Chapter 6 “The Lady of Ice and Fire”

Vicenzo called her “sweetheart,” and Giulia felt a violent urge to slap that perfect face, to rip away that cold smile he wore like a mask. She knew exactly what everyone in that room was thinking: that she had killed Luca and was now shamelessly trying to hook an even bigger fish. The bastard had thrown her to the sharks, exposed her to the fury of the press, and expected her to drown. But Giulia was not the drowning type.

She took a slow breath, an angelic, rehearsed smile blooming on her lips—so perfect it looked innocent. Her voice came out soft, almost melodic, layered with a calculated sweetness meant to disarm.

“Yes, of course,” she began, looking at the crowd with a sincerity so polished it bordered on art. “Luca was my first love, and for me as well, knowing the truth behind his death is essential.”

She paused, letting the words settle before continuing in a more intimate tone, almost conspiratorial.

“At first, I’ll admit, I got close to Vicenzo in a desperate attempt to feel a piece of Luca again—to feel his presence through his best friend. But then…” She let the sentence hang, a light, charming laugh slipping out. “I ended up completely enchanted by this well of charm and outrageously high sex appeal. And I know you ladies understand exactly what I mean.”

A genuine but controlled laugh rippled through the room. She waited, then added with a playful wink toward a group of male journalists:

“Some of you men too, right? I fell in love with him, and I know Luca, wherever he is, understands my true feelings and is rooting for me.”

Her answer was a masterstroke. Women in the audience smiled; some even laughed quietly, complicit in that “human” and “romantic” confession. Even a few previously impassive journalists let out reluctant smiles. Giulia had shifted the focus from accusation to forbidden love, to resilience, to irresistible charm. The initial tension Vicenzo had so carefully cultivated dissolved into laughter and knowing glances.

At his side, Vicenzo felt the impact like a punch to the gut. Fury simmered in his veins. That angelic smile, that soft voice—every bit of it was calculated deception. She wasn’t simply answering; she was manipulating, reshaping the narrative from suspicious widow to tragic and irresistible love story. He wanted her humiliated, exposed. Instead, she was winning sympathy with terrifying ease.

He had thrown her to the wolves, and she was dancing with them.

The anger tangled with something far more dangerous: admiration. With chilling clarity, he realized breaking her body would be easy. Breaking Giulia Salvatore’s spirit would require something far more deliberate. He would have to fracture every fiber of that woman, every shard of that untamed strength, before even thinking about destroying her.

The press conference Giulia had flipped upside down with her performance was finally called to an end. Vicenzo, his face still tight but masked in impeccable professionalism, guided her out of the hall, his hand firm around her elbow as if shielding her from something only he could see. The flashes began to fade. Journalists packed their equipment. The tension seemed, at last, to dissolve.

Then a trembling, grief-stricken voice cut through the murmur from the entrance like a blade.

“Why don’t you tell everyone what really happened the day my brother died, Giulia? You took him from me and now…”

Every head turned. Standing in the doorway was Valentina Romano.

A prestigious attorney known for her classic beauty and sharp intelligence, she now looked almost surreal in her grief. Dark hair framed delicate features. Eyes so much like Luca’s were filled with tears. Her once steady mouth trembled. She was not only beautiful; she was a living reminder of the tragedy, a painful echo of the man who was gone.

Chaos reignited instantly. Reporters surged forward with renewed frenzy, hungry for real conflict, for drama unscripted. Flashes exploded again. Questions overlapped. Luca Romano’s name echoed from every direction.

Giulia trembled. She had not been prepared to see Valentina again. She had not been ready for the avalanche of memories that came with someone who looked so much like Luca. The angelic smile she had worn for the press disappeared, replaced by sudden pallor. She stood frozen, body rigid, mouth slightly open as if to speak—but no sound came. It felt as though the air had been ripped from her lungs, the weight of the past crushing her chest.

Beside her, Vicenzo muttered a low curse, nearly inaudible but thick with restrained fury. His controlled facade fractured, replaced by a mix of concern and guilt. He stared at Valentina, dark eyes locked on the woman unraveling in the doorway.

Tears streamed down Valentina’s face as she whispered, voice breaking under grief:

“You promised you’d avenge Luca, Vicenzo. You swore to me. And now… now you’re with her?”

The words hung in the air, heavy with desperation and betrayal. Valentina couldn’t finish. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed right there in the doorway, under the stunned gaze of everyone present.

Vicenzo moved instantly. Without hesitation, he shoved Giulia’s hand from his arm in a sharp, almost violent motion. He rushed to Valentina, lifted her into his arms with surprising tenderness, and carried her through a side exit, disappearing from sight and leaving the hall in shocked silence.

Giulia stood alone.

At the center of the storm.

The silence lasted only a heartbeat before chaos erupted. Vicenzo’s abrupt departure with Valentina in his arms, the public accusation, the fainting spell—it was a feast for the press. Giulia, stranded in the center of the room, felt like prey cornered. Reporters advanced like a starving pack, microphones extended, flashes bursting against her face like falling stars from a merciless sky.

“Giulia, do you have anything to say about Luca’s death?”

“Were you and Vicenzo involved before?”

“What did you feel when you saw Luca’s sister?”

The questions merged into a wall of sound, a deafening buzz that invaded her mind. The flashes blinded her, turning the hall into bursts of white light and warped shadows. The air felt thick, almost solid, suffocating her. She tried to breathe, but her lungs refused. Her chest tightened, sharp pain spreading along her ribs, and the world began to spin.

The memories crashed in like a tidal wave.

Luca. His smile. The night of the engagement. The blood. The guilt.

Valentina’s voice—so much like his—echoing the accusation.

Giulia squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the images, the noise, the sensation of sinking. Her legs weakened, and she felt herself about to collapse. Panic clawed up her throat, a silent scream lodged in her chest. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. She was paralyzed in a waking nightmare, Luca’s face hovering in her mind while Valentina’s accusing eyes pierced through her.

Then she felt a firm hand on her arm. Not Vicenzo’s. A large, steady grip pulled her with quiet determination. She opened her eyes against the flashes and recognized the security guard—the same one who had escorted her the night before. He moved with brutal efficiency, using his body to block reporters and carve a narrow path through the chaos.

He dragged her away—almost carrying her, since her legs barely obeyed. The world still spun, but air returned to her lungs in desperate gulps. He guided her through a side door, away from the crowd, away from the frenzy, away from the hungry eyes of the press.

When she finally found herself in an empty corridor, leaning against a cold wall, Giulia slid down to the floor. Her hands trembled. Her body felt drained. The guard remained there, silent and protective.

She looked at him, and a smile of pure despair touched her lips.

It wasn’t relief.

It was bitter understanding.

She would still have to face the night.

The first night as Vicenzo Moretti’s possession.