to vomit. After everything that just happened—after our explosive fight, after all the accusations and betrayals—I have to go to him. I have to face those dark, furious eyes again and ask for his help saving the same father whose cowardice got Marco killed.
He’ll probably laugh in my face. Or worse, he’ll let Romano kill Dad just to be rid of the problem.
But I don’t have a choice.
I force myself to stand on shaking legs and move toward the door. My hand hesitates on the handle. What if he won’t listen? What if he’s so angry about Romano that he—
No. I can’t think like that. I have to try.