Chapter 22
LILIANA
The house feels hollow without Giovanni, a silence that clings like damp air, pressing into my skin.
He left at dawn, his lips warm against mine, his voice a murmured vow to return soon.
I stand by the bedroom window, morning light filtering through thick curtains, casting faint glows across the floor.
My fingers graze the fabric, but my thoughts are tangled, caught on Giacomo Martelli’s words from the party.
I can’t stop thinking about it, no matter how hard I try. Of course, I didn't tell Giovanni. Martelli had been subtle about it while walking past me, so there's no way anyone would've noticed.
I knew him as my father's associate, along with Vittorio Greco. It'd been a surprise he was at the party, but if the tension that plagued the party was anything to go by, he hadn't been invited.
You’ll see soon enough what blood loyalty really costs. That's what he said.
I don’t know what he meant. I don’t know if it was a warning or a threat. But I haven’t been able to let it go.
Giovanni would tell me to stay out of it. To let him handle it. I can already hear his voice in my head, calm but absolute. But he’s not here. And I can’t keep pretending I’m not affected.
I need to speak to my father. The thought alone makes my stomach knot, but it’s firm now. Settled. I won’t find peace until I look him in the eye and ask him what I need to know, even though I've turned down his invitation two times now.
But I’m not stupid. I know I can’t go alone.
I consider asking Dario, but he’s not here today. He'd gone with Giovanni. He's learning the ropes, he'd said. My second option is Tomasso, but the odds of him agreeing without Giovanni’s permission are slim. Still, I need to try.
I slip into a navy dress, the fabric cool and grounding, and braid my hair swiftly, the routine steadying my nerves. Giovanni would be furious if I went alone, his protectiveness a constant tether I both lean into and resist.
I make my way through the hall, trying to decide the best angle to take with Tomasso. My fingers brush my wrist, the old nervous habit surfacing, and I force my hand still, steeling myself for the challenge.
The foyer comes into view, and I freeze. Camilla stands there, adjusting her coat, her blonde hair catching the light. She's speaking to a maid, and the sight of her stirs a wary knot in my chest.
She isn’t supposed to be here. She doesn’t live here. She rarely visits unless summoned or provoked, or at times when she's trying to put me in my place. I stay half-hidden near the archway, my steps slowing on instinct. My first thought is to turn around. Quietly. Avoid the encounter altogether.
But her voice carries. Calm. Low. It stops me.
I weigh my options. I don’t owe her anything.
And I don’t trust her, not fully. Not yet.
I’ve seen too many versions of her to believe one moment changes all the others.
But I also know she’s loyal to Giovanni, and would help me to please him.
And if I’m being honest, I need someone who understands the kind of man my father is.
Someone who’s seen the layers and still knows how to stand.
I draw in a breath.
She turns a moment later, just as I step forward. Her eyes land on me with a flicker of surprise that disappears quickly. Her expression shifts into something neutral. Not cold. Not warm. Just… waiting.
“Liliana,” she says.
I nod once, measured.
She doesn’t speak again, but her head tilts slightly, her gaze curious.
I hesitate. My feet want to back away. My spine tells me to stay. My fingers tighten at my sides. I sign slowly. I’m going to see my father.
Word travels fast in this sort of world. I'm sure she knows already that my father and I don't exactly have a loving relationship. He'd sold me off to Giovanni to fix his debt after all.
Her brow lifts just slightly. “Alone?”
I shake my head. She waits.
I shouldn’t ask her. I know I shouldn’t. But she’s here. And she’s looking at me without disdain, without judgment. Just… looking.
I sign again. Would you come with me?
There’s a pause. She blinks once, as though the question hit her somewhere unexpected. Then her arms fold lightly in front of her, and she studies me.
“Why?”
I hesitate, but I answer truthfully. Because I can’t go alone. And I need to.
Her expression doesn’t shift. Not right away. “Giovanni would kill anyone who helps you with this mad plan.”
I nod once. That’s why I’m asking you. I need someone he wouldn’t kill.
She blinks at that. Then, slowly, her mouth tips up in something that’s almost a smile. “Alright. Let’s get past the guards, then.”
It shouldn’t be that easy. But she doesn’t press. Doesn’t question the impulse. She just rises, smooths the front of her slacks, and nods once.
We slip out through the east corridor, where one of the side entrances connects to the garden gate. We move quietly, avoiding the extra security Giovanni stationed after the party. The security is tight, but we time it well. No questions. No alerts.
We don’t speak during the drive. The silence isn’t hostile, but it isn’t easy either. It sits between us, shifting with every bump in the road, filling the space with things neither of us are ready to say.
My thoughts are loud, dissecting Martelli’s insinuations, the way his gaze lingered, knowing and predatory. My father’s contempt has always been a weight, but if anyone knows what Martelli meant, it’s him.
His mansion looms ahead, cold stone and iron gates, a place that never felt like home. The estate gate opens without question. My last name still holds weight here, even if my presence doesn’t.
I park, my stomach knotting, and Camilla glances at me, her eyes calm but searching.
We’ll be fine, she signs, and I nod, my smile tight, and grateful but still cautious.
Her presence is a lifeline I’m not sure I fully trust. The guards recognize me, their faces blank as they wave us through, and my heart pounds, each step toward the door a reminder of the man inside, his disdain a constant I’ve never outrun.
The house hasn’t changed. White stone. Wide stairs. Cold glass windows. The kind of place that looks beautiful on the outside, but never invites warmth. I walk up slowly, each step steadier than the last.
The door opens before we knock. One of the older staff members looks startled to see me, but he steps aside quickly. Camilla follows me in without waiting for permission.
I know where he’ll be. He always retreats to the study when he wants control over the room.
My father’s seated at his desk, head bent over papers, as if he didn’t hear us enter. The door is half-open, and I pause, my breath catching. His face is etched with the same hard lines I’ve known forever. Camilla stays close.
I knock lightly, stepping inside. His eyes lift, dark and sharp, and his disapproval washes over me, heavy as ever. “Liliana,” he says flatly. His voice holds no warmth. “What are you doing here? Finally decided to honour my invitation?”
I don’t flinch. I step forward.
He looks up at me, then at Camilla, then back again. “I see you brought company. Finally realized you’re not strong enough to stand alone?”
I don’t answer that. I sign. I came to ask you something.
He sighs, like I’ve already disappointed him.
Camilla’s voice cuts cleanly into the space. “Watch your tone.”
He leans back. “You’re Elvio Moretti’s daughter. Weren't you always fated to marry Giovanni? You should loathe her. She took him from you.”
“That’s not your concern,” she says. “She has a question. You’ll answer it.”
He narrows his eyes. “And if I don’t?”
Camilla shrugs. “Then we leave. But you’ll know what kind of man you’ve shown yourself to be. Again.”
I don’t look at either of them. I keep my eyes steady. He stands here, acting as though he has a right to be angry, as if he has any right over me at all when all he's done is treat me with disdain. The nerve of him.
I should leave right now and forget he exists, but I need to know. The words slip from my hands before I can second-guess them. What did Martelli mean when he said blood loyalty costs?
He stills. For a moment, he just looks at me. Then he rises, slow and deliberate, as if the act of standing might put me in my place. “You don’t want to know the answer to that.”
I sign. I do.
He laughs once, a cold, hollow sound that prickles my skin. “You’re asking the wrong questions, Liliana. You’re in deep now. That man of yours might think he can shield you, but some debts go further back than even his reach. Sneaking around without him? You’re out of your depth, girl.”
Camilla steps forward, but I touch her arm lightly. I lift my chin and speak with my hands again. So tell me the truth for once.
His face hardens. Then he says, “You think you can play in this world? You’re a liability, always have been.”
The urge to shrink rises, but I push it down, my chin lifting. Surprisingly, his words doesn't cut like they used to.
Camilla steps forward, her face flushed, her hands slashing through the air. “Stop it,” she grates. “She’s your daughter, not a burden. Respect her.”
My father’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening, but Camilla doesn’t waver, her gaze locked on his. Then, he turns his back and stares out the window, like we’ve already disappeared. And I know there's nothing he'll tell me. It's there in his stance.
I look at Camilla with something akin to gratitude, then I sign to her, let's go.
We leave without another word.
As we head to the car, Camilla doesn’t speak. I appreciate her silence. Then, I suddenly make a detour, a quick trip to the garden. I need to breathe it in one last time, because this is the last time I'll be here.
Camilla doesn't question it, she says quietly, “he’s afraid. That’s why he won’t talk.”
I nod once.
She glances at me. “Be careful. They’re not done testing you.” She pauses before she says, “Giovanni won't hear a word of this.”
I don’t answer. I just walk and stare straight ahead.