Chapter 2 - A Dangerous Game Behind Iron Gates
Gio did not blink. The silence between them stretched so taut that the ticking of the grandfather clock near the archway sounded like hammer strikes against iron.
“My father died of heart failure three years ago,” Gio stated coldly, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the stem of his wine glass. “Every doctor in Rome signed the certificate.”
“Your father was poisoned with slow-acting digitalis over a period of eight months,” Isadora countered instantly, not flinching under his predatory stare. “Administered through the rare vintage port he drank every evening. A blend gifted to him by someone sitting at your inner council.”
Luca moved, his hand darting inside his coat, but Gio held up a single, commanding finger. Luca froze in place.
Gio’s jaw tightened until the muscles leaped. “You have five seconds to explain how a woman scraping plates knows the medical toxicology of the Rossi patriarch, or I let Matteo test how quickly you can swim to Naples with lead around your ankles.”
“Check the locket,” Isadora said, pointing to the silver pendant resting against her collarbone.
Gio stood. His imposing height cast a long shadow over the table. He rounded the linen-covered table with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing inches from her. The intoxicating scent of expensive sandalwood, rain, and danger rolled off him.
He didn't touch her skin, but his large, calloused fingers hooked beneath the silver chain and snapped it with a swift yank.
He turned the tarnished silver oval over in his palm. On the back, etched in microscopic cursive that only an engraver or someone who lived in the Rossi estate would recognize, was the motto: Sanguis Ante Omnia—Blood Before All. And beneath it, the private initials of Don Roberto Rossi.
Gio’s breath hitched, an almost imperceptible crack in his impenetrable armor.
“Where did you get this?” he demanded, his voice dropping into a register that made the hairs on the back of Isadora's neck stand up.
“He gave it to me in a hospital in Florence four years ago,” she said softly. “When he saved my life from the same men who eventually killed him. He told me that when the time was right—when the rot inside your family grew so deep that you were blind to your own executioner—I had to bring the evidence home.”
“Evidence?” Gio sneered, though the skepticism in his voice lacked its earlier bite. “What evidence?”
“The encrypted ledger,” Isadora replied. “Roberto hid the master keys to the syndicate’s offshore holdings and the names of the traitors who sold the Sicilian trade routes to the Moretti family. But he didn't trust you with it back then, Giovanni. He thought you were too hot-headed, too arrogant, too obsessed with blood to see the chess board.”
Matteo scoffed from the doorway. “Boss, she’s playing you. She’s an operative sent to sow discord before the Council summit next week.”
Gio stared down at Isadora. For a long, terrifying moment, he searched her eyes, looking for hesitation, fear, or the telltale flutter of a liar. He found only an icy, unyielding resolve that mirrored his own.
“Get the car,” Gio commanded without breaking eye contact with Isadora.
“Boss?” Luca questioned, clearly alarmed.
“I said get the car,” Gio barked, the authority in his voice leaving no room for defiance. He grabbed Isadora by the upper arm—his grip firm, like iron bands, yet strangely careful not to bruise her. “You wanted my attention, Miss Marino? You have it. You’re coming with me to the estate. If a single word out of your mouth is a lie, you will not live to see the Mediterranean sunrise.”
“And if I’m telling the truth?” she challenged, keeping pace with his long strides as they were escorted out into the pouring rain.
May you like
Gio opened the door of his armored black sedan himself, shoving her gently inside before sliding in beside her.
“If you are telling the truth,” Gio said, the darkness in his eyes reflecting the storm outside, “we are going to burn half of Italy to the ground.”
