Chapter 4 - The Traitor's Mark
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The audacity of her accusation struck Gio like a physical blow. His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around the delicate column of her throat. He didn't squeeze to cut off her air, but the threat of absolute violence was a physical weight against her skin.
"You dare accuse me of killing my own blood?" Gio snarled, his face inches from hers. The scent of rain, whiskey, and raw masculine fury enveloped her.
Isadora didn't close her eyes. She kept them wide open, locking her gaze with his.
"I don't know you, Giovanni. I only know the monster the newspapers write about. The man who took the throne before his father's body was even cold."
Her pulse fluttered frantically against his palm. He could feel the sheer terror she was fighting to suppress. Slowly, almost reluctantly, his fingers loosened. He dropped his hand, taking a heavy step back, running his hand through his dark, rain-dampened hair.
"I took the throne quickly to prevent a civil war," Gio said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "If there had been even a whisper of murder, the commission would have torn my family apart like wolves."
"They are already tearing it apart from the inside," Isadora said, touching her throat where his heat still lingered.
Before Gio could respond, the heavy oak doors of the study groaned open.
"Giovanni, the men are asking about the incident at the restaurant," a smooth, cultured voice announced.
Isadora turned. Standing in the doorway was an older man with silver hair at his temples, dressed in an immaculate, double-breasted suit. He held a silver-tipped walking cane.
It was Silvio Rossi. Gio’s uncle, and Vincenzo’s brother.
Isadora’s blood ran completely cold. The breath hitched violently in her chest.
She had seen Silvio only once, four years ago, slipping out of a secure bank in Naples. It was the exact bank where the shell company accounts had been registered.
Gio noticed her reaction. His dark eyes flicked from Isadora’s pale, terrified face to his uncle, a dangerous calculation spinning in his mind.
"Everything is handled, Uncle," Gio said smoothly, stepping slightly in front of Isadora, effectively shielding her from Silvio’s view. "A minor misunderstanding with a hysterical employee. I am interrogating her now."
"Do not waste your time with the help, Gio," Silvio smiled, a cold, reptilian expression. "Give her to Luca. He knows how to extract apologies."
"I will handle my own affairs," Gio replied, the finality in his tone leaving no room for argument.
Silvio nodded slowly, his eyes lingering on Isadora for a fraction of a second too long. "As you wish, Nephew."
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When the door clicked shut, Isadora let out a shaky, terrified breath.
"It's him," she whispered, looking up at Gio. "Your uncle."
