Chapter 3 - THE SNAKE AT THE TABLE
By noon the following day, Villa Rossi was bathed in brilliant, blinding Mediterranean sunlight. The turquoise sea below stretched out toward the horizon, serene and calm, betraying nothing of the dark storm that had raged the night before.
In the East Wing, Isadora stood in front of a full-length gilded mirror.
Vittoria had provided her with a new wardrobe, discarding her waitress uniform completely. Isadora now wore a sleeveless, high-necked dress of deep emerald-green silk that hugged her slender waist before flowing gracefully down to her ankles. Her dark hair had been washed and left down in soft, dark waves around her shoulders, covering the clean bandage on her jawline.
She looked completely transformed. No longer a timid kitchen worker, she looked like an Italian aristocrat—noble, dangerous, and impossibly proud.
The heavy oak doors to her room opened.
Gio stepped inside, accompanied by two armed guards who remained in the corridor. He wore a crisp white linen shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing a flash of dark hair and the top of a black ink tattoo, paired with dark trousers.
He stopped in his tracks as his eyes fell upon her.
For three agonizing seconds, Gio didn't move. His dark obsidian eyes slowly traveled down her frame, taking in the rich emerald silk, her long graceful neck, and the fierce, unyielding light burning in her hazel eyes. A muscle twitched in his jaw, his eyes darkening with an intense, raw heat that made Isadora’s breath hitch in her chest.
"You clean up remarkably well, Miss Marino," Gio said, his voice lower and gravelly.
"I didn't ask for silk, Gio," Isadora said, adjusting the silver locket that hung over the emerald fabric. "I asked for action. What is the plan?"
Gio walked over to her, his heavy, silent steps closing the distance between them. He reached out, his long fingers casually tucking a dark strand of hair behind her ear, his knuckles lightly brushing against her warm skin. Isadora shivered at his touch, refusing to step back.
"Bernardo Moretti has called an emergency council meeting at my estate today at two o'clock," Gio said softly, his eyes locking onto hers. "He knows I brought a woman back from La Corona. He thinks you are my new mistress—a cheap distraction to embarrass the family."
Isadora’s eyes flashed with anger. "Mistress?!"
"It's a cover," Gio said smoothly, a small, arrogant smile touching the corner of his lips. "Bernardo expects me to be arrogant, selfish, and foolish. If he thinks I am obsessed with a beautiful woman, he will drop his guard. He will think I am not paying attention to the shipment audits in Salerno."
"And what am I supposed to do?" Isadora asked, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"You are going to sit at my right hand during lunch," Gio whispered, leaning down until his lips almost touched her ear. "You are going to wear my ring. You are going to look Bernardo Moretti in the eye, smile, and serve him his water. And while you do that... you are going to tell me if he flinches when I mention your father's name."
Isadora looked into his dark eyes, realizing the terrifying depth of his strategy. He wasn't just hiding her; he was using her as a mirror to break the man who had murdered her father.
"And if he recognizes me?" Isadora whispered. "I look like my mother, but I have my father's eyes."
Gio reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a velvet box. He clicked it open.
Inside rested a stunning vintage ring featuring a massive, emerald-cut dark sapphire surrounded by black diamonds, set in oxidized platinum. It was heavy, ancient, and bore the seal of the Rossi crest.
"This belonged to my mother," Gio said softly. He took her left hand in his warm, strong grip and slid the heavy ring onto her middle finger. "As long as you wear this ring, no one in this house—not Bernardo, not his guards, not the entire council—will dare lay a finger on you. If anyone raises a hand against you, they answer to me."
Isadora looked at the dark blue jewel sparkling on her finger, then up into Gio's dark, possessive eyes. The line between their fake alliance and something far more dangerous, far more intense, was beginning to blur beyond recognition.
"Let's go meet the snake," Isadora said softly.
The outdoor terrace of Villa Rossi was prepared for a lavish Mediterranean lunch. A long marble table was set with silver cutlery, fine crystal, and fresh yellow lemons from the garden.
Seated at the far end of the table was Bernardo Moretti. He was a man in his late sixties, with snow-white hair, sharp vulture-like features, and a expensive tailored light-grey suit. His cold gray eyes flicked up instantly as Gio stepped onto the terrace, leading Isadora by the hand.
Two other senior council members, Don Carmine and Don Lucio, sat on either side of the table, their guards standing discretely near the stone balustrade overlooking the cliff.
"Giovanni," Bernardo purred, his raspy voice like dry leaves scraping across concrete. "We were beginning to think you had forgotten about your council. And who is this vision in green?"
Gio pulled out the heavy carved chair at his right hand, assisting Isadora as she sat down. He then took his seat at the head of the table, resting his broad arms casually on the armrests.
"This is Isadora," Gio said flatly, his dark eyes fixing onto Bernardo with cold indifference. "She was dissatisfied with her service at La Corona last night, so I decided to bring her home to teach her proper manners."
Bernardo laughed, a dry, hollow sound. "Ah, the famous waitress who poured ice on your trousers! The whole coast is talking about it, Giovanni. Some say you've gone soft... letting a servant humiliate you in public."
Isadora didn't wait for Gio to defend himself. She picked up a crystal pitcher of iced water, stood up gracefully, and walked slowly toward Bernardo’s seat.
"I didn't pour ice to humiliate Mr. Rossi, Don Bernardo," Isadora spoke up, her voice silky, smooth, and ringing with absolute confidence as she poured water into Bernardo's crystal glass. "I did it because he was forgetting the standards his father set for this family."
Bernardo’s laughter died instantly. His cold gray eyes snapped up to fix onto Isadora’s face.
"What did you say?" Bernardo rasped, his hands tightening around his silver fork.
Isadora leaned down slightly, placing the pitcher on the table, her face inches from Bernardo’s grey cheek. The emerald-cut sapphire ring on her hand flashed under the bright sunlight, directly in front of his eyes.
"Don Marco Rossi always believed that a leader should be served with respect, not fear," Isadora whispered softly, her hazel eyes locking onto Bernardo’s with lethal precision. "Isn't that right, Don Bernardo? You served Marco for thirty years... before his poor heart gave out in Calabria."
Bernardo froze.
The color completely drained from his weathered face, leaving him looking like a corpse in a grey suit. His eyes locked onto the sapphire ring on her finger, then traveled up to her dark hair and hazel eyes. A subtle, violent tremor passed through his right hand, knocking his silver fork against his plate with a loud CLINK.
He recognized her.
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In the quiet afternoon heat, the air on the terrace went instantly toxic.
Gio sat at the head of the table, his dark obsidian eyes tracking every single micro-expression on Bernardo's face, a cold, terrifying smile slowly blooming across his lips.
