Chapter 4 Giuliana’s POV

Some ghosts refused to stay buried.

That was the thought that came to my head as I heard his footsteps before I saw him. The footsteps screamed of the blatant confidence of a man who had walked these halls his entire life…a man who had once walked beside me as if we were equals.

Tht footsteps could only belong to Enzo Salvatore.

He emerged from the shadows of the corridor as I walked down it and I could see that his presence was a deliberate obstacle in my path. The marble floors gleamed beneath us and the flickering sconces casted a warm glow on our bodies but there was nothing warm about this encounter. My son had gone ahead of me to our quarters and I was going to meet him there and now this…interference was happening.

"Giuliana."

His voice had deepened since I last heard it. It was richer and rougher. It was the voice of a man who had tasted power and developed an appetite for more.

Looking unimpressed, I let my gaze trail over him.

He was dressed to project authority—he was wearing an impeccably tailored Armani suit and the platinum Rolex on his left wrist caught the light like a taunt. His dark hair was swept back, his jaw clean-shaven and his cologne the same one he used to wear when he whispered sweet nothings against my skin.

I had been young then. Foolish.

I wasn’t anymore.

"Enzo," I greeted with a voice that was as smooth as silk and sharp as a blade.

His expression wavered for the briefest moment when he heard my voice. "You're back to stay."

"Clearly."

He exhaled and shook his head. "I knew you'd come but I didn't think you'd stay. Not after—"

I arched a brow. "After you betrayed me?"

He stiffened and his face went as white as chalk. He managed to say, "I had no choice, Giuliana. It was business."

For a split second, I wondered how long it took for him to be convinced seven years ago that I was bad news before he broke the engagement with me. 

I let out a quiet laugh just then that was devoid of humor. "Business. Of course." I stepped closer and lowered my voice to a sultry whisper as I said, "Tell me, Enzo, did she make it worth it?"

His jaw clenched.

The she in question chose that exact moment to make her entrance.

As Isabella Leonetti glided into view, she was draped in silk and diamonds and her lips were painted the same blood-red shade she used to smirk at me all those years ago. She had always been beautiful in a cold and clinical way—like a porcelain doll with sharp edges. The years had been kind to her but power had made her sharper and hungrier in a way that made her even more revolting.

“Giuliana,” she cooed while she feigned surprise that was only pathetic. “I thought I heard your voice.”

I turned to her slowly as I said in a sweet voice. “And here I thought snakes slithered in silence.”

Her smile didn’t falter but her eyes flared with irritation.

Enzo went between the both of us immediately and declared: "The both of you, not now!"

Isabella ignored him and said in a voice that did little to conceal her fury, "I must say, Giuliana, I admire your resilience. Most women would’ve vanished after what happened. But then again, you always did have a habit of overstaying your welcome.”

I smiled at that. “And you always had a habit of clinging to things that don’t belong to you.”

Her eyes flashed but before she could respond, Enzo spoke again in a calm voice. 

"You don’t have to go through with the marriage," he said as he looked at me. "You could take this to the Commission. If you… if you ask them to reconsider, they might listen.”

I blinked at him. Then, to his evident shock and discomfort, I laughed.

The idea of me—me—begging the Commission for anything was so pathetic it was almost amusing. Almost.

I tilted my head and said to him coolly, “So that’s your grand offer? That I should grovel before a room full of men who still see me as a pawn instead of a player? Tell me, Enzo, do you actually believe I need their permission for anything?"

His lips parted slightly as if the thought had never occurred to him.

Typical.

I took a step back and casted one final glance at the two of them before I said coldly, “Congratulations on the engagement. You deserve each other.”

Isabella's lips curled at that even as uncertainty flickered in her eyes. "We do, don't we?"

I turned on my heel and walked away without another word. Talking to them more than that was not worth it at all, I thought.

Their voices faded behind me and with each step, I reminded myself why I was here.

It was not for them.

It was not for revenge.

It was for power.

***

Giorgio was exactly where I expected him to be—he was seated on the plush velvet chair in my private suite, his tablet in his hands and his small brows furrowed as he reviewed the reports on the screen. 

The glow of the screen reflected in his dark eyes—eyes that had seen too much for his age.

I closed the door behind me and locked it.

"How was your meeting?" he asked without looking up.

I smiled faintly while I slipped off my Louboutins and walked toward him. "You’re six, tesoro. You shouldn’t be worried about my meetings."

He tapped the screen. “This projection for the European sector is off by three percent.”

I sighed as I sank onto the couch that was across from him as I said, "And yet, here you are."

His small fingers swiped across the data while his mind began to work three steps ahead. It was unnatural for a child to be this sharp…to be this aware but then again, Giorgio had never been an ordinary child.

He had my blood.

And in Sicily, that meant everything.

“Your grandfather wants you to marry Teodoro Lucchese.”

I exhaled slowly as I shook my head at him. I wasn't surprised that he already knew. 

“I see Maria's been keeping you informed. How did you force her to do that?”

He didn't answer. Instead, he only looked up and assessed me with his dark eyes. “It’s a bad deal.”

I chuckled. “You’re not wrong.”

He considered me for a moment and then returned his attention to the tablet. “We need to control the ports but not like this.”

I studied him carefully. At six years old, Giorgio had more business acumen than most of the old men sitting at the Commission table. It unnerved them, the way he carried himself—not like a child, but like an heir. Like a king in the making.

And they should be unnerved.

I went to him just then and ran a hand through his soft curls and smiled as I felt the warmth of him against my palm. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that beneath the intelligence, beneath the sharp eyes and sharper mind, he was still my son. That he was still just a boy.

“I’ll handle it,” I murmured.

Trusting me implicitly to do just that, he nodded.

I gave a glance at the ensuite bathroom not too far away. "Go get ready for your bath. We have a long few days ahead of us."

He slid off the chair and padded toward the bathroom without argument.

I went to the floor-to-ceiling window just then and stared out at the darkened estate that stretched beyond and below me. 

As I looked at the vast land that belonged to Leonetti family, one thought came again and again to me and filled me with grim determination. 

Returning to Sicily meant playing two games at once—the one they could see, and the one they couldn’t.

And in both, I intended to win.