Chapter 18 Beatrice #2
The fear that Matteo tried to soothe, the fear I buried under plans and hope and determination, blooms like poison through my veins.
“You think this little fantasy you’re living with Matteo will last?” he whispers, and the sound is so soft, it feels obscene. “You think he can protect you from me?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat is a cage.
“Walking away from me,” he breathes, “was your first mistake.” He leans closer, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Choosing him… will be your last.”
Heat radiates from his body behind me, but it feels nothing like warmth. It feels like a shadow swallowing me whole, like a cage slamming shut around a bird that briefly tasted the sky.
The blade presses firmer against my neck—not enough to break skin, but enough to promise that he could end me with a tremor of his wrist. Enough to ensure I’ll feel the phantom sting long after he leaves.
He meets my eyes in the mirror again.
And for the first time I see it clearly— there is no man in that reflection.
Only hunger. Only spite. Only something dark enough to swallow worlds.
“I just wanted to say hello,” he murmurs, pushing my hair aside as though he’s brushing it for me. “We wouldn’t want you forgetting about me, now would we?”
This isn’t affection. This isn’t jealousy. This is ownership twisted into cruelty—his favorite game.
“I’ll be back,” he whispers, and this time it’s a promise dipped in poison. “But this little meeting stays between us, cara. And next time… you’d better heed my warnings.”
His lips nearly graze my ear once more.
“I have eyes everywhere. Don’t forget that. Just because I can’t reach you today, doesn’t mean I won’t reach your parents.”
He pulls the knife from my throat and steps back—not far, just enough to make me feel the absence of the blade while leaving the weight of his gaze pressed against my skin like a second edge.
That reptilian stare pins me exactly where he wants, freezing me to the spot.
Then, with obscene casualness, he blows me a kiss. A sly smile stretches across his lips, all venom and victory.
“Ciao, cara. I’ll be in touch. Oh—” he lifts two fingers in mock thought, “and do thank Janette for me. She was very helpful in getting you alone.”
My stomach drops so violently it feels like the floor gives out beneath me.
This wasn’t coincidence.
He knew where I’d be. He planned it.
And if Matteo is always one step ahead… Giacomo is five.
He turns, strolling out as if he didn’t just threaten to end my world with a whisper. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, but it sounds like a gunshot.
I don’t know how long I stare at it. A second. A lifetime. Long enough to imagine the blade returning to finish what it started.
When I finally blink, a single tear slips down my cheek—and my legs give out.
I collapse onto the small bench, hand flying to my throat as though I can still feel the cold kiss of steel branding me. My chest heaves, desperate for air that refuses to fill my lungs. My fingers tremble over the skin he touched, trying to soothe something that can’t be soothed.
The blade didn’t cut. But the fear did.
My pulse is a frantic, uneven drum.
My hands won’t steady.
My reflection stares back at me, hollow-eyed and shaken, the silk gown gathered in my hands like something meant for mourning.
Seconds blur. Minutes vanish. Time folds into itself until I can’t tell if I’ve sat here for five breaths or fifty.
Then—
A voice. Calm. Familiar.
Valerio.
“Beatrice?” A quiet knock. “Are you okay in there?”
I force air into my lungs. Clear my throat. Fix my hair.
Lie.
“One minute,” I manage, though my voice barely cooperates.
I slap my cheeks lightly to bring color back to them, to erase the pallor of terror. When I open the door, I am rebuilt—composed, collected, a woman who hasn’t just had a knife to her throat in one of the most exclusive boutiques in the world.
Not a single dress has moved except the one clutched in my shaking hand.
Valerio’s eyes flick over me—once, twice. His suspicion sharpens immediately. He’s too good at reading people, and I am too rattled to hide the cracks.
“Can I help you?” he asks slowly. “I thought you were trying on your dress.”
I swallow, forcing my grip to tighten around the hanger instead of giving myself away.
“I am,” I say, summoning a steady tone I do not feel. “That’s why I came out.”
“You can’t just disappear in there for so long without telling me,” Valerio says, his voice low and clipped. “You need to be in my line of sight at all times.”
I force a scoff, thin and brittle. “What? So you want to watch me undress now?”
His expression doesn’t flinch. “Hardly. I have a job to do. Your protection is my business, and keeping eyes on you ensures I can actually do it.”
He takes a single step closer, his gaze scraping over my features with the precision of a man trained to notice every micro-expression. “Are you alright?”
If I tell him, Matteo will go nuclear. And the blast will reach my parents first.
The truth rises like a scream in my throat, but I swallow it whole and plaster on a smile I pray looks human. It feels like slipping into an old costume, one I hoped I’d burned.
“You look pale,” he presses.
“Just… dizzy,” I manage. “First trimester things. I think I need water.”
He studies me for a beat too long, his stare probing, dissecting, calculating. I can almost hear his mind working through scenarios, matching my expression to every possible threat.
Then, finally—
“Alright,” he says slowly. “We’ll leave. We can come back when you’re feeling better.”
Relief softens my knees. He doesn’t push—not because he believes me, but because he knows when a person is too close to breaking to interrogate further.
We move toward the entrance. Janette materializes from nowhere, voice soft and apologetic as she murmurs something about rescheduling. I see remorse in her eyes—fear too—and the truth clicks into place.
She didn’t betray me willingly. She was coerced.
“Another time,” Valerio says, ushering me past her and out the door before she can say more.
Outside, the late afternoon light has thinned into something colder. Shadows stretch long across the pavement, swallowing corners and alleyways, but none of them feel as dark as the one still clinging to my skin.
He was here. He touched me. He threatened my parents.
Valerio walks a few paces ahead, scanning the street with practiced eyes, phone in hand, posture alert. I trail behind him, lost in a fog of fear so thick it feels like trying to breathe underwater.
My throat still burns where the blade pressed. The ghost of the steel lingers like frostbite.
The car arrives within minutes. Valerio opens the door, and I slide in without a word. His eyes follow me the entire time—sharp, assessing.
I give him nothing.
I lock up every emotion, every tremor, every shred of truth. If I let one crack show, the whole thing will collapse, and I don’t know if I can survive the fallout.
I want to believe Giacomo was bluffing about reaching my parents. I want to believe Matteo’s protection is enough.
But I know the man Giacomo has become. I saw it just minutes ago—the void in his eyes, the hunger for destruction, the thrill of power.
My pulse stutters as a single thought takes hold, cold and unyielding: How do I protect this baby? And how long do I have before everything erupts?
It’s not a question.
It’s a countdown.
A ticking time bomb.