Chapter 24
Precisely twenty-eight minutes later, Rodrigo was sitting behind his desk with Giana beside him. She was dressed in tailored black pants and a red blouse that matched the tie he had put on with his suit. They hadn't planned to match, but it did present them as unified in more ways than one.
"Get ready." Leo's voice crackled from the desk speaker. "Sicilian families are incoming. Patching them through… now."
The large central monitor on Rodrigo's desk flickered to life, splitting into multiple video feeds. The faces that appeared were a gallery of power and menace, men who ruled their fiefdoms from shadowed offices or sun-drenched villas not unlike his own.
Hard eyes and expensive suits, with generations of violence etched into their features. On the central feed, slightly larger, showed Vincenzo Falcone.
He was younger than the others, perhaps in his late twenties, like Giana, with the sharp, handsome features of his lineage. Dark hair slicked back, a tailored charcoal suit, and a dark blue tie.
He leaned back in a high-backed leather chair, exuding an air of carelessness that didn't quite mask the sharp intelligence. He was a predator pretending to be bored, but he was still too young to pull it off.
"Rodrigo," Vincenzo greeted, a faint Sicilian lilt coloring his Italian. His gaze swept past Rodrigo, lingering on Giana with open, possessive appraisal. "And the lovely Giana. A pleasure to see you looking recovered from your ordeal."
It was a cruel jab that had Rodrigo's fist clenching under the desk. He didn't know when, but one day he was going to kill that little fucker.
Giana didn't flinch. She met his gaze head-on, her expression cool. She said nothing, dismissing him entirely.
That's my girl. Rodrigo leaned forward, placing himself slightly in front of her to shield her a little from the creep's gaze.
"Vincenzo. To what do we owe this dubious pleasure?" he asked.
Vincenzo's smile was razor sharp. "Let's call it a clarification meeting about a matter of honor and property." He steepled his fingers. "You see, Rodrigo, there seems to be some confusion regarding Giana Sorrentino. A misunderstanding perpetuated by your recent theatrical engagement announcement."
"The only misunderstanding is your belief that you have any claim here," Rodrigo stated.
Vincenzo chuckled, a dry, humorless sound.
"Ah, but I do. A claim forged in blood and ink, long before Gabriella Colleoni decided to play jailer.
Your father, Giana, God rest his ambitious soul, promised you to me.
A pact was signed between Enzo Falcone and Carlo Sorrentino, binding our houses together.
You were to be my bride. Untouched. A maiden sacrifice on the altar of their alliance. "
Rodrigo imagined all the ways he was going to make Vincenzo scream but said nothing. Vincenzo's eyes swept over Giana, lingering insolently. He would start with Vincenzo's eyes, he decided.
"Of course, we all know Gabriella locked you away, kept you pure as the driven snow, knowing the value of an untouched Sorrentino heiress.
Leo…" Vincenzo waved a dismissive hand. "Well, we all know Leo's inclinations.
He was never going to touch you. And Gabriella?
She guarded her prize fiercely. So tell me, Rodrigo, how is it that you, suddenly, emerge as the groom?
After six years of your mother's careful stewardship?
My sources tell me there have been no men in Giana's life since the engagement with Leo ended.
She's been watched, protected, and untouched, until now?
Is that the game? A rushed engagement to stake a claim before the true owner arrives? "
The monster inside Rodrigo roared. The need to tear Vincenzo limb from limb was a physical pressure, but beneath it, cold, calculating rage took hold.
In his peripheral vision, Giana sat rigid, her face pale but composed, her eyes burning with hatred. She was holding herself together, but the public dissection of her captivity, the reduction of her to a 'maiden' commodity, was a fresh violation.
Vincenzo misread the silence, mistaking Rodrigo's control for hesitation. He spread his hands magnanimously.
"Look, I am a reasonable man, Rodrigo. Return what is mine, and we can avoid any unnecessary unpleasantness. Reparations can be discussed for this unfortunate misunderstanding and the loss of my men."
Rodrigo reached behind his desk and picked up the small, dark wooden box.
The click of the latch releasing was unnaturally loud in the tense silence.
Nestled inside on faded velvet, lay a square of fine, cream-colored linen.
It was stained with a dark, rust-brown smear that was unmistakably blood. Layered over it was another white mark.
Rodrigo didn't touch the fabric. He simply turned the open box toward the camera, ensuring Vincenzo's feed captured it in horrifying, intimate detail.
"You mean this, Vincenzo?" Rodrigo's voice was a low, dangerous purr, cutting through the stunned silence on the call.
Several of the other Sicilian Dons leaned forward, their expressions shifting from boredom to sharp interest and dawning shock.
"This is proof that your 'untouched maiden' was claimed long ago by me. "
Vincenzo's smug expression vanished, replaced by slack-jawed disbelief, then dawning, furious comprehension. His face flushed crimson.
"What… What filth is this? A trick? Gabriella would never—"
"Gabriella, never knew," Rodrigo interrupted, his voice like shards of ice. He closed the box with a soft, final click, the sound echoing like a tomb sealing.
"Giana has been mine since the moment she defied my mother after the Sorrentino massacre. Mine to watch. Mine to protect. Mine to claim when I choose to."
He locked eyes with Vincenzo, letting the full, feral weight of his possession show.
"She is mine to love, and mine to protect, and always has been. Your contract is as worthless as your spies. But speaking of reparations…"
Rodrigo leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk, his gaze sweeping across all the assembled faces on the screen, finally settling back on Vincenzo, who looked apoplectic.
"You demand reparations for your dead thugs?
Fine. I demand reparations for the men you sent to torture my woman.
" He paused, letting the words sink in. "The one who pulled her teeth, ripped her nails, and put her in a cage like an animal?
He's currently in my basement and is breathing for now.
Consider him my counteroffer. A gesture of goodwill. "
Vincenzo surged to his feet, his chair crashing backward. "You dare? You lying bastard! I never sanctioned torture. I wanted her brought to me intact!"
"Really?" Rodrigo's smile was cold, devoid of humour. "Then perhaps you should look closer to home, Vincenzo. Because your man sang quite the tune before Dante quieted him. It seems loyalty in Palermo is as rotten as your claims."
He straightened, his posture radiating absolute, unassailable authority.
"This conversation is fucking over. Giana Sorrentino is her own woman.
She chooses who she marries, and she has chosen me.
If any of you," he continued, his voice filling with dark promise, "have the balls to come and try to take her from me, you are welcome to try.
But bring more than talk and your shitty intimidation tactics.
Bring your armies. Bring your best. Because I am tired of your gutless posturing and your lies. "
He didn't wait for a response. He reached out and stabbed the disconnect button on his console. The screens went dark, plunging the office into sudden, heavy silence.
Giana sat perfectly still in the armchair, her gaze fixed on the dark screen, her face unreadable.
Rodrigo turned slowly to face her. The monster had roared, staked its claim in the most brutal, public way possible. He had used their most intimate, painful history as a weapon.
The bridge of 'partners' felt as if it were crumbling under the weight of his darkness.
"Giana, let me explain…" His voice was rough, stripped bare.
She stood up. When she turned to face him, her eyes were dark pools, swirling with fury, betrayal, and hurt.
The taste of victory turned ashen in Rodrigo's mouth, the wreckage of their fragile new understanding lying at his feet. The monster had won the battle, but he feared he had just lost the war.