Chapter 24 Giulia
GIULIA
Aweek later, after I’ve had a doctor’s appointment that declared the baby and me in excellent health, I have a charity event I’m supposed to go to.
Alone, because Luca has other obligations tonight, and I can tell that’s chafing at him for some reason.
It’s strange, because I would think he’d be grateful for a reason not to have to be at my side and play the devoted husband when he’s anything but.
Except… the way he’s been since the hospital, he could almost fit that description.
He’s tense and jittery as we have breakfast that morning. He checks his phone every thirty seconds, his jaw clenched so hard I can see the muscle jumping. "Are you okay?" I ask finally, setting down my tea.
He looks at me, and there's something in his eyes I can't quite read. "I need you to listen to me very carefully," he says. His voice is controlled but strained. "Tonight at the event—"
"The charity gala?" I'm confused. It's just a fundraiser. I've been to dozens of them. "What about it?"
"I'm assigning you an extra security detail." He pulls out his phone, scrolling through contacts. "They'll stay close but not obvious."
"Luca, I don't need—"
"Yes, you do." He cuts me off, his eyes intense. "You stay in public areas. You don't go anywhere alone. If anything—and I mean anything—feels off, you leave immediately. You call me, and then you get out."
The intensity in his voice makes my stomach tighten with unease. "What's going on? Why are you—"
"Just promise me you'll be careful and stay where people can see you. That you won't take any risks."
"I promise." The words come out automatically, but I'm studying his face, trying to understand. "But you're scaring me. What's happening tonight?"
"Nothing you need to worry about." But the way he says it tells me he's lying. "Just... be careful. Please."
He's never said please to me before. Not like this, with this desperate edge to his voice.
"Okay," I say quietly. "I'll be careful."
He nods, but he doesn't look reassured. "The detail will pick you up at seven.”
"Where will you be?"
"Working." The word is clipped. "I have something I need to handle tonight."
An operation. That's what this is about.
Something dangerous enough that he's worried about me being exposed while he's occupied elsewhere.
The realization makes my chest tighten. He's protecting me.
Assigning guards, giving me instructions, making sure I'm safe while he's doing whatever violent thing my father has ordered him to do.
It's his responsibility, his obligation.
But it feels like something more.
"Be safe.” The words surprise me as they slip out. "Whatever you're doing tonight—be safe."
He looks at me for a long moment, and surprise flickers across his face, too. "You too," he says finally.
Then he's gone, the front door closing behind him. I sit in the kitchen, my hand pressed against my stomach, and try to shake the feeling that something terrible is about to happen.
—
Romeo and Savannah pick me up at seven-thirty. The security detail follows in a separate car, discreet and professional. I barely notice them, which I suppose is the point.
"You look beautiful," Savannah says as I slide into the back seat beside her. She's wearing a deep, lemon-yellow gown with big curls in her hair that make her look every inch the Southern belle. "That dress is stunning."
I glance down at the midnight blue silk. It's elegant and expensive, perfectly appropriate for a charity gala, modest but perfectly tailored, and very expensive. "Thank you." I smooth the fabric over my barely-there bump. The dress hides it well.
"How are you feeling?" Romeo asks, glancing over.
"Fine. Good." I force a smile. "Ready to play the happy newlywed and mother-to-be."
Concern flickers across his face, but he doesn't comment. The drive to the hotel takes twenty minutes, and I spend it mentally preparing for the performance ahead.
Smile. Make small talk. Accept congratulations on the marriage.
Laugh at appropriate moments. Touch my stomach occasionally to remind people I'm pregnant, that this marriage is legitimate, that everything is exactly as it should be.
I've gotten better at this over the past few weeks.
The mask has become easier to wear… almost natural now.
My phone buzzes.
Luca: Stay safe and visible. Call if you need anything.
I type back quickly: I will. Be careful.
He doesn't respond, but I didn't expect him to.
He's probably already in the middle of whatever operation has him so on edge.
The hotel comes into view—a grand building in uptown Manhattan, the type of establishment where charity galas raise millions in a single night.
"Ready?" Savannah asks, touching my hand gently.
"Ready," I say. And I am. I've done this before. I can do it again. I just need to get through the next few hours.
The ballroom is magnificently decorated for the event.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over hundreds of guests in evening wear, and a string quartet plays in the corner.
Waiters circulate with champagne and hors d'oeuvres.
Everything is elegant, expensive, and perfectly orchestrated.
I move through the crowd with Romeo and Savannah, smiling and nodding and accepting congratulations.
"Giulia, you look radiant!"
"Marriage agrees with you."
"When are you due? You must be so excited."
I answer each question as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. Yes, I'm feeling wonderful. Yes, Luca and I are very happy. Yes, we're thrilled about the baby.
I catch sight of my security at the periphery—one near the entrance, one by the bar, watching and ready. For what, I don't know, but their presence is oddly comforting.
"Dance with me," Romeo says, offering his hand. I take it, and he leads me onto the dance floor. The quartet is playing something slow and elegant. Romeo is a good dancer, confident and practiced, leading me through the steps with ease.
"You're doing well," he says quietly. "Better than I expected."
"I've had practice." I glance around the room, noting the faces watching us. "Everyone's always watching. They have been all my life."
"They are." His expression is serious. "But you're handling it. You're stronger than you think, Giulia."
The words surprise me. Romeo has been distant since the wedding—supportive but careful, like he's not sure how to navigate the situation. "Thank you," I say quietly.
"Luca's worried about you tonight."
"He assigned me a security detail." I keep my voice light and casual. "Seems excessive for a charity gala."
"He has his reasons." Romeo's jaw tightens. "Trust him on this. Stay where people can see you. Don't go anywhere alone."
The same instructions Luca gave me, with the same intensity. "What's happening tonight?" I ask. "What operation is he—"
"Nothing you need to worry about." But his eyes say otherwise. "Just be careful. Please."
The song ends, and Romeo releases me with a final squeeze of my hand. "Stay close to Savannah.”
I frown. "I will."
I rejoin Savannah at our table, and the evening continues. I make small talk with my father's associates and smile at their wives. I accept compliments on my dress, my marriage, my pregnancy. And gradually, I start to relax.
Nothing feels wrong or dangerous. It's just another charity gala, another performance, another night of playing the role I've been assigned.
I'm even enjoying parts of it. The music is beautiful, and the food is excellent, and I seem to have gotten to the part of my pregnancy where I can enjoy it again. Savannah tells me stories about Romeo’s attempts to become domesticated, making me laugh.
The evening actually feels somewhat good, which is a relief after weeks of tension and emotional devastation.
After a little while, I excuse myself to use the restroom. "I'll come with you," Savannah offers, starting to stand.
"I'm fine." I wave her off with a smile. "I'll be right back."
Vince and Tommas, my two guards, fall into step behind me as I leave the ballroom, maintaining their discreet distance. The restroom is down a hallway off the main corridor—elegant and private, and away from the noise of the party. I push open the door and step inside.
The space is empty, just marble counters, gold fixtures, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors on the other side of the stalls. I move toward the sinks, reaching for my clutch to check my lipstick. I slip it out and look up… and see another face reflected in the mirror behind mine.
Alessandro is standing behind one of the stall doors, and he's not alone.
There are four men flanking him, all armed. And as they move, everything happens so fast that I don't have time to scream.
The door opens behind me—Vince and Tommas are entering to check the space, hearing noise, and Alessandro's men are on them immediately. It’s brutal and silent, so coldly efficient that my knees go weak with fear and shock.
A hand over Vince's mouth. A knife to his throat. He goes down without a sound. Tommas reaches for his gun, but he's too slow. One of Alessandro's men slams his head against the marble wall. The crack is sickening as he crumples.
I open my mouth to scream, and Alessandro's hand clamps over it before any sound can escape. His other hand brings a gun up, pressing it against my ribs. I can feel the cold metal through the thin silk.
"Don't." His voice is soft and conversational, like we're discussing the weather. Like any one of the conversations we had when he was still my fiancé. "Don't make a sound, Giulia. Not if you want your baby to survive the night."
Terror floods through me, immediate and visceral, all-consuming.
My hand flies to my stomach instinctively, covering the small bump where my baby is growing.
I can't protect them. Not from this, not from the gun pressed against my side and the men blocking the door and the absolute certainty in Alessandro's voice.
"That's better." He removes his hand from my mouth slowly, watching my face. "You're going to be very quiet and very cooperative. Understand?"
I nod. I can't speak or breathe. I can't think past the terror screaming through every nerve.
"Good girl." The gun presses harder against my ribs. "Now, here's what's going to happen. You're going to walk out of here with me. You're going to smile and act like nothing's wrong if anyone sees us. And if you do exactly what I say, your baby might live to see tomorrow."
"Please." My voice cracks. "Please don't—"
"Don't what? Don't hurt you?" He laughs softly, and the sound makes my skin crawl.
"Giulia, I'm not going to hurt you. You're far too valuable.
But your cooperation is required. And if you don't cooperate—if you scream, if you fight, if you do anything other than exactly what I tell you—I'll put a bullet in your stomach right here. Right now. You can survive that, but your baby won’t. Do you understand?"
I do understand. I understand that I'm completely helpless, that I'm outnumbered and outgunned, and that the men who were supposed to protect me are bleeding on the marble floor.
"I understand," I whisper.
"Excellent." Alessandro's hand moves to my arm, gripping it just above the elbow. The gun stays pressed against my side. "Now smile, Giulia. We're going to walk out of here together, and you're going to look happy about it."
Alessandro's men move to flank us, two in front, two behind, blocking any view of the bodies and creating a barrier between me and any potential help.
"Where are we going?" My voice is barely audible.
"Somewhere private." Alessandro's grip tightens on my arm. "Somewhere we can have a conversation about your family's future and the choices your father is going to have to make."
"Luca will—"
"Luca is occupied." Alessandro's smile is cold. "That's the beauty of good timing, Giulia. Your husband is across the city right now, eliminating threats to your family. He has no idea you're in danger. By the time he realizes something's wrong, it will be far too late."
My stomach twists. Luca doesn't know. He can't help. He’s too far away to save me.
I'm alone. Completely, utterly alone.
"Now walk." Alessandro guides me toward the door, the gun a constant pressure against my ribs. "And remember—one wrong move, one sound, and I pull the trigger. Your baby dies. Understand?"
I nod. The bathroom door opens. The hallway beyond is empty and quiet, the sounds of the gala distant and muffled. Alessandro's men surround us, creating the illusion of a group of people simply leaving the event early.
"Smile," Alessandro reminds me softly. "You're a happy newlywed, remember? Act like it."
I try to smile. But all I can feel is the gun against my ribs and the absolute, annihilating terror of knowing that everything—my life, my baby's life, any chance of a future with Luca—is balanced on the edge of a knife.
And Alessandro is the one holding the blade.