Chapter 11
The door of the guest room clicked shut behind Giana, and she leaned against it, the cool, solid wood a temporary anchor against the storm raging inside her.
Her bandaged left hand throbbed in time with her heartbeat, a dull, insistent ache beneath the layers of gauze.
The pain was a constant reminder of the cage in Izmir, of Vincenzo's mocking gift now destined for the villa gates, and the fact that safety was an illusion and that her body was still a battlefield.
Deep breaths. In. Out.
The air in the room was cool, scented faintly with lemon polish and the bed's expensive linen. The Colleoni villa wrapped its jewel-toned luxury around her, beautiful and deadly, just like its master.
Rodrigo's face swam before her closed eyes. It wasn't his usual cold, controlled mask, but the raw, shattered expression as he pounded his fist into the stone wall. The anger was terrifying in its intensity, but beneath it lay that horrible fear.
Fear for me. The thought sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine, mixing with the heat of his lips on her palm. The gentle pressure, the unexpected warmth of his breath, the way he looked at her stripped away layers of pretense she had erected.
As my fiancée wishes.
"Fuck, this can't be happening," Giana whispered, pushing off the door, the movement sending a fresh wave of dizziness washing over her.
Six weeks of freedom was a piss-poor attempt to outrun her past and the shadow of the man who now paced the halls outside, ready to burn the world for her. The man she was supposed to hate. She had always been so sure he hated her too.
Giana stumbled toward the large, canopied bed, its dark silk duvet looking impossibly inviting. Her ribs screamed in protest as she lowered herself onto the edge, the soft mattress yielding beneath her weight.
She looked down at her bandaged hand, the stark white gauze a symbol of her vulnerability and how easily they had taken her, and how they would try again.
Am I strong enough for this fight? The question echoed inside her, hollow and terrifying.
Playing the game with Vincenzo was one thing. Playing with Rodrigo Colleoni, the man who knew her fears and weaknesses better than she knew them herself, was suicide.
Yet, she had demanded partnership. She had staked her claim at his table. And the look in his eyes when she'd done it… that hadn't been the look of a man facing an inconvenient pawn. It had been respect. Challenge. Heat.
Her gaze drifted across the room, landing on the sleek, custom laptop Leo had set up for her on the antique writing desk.
A memory, sharp and sudden, pierced through the fog of exhaustion and pain. Not of Izmir, but of the same villa she stood in.
Two Years Earlier
The air in Gabriella Colleoni's private study was thick with the aroma of expensive cigars, perfume, and malice.
Giana stood rigidly before the massive mahogany desk, her spine ramrod straight, her nails digging into her palms. She had been trapped for four years already, the ghost of her family a constant ache in her chest.
Gabriella, impeccably dressed in midnight blue silk, regarded her as if she were shit on her handmade shoes.
"Our continued guardianship of you is a courtesy, Giana," she stated, her voice like shards of ice. "A reminder of the debt your family owes. Do not mistake it for anything else. You will learn obedience and your place."
Her place. Engaged to Leo, a man who saw her as a sister at best, a burden at worst. The urge to scream, to lash out, was a physical pressure behind her ribs.
"Yes, Signora Colleoni," Giana forced out, the words tasting like ash.
Gabriella's eyes narrowed slightly, unsatisfied but dismissing her with a flick of her wrist. "Rodrigo will see you to your safety. Do not disappoint him by doing anything stupid or reckless. Remember there are worse fates you could be living right now."
Disappointing Rodrigo Colleoni was its own special kind of hell. He was Gabriella's shadow, her enforcer, the cold-eyed killer who seemed to see every flicker of rebellion Giana tried to hide.
He met her outside the study, his expression unreadable, his tailored suit emphasizing the lethal grace beneath. He didn't speak, merely gestured for her to follow him down the long, echoing corridor toward the guest wing of the house.
They walked in silence, the only sound their footsteps on the marble. Giana kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, her jaw clenched. Just before they reached her room, Rodrigo stopped. She halted automatically, tense, bracing for some new humiliation, some reminder of her powerlessness.
Instead, he turned and met her eyes directly. There was no cruelty in his face today, only something that looked uncomfortably like understanding.
"She wants you broken," he said. He kept his words barely above a whisper, yet they seemed to vibrate in the space between them. "Pliable. A puppet."
Giana stared at him, shocked into silence. He had never spoken to her like this before or acknowledged the reality of her situation so bluntly.
He glanced around before pulling something from the thick leather document folio he carried under one arm. He offered her a slim, unmarked black box.
"She wants you ignorant and under control," he continued, his gaze never wavering. "She fears what you could do if you had the right tools."
Giana's heart hammered against her ribs. What was this? A test? A trap? She hesitated, her eyes darting from the box to his face, searching for deception.
"Take it," he commanded softly. "Before someone else comes."
Slowly, warily, she reached out and took the box. It was cool, heavier than it looked. She flipped the small latch.
Inside, nestled in black foam, lay a sleek, silver laptop. Not one of the monitored machines provided by the Colleoni staff. Beside it lay a small, unmarked black USB drive.
"It's encrypted," Rodrigo said. "Biometric lock. Your fingerprint only. The drive contains backdoors into our systems. Firewalls. Communications."
Giana's fingers trembled slightly as she traced the cool metal of the laptop. It was a sliver of power. A weapon.
"Why?" The word escaped her lips, barely a whisper. "Why give me this?"
His expression didn't change, but his eyes darkened, holding hers captive.
"Because you are not a puppet, Giana Sorrentino. You are a queen in chains."
He leaned in slightly, his dark, spicy cologne enveloping her. "And queens need their own weapons, even if their 'jailer' provides them."
He straightened abruptly, the moment shattering. The impassive mask slid back into place. "Hide it. Behave for Gabriella until I can get you back to Florence, and you might just find your own key to freedom."
He turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the corridor, clutching the box containing forbidden power, her heart pounding.
That night, alone in her room, she activated the laptop. The screen flared to life, demanding her fingerprint. She pressed her thumb to the sensor.
The machine hummed softly, granting her access. Files unfurled on the screen including complex code, network schematics, and security protocols. Backdoors into the heart of the Colleoni fortress.
Freedom to find her own key to her current prison.
Giana had looked at the schematics, the intricate pathways laid bare. It was the key to the kingdom.
Rodrigo knew exactly what she could see, what she could touch. He had defied Gabriella to give it to her. Risked everything, because it was the power not just to destroy Gabriella but him too. She could bring down the whole Colleoni empire if she chose to.
"Why?" she whispered again in the darkness.
It was a question that would haunt her for years.