Chapter 19
Later that evening, at the fake engagement dinner, no one around the Colleoni dining table was having a bad time.
The mercenaries were in the mood to party, and laughter and conversation swirled around them effortlessly.
It wasn't that they didn't all know that being attacked by Vincenzo that night wasn't a real possibility; it was that the threat of a fight was never enough to slow the extended Edgeworth family down.
Rodrigo sat at the head of the table, Giana radiant beside him in a deep crimson silk dress that clung to her curves.
She was playing her part flawlessly, laughing at Julian's barbed compliments, and engaging Altun in conversation about ancient Byzantine art.
For most of the time, her hand rested lightly on Rodrigo's forearm.
Every brush of her fingers, every shared glance orchestrated for the cameras, felt like a brand.
Performance and reality were blurring, the lines dissolving like sugar in strong espresso.
She smells like jasmine and desire, he thought, taking a slow sip of his drink, the rich wine doing nothing to quench the deeper thirst coiling inside him. Being beside her was a torture he wasn't fully prepared for.
The small, red velvet box felt like a hot coal in his jacket pocket, burning against his ribs. His grandmother had pressed it into his palm when he was sixteen, her rheumy eyes sharp.
"For the woman you choose to claim with final and absolute love, nipote mio. Guard it well."
He had scoffed then, a cynical teenager already steeped in Gabriella's poison who had no time for love. He never imagined the woman he would give it to would be Giana Sorrentino, the prisoner he would be ordered to watch and break if he was ordered to.
Now, the thought of sliding a ring onto her finger that was both a symbol of his family's twisted legacy, yet also the purest token he possessed, threatened to unravel him.
It wasn't just part of the ruse anymore. It was a declaration he wasn't sure he was ready to make. He almost hated how much he wanted it to be real.
Dario, seated further down beside Frederica, caught his eye. His brother gave a barely perceptible nod, his expression uncharacteristically serious. It's time.
The hacker was watching, and it was time to put on a show.
Rodrigo took a slow, steadying breath, and pushed his chair back slightly, the scrape of wood on marble cutting through the lively conversation. Heads turned toward him.
Giana's eyes lifted to his, a question in their dark depths, perfectly playing the part of the attentive fiancée. He saw the flicker of something else beneath the performance. The artist assessing her subject. Or the monster. He wasn't sure he wanted to know which.
"Giana," Rodrigo began, his voice low but carrying easily in the quiet. He cleared his throat, suddenly nervous, and forced the practiced charm he usually wielded like a weapon to take over.
"Six weeks ago, you walked out of this house thinking you were free of the Colleoni name and of me." He held her gaze, willing her to see the truth beneath the performance. "Life, it seems, had other plans. Plans that brought you back here to me."
He saw her breath catch, a subtle tightening around her eyes. He pressed on, the words feeling both like a script and a confession ripped from his chest.
"You came back injured, hunted, and yet, you chose to fight. Not just for your life, but alongside us. Alongside me." He paused, the unspoken 'after everything we did to you' hanging heavy between them.
"You demanded a seat at my table. You demanded partnership. You demanded to be more than a pawn in a game you never chose. You stepped into the wreckage of our parents' war against each other and declared you would build something new from the ashes."
Rodrigo's gaze swept the table, taking in the faces of his brothers and their friends. Leo's attention was on the tablet, subtly angled beneath the table edge as he monitored the feeds. Dario gave him another small, encouraging nod.
Rodrigo looked back at Giana. The confusion was still there, but it was mixed with something softer that made his treacherous heart clench with fragile hope.
"You are not a pawn, Giana Sorrentino," he stated, his voice gaining conviction that wasn't just for the cameras anymore. "You are a queen. My queen. And a queen deserves a crown, or at the very least a symbol worthy of her until I find the perfect crown to buy for her."
He opened the box in his hand. Nestled inside, against midnight blue satin, was a ring of antique gold, its intricate filigree work worn smooth by time, cradling a large, dark red ruby that glowed in the candlelight.
It was surrounded by a halo of smaller, brilliant-cut diamonds.
It was magnificent, ancient, and heavy with history.
A collective intake of breath sounded around the table. Iz gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
Julian murmured appreciatively, "Exquisite. Late Renaissance, Venetian, if I'm not mistaken."
Altun's knowing gaze sharpened, flickering between Rodrigo and the ring with dawning comprehension. Frederica whistled low under her breath.
"Santa Maria," Leo breathed. He stared at Rodrigo, eyes widening with disbelief. "Rodrigo… Nonna's ring? You're giving her Nonna's ring?"
Everyone at the table knew the Colleoni matriarchs, knew their traditions, however twisted they had become under Gabriella.
Nonna's ring wasn't just jewelry; it was a relic, a symbol of the final, absolute love Rodrigo's grandmother had spoken of, the kind that bound a Colleoni man irrevocably to one woman.
Leo's reaction was genuine, cutting through the performance. He knew what that ring meant. He knew Rodrigo had vowed never to give it to anyone until now.
Rodrigo ignored his brother's stunned expression, his gaze locked on Giana. Her eyes were fixed on the ring, wide and unreadable.
The performance demanded she accept it, play the blushing bride-to-be, but the reality of it, the history in that small box, was clearly hitting her.
Rodrigo lifted the ring from its bed of satin. The gold felt cool, heavy, imbued with the ghost of his grandmother's touch. He held it out toward her.
"Giana," he said, his voice low, roughened by emotion he couldn't fully mask. "Will you wear this? Not just as part of being my fiancée, but as a promise that I see you. That I choose you as my partner and as my queen."
As the love I never thought I'd find and sure as fuck don't deserve. The words remained unspoken, but he hoped she could hear them in the tremor of his hand, the intensity of his gaze.
The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Leo held his breath, his fingers frozen over his tablet. Dario leaned forward slightly, his knuckles white where he gripped his fork. Even Frederica had lost her smirk, watching Giana intently.
Giana's dark eyes searched his, looking for the lie, the manipulation. He held his breath, letting her see the raw need, the desperate hope, and the terrifying vulnerability of the monster laid bare for the only girl he had ever wanted.
Giana lifted her left hand from the tablecloth. Her fingers trembled slightly, the nails still short and a stark reminder of the darkness they fought.
"Yes," she said, her voice clear and surprisingly strong. It was the perfect acceptance, the devoted fiancée claiming her prize, but her eyes held his with an intensity that stole the breath from his lungs. "Yes, Rodrigo. I will."
A collective sigh seemed to ripple through the room. Dario grinned, relaxing his grip, and Leo exhaled shakily, his gaze darting back to his tablet screen, likely confirming the watcher was lapping it up.
Rodrigo's hand was steady as he took Giana's and slid the heavy gold band onto her ring finger. It fit perfectly, the dark ruby a smoldering ember against her skin, the diamonds winking fiercely. It looked like it belonged there.
The feel of it on her finger, the cool metal against his own skin as he held her hand, the sheer rightness of it, crashed over him. The performance, the ruse, the careful distance he had maintained evaporated like mist.
Rodrigo was drowning in her dark eyes, in the reality of her acceptance, however temporary or tactical it might be. He saw the flicker of surprise on her face as he didn't immediately release her hand, his thumb tracing the ring in a possessive, tender caress.
She's playing a role, the rational part of his mind screamed. This is for the cameras. For the hacker and Falcone. But the monster inside him, the one that had watched her, protected her, hungered for her for six long years, roared to life.
He couldn't stop himself.
Forgetting the audience, forgetting the performance, forgetting everything but the woman before him and the dangerous hope blazing in his chest, Rodrigo leaned in.
"Giana," he breathed reverently and kissed her.
It wasn't a chaste peck for the benefit of the cameras.
His lips claimed hers with a desperate, consuming fire that burned away the last vestiges of pretense.
He tasted the wine on her lips, the sweetness of dessert, and underneath it, the unique, intoxicating essence that was purely her.
Strength, defiance, softness, and beauty.
He was only vaguely aware of Athena shouting at him to 'put his back into it' as the others hollered.
Rodrigo deepened the kiss, his hand sliding into the silk of Giana's hair at her nape, holding her still and pouring every ounce of his hopeless love, his fierce protectiveness, and soul-deep yearning into the contact.
Giana made a soft, muffled sound that went straight to his core, and she melted into him.
Her lips moved under his, answering with a heat that matched his own.
Her hand, bearing his grandmother's ring, came up to clutch at the front of his shirt, fisting the fabric, anchoring herself, and pulling him closer.
The kiss deepened, turning fierce, almost bruising in its intensity.
It was a collision, a surrender, a promise whispered in the language of tongues and teeth and shared breath.
Time stopped. The room, the watching eyes, the threat of Falcone, their bloody history all ceased to exist. There was only her mouth, her warmth, the frantic beat of her heart against his chest, the intoxicating scent of her skin, and the terrifying, exhilarating sense of coming home.
Another roar of approval erupted around the table as they all started clapping.
"Get a fucking room!" Frederica insisted.
Rodrigo knew the moment her control slipped, the moment the performance shattered completely, and the raw, unfiltered want she had hidden so well surged to the surface.
It was there in the desperate clutch of her fingers in his shirt, in the way she arched subtly toward him, in the answering fire of her kiss.
It lasted only a second, a fleeting, vulnerable crack in her armor, but Rodrigo saw it. Felt it. Seared it into his soul.
He forced himself to pull back, breaking the kiss before it consumed them. He rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing raggedly, the sounds loud in the sudden lull of the cheering.
Her eyes were wide with a dazed 'what the fuck?' expression, her lips swollen and glistening. The flush on her cheeks was deep, real, not painted on for show.
She wanted that, even if it was only for a second, the monster inside him purred, triumphant and fierce. She wants me.
The dangerous hope, the one he had tried to bury, flared into an inferno. It wasn't just a performance. For that one, stolen moment, Giana Sorrentino had kissed him back with a hunger that mirrored his own. She had wanted him, Rodrigo Colleoni.
That single, devastating second of truth was worth every lie, every risk, every drop of blood he had spilled and would still spill for her.
He looked into her dazed, beautiful eyes, seeing the shock, the lingering heat, and beneath it, the same dangerous hope burning in his own chest.
Maybe, a treacherous thought whispered, she could learn to love the monster after all.