Chapter 8 The Night of the Broken Promise

The cold floor of the corridor still marked Giulia’s skin, but the dizziness was fading, replaced by a deep exhaustion. She blinked, the dim hallway light seeming like a balm to her sensitive eyes. The guard, a silent shadow, was still there, a few steps away, a presence she barely registered. In a corner of her mind, a bitter disappointment began to simmer. Vicenzo. He had left her there, alone, after shouting to the world that she was his fiancée, his possession. The irony was a slow poison.

A dry, humorless laugh escaped her cracked lips. How foolish. She laughed at herself, at the absurd expectation that had invaded her for a second. He had not left out of concern, but convenience. She was nothing more than a piece in his game, someone Vicenzo intended to destroy. And he would. The image of him carrying Valentina in his arms came back with full force, as clear as a photograph. The gentleness with which he held her, the urgency in his steps. She is the kind he seems to protect, not me. The realization was a cold blow, but a necessary one.

Giulia pushed herself up, her legs still slightly trembling, but determination stiffening her spine. She could not stay there, sprawled on the floor. She could not afford to feel sorry for herself. The image of Valentina fainting, the public accusation, the pain in Luca’s sister’s eyes — all of it burned her. She could not bear the idea that someone so much like Luca, with the same deep, dark eyes, believed she had killed him. That she did not know how much Giulia had loved him.

A knot formed in her throat. She needed to explain. She needed to make Valentina understand that Luca had been taken from her too, that the pain of loss was a burden they both carried. Vicenzo’s circus did not matter. The press did not matter. Valentina needed to know the truth, or at least her truth.

Giulia took one hesitant step, then another, her body still protesting, but her mind focused. She ignored the guard, who made a subtle movement as if to stop her, then hesitated. The side door, through which Vicenzo had disappeared with Valentina, was slightly ajar. A thread of light slipped through, and with it, the promise of confrontation. She had to go. She had to clear her name, at least for the sister of the man she loved.

Giulia walked toward the half-open door at the end of the hallway. With each step, her determination grew. She would speak to Valentina. She would make Luca’s sister understand. Not for herself, not for Valentina, but for Luca. He deserved that.

When she was close enough, she heard Vicenzo’s voice, an urgent growl ordering that a doctor be called. Giulia felt a stab of concern. Was Valentina’s condition serious? The guard, rushing out to carry out Vicenzo’s orders, nearly knocked her over, but she did not care. She reached out to enter, but stopped. The scene inside was too intimate for a third person.

Her throat tightened. Seeing Vicenzo holding Valentina’s hand with such tenderness made her remember. Once, she had someone who did the same for her. Luca. But now she did not. That kind of touch, of care, was a memory that tore her apart.

The plea in Valentina’s voice made her pay attention to the conversation unfolding inside. Valentina was begging Vicenzo not to marry. And then Giulia saw in Valentina’s eyes the same love she had once felt for Luca. A desperate love, painful just to look at.

Vicenzo’s words that followed only showed Giulia how everything had changed. He spoke, explaining how he would destroy her. That was not what struck her — she had known that when she signed the paper. What struck her was the interpretation that Vicenzo was saying all of that because he loved Valentina. And that made her remember that she would never love again, or be loved that way again. That kind of love, of protection, had died with Luca. And seeing him there, offering it to someone else, even if it was Luca’s sister, was a cruel blow.

The shrill ring of Vicenzo’s phone brought her back to the present, tearing her from that haze of pain. She blinked, her heart pounding in her chest, almost suffocating her. She heard Vicenzo say he needed to take the call, that he would return. He was standing up.

Panic. Pure and irrational. Giulia did not want to be caught there, spying. She did not want him to know she had witnessed that intimate moment, that veiled promise of love and protection. She turned abruptly, her body spinning in a quick, clumsy movement, her dress brushing against the wall. Her feet barely touched the floor as she ran back down the corridor, the sound of her own steps muffling the chaos in her mind. The air burned in her lungs. She did not know why she was running, why the idea of being seen there terrified her so much. She only knew she needed to disappear before he found her. Before he saw the proof of her humiliation in her eyes.

Giulia dragged herself back to the room. The shower was quick, the hot water trying to wash away not only the dirt, but the entire day of humiliation. She sat in the armchair, the soft robe unable to warm the cold she felt inside. She tried not to think. About Vicenzo, about Valentina, about the promise of destruction. But her mind was a battlefield.

The room was silent, heavy. She stared at the door, part of her expecting, part of her fearing. When would he appear? To carry out all those threats he had made, not to her, but to Valentina, about what he would do to the “intruder”? The hours dragged on, each tick of the clock on the wall sounding like a hammer striking her skull. The light outside dimmed, the room sinking into shadows. He did not come.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Of course. He was busy. With the love of his life, Valentina. The scene in the private room replayed in her mind: his hands in hers, her plea, his promise. Giulia stood up, her body heavy with exhaustion. There was no point in waiting. He would not come. She dragged herself to the bed, the soft mattress feeling like an abyss. She closed her eyes, searching for sleep that seemed impossible.

The click of the door was the loudest sound she had ever heard. She opened her eyes, her heart racing. Vicenzo was there.

Without his jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tie loosened and hanging around his neck. His dark hair was disheveled, falling over his forehead. He was beautiful in a dangerous way, almost wild. But it was not his beauty that struck her. It was his eyes. Light blue, like ice, but with a gleam that revealed someone who had just come out of hell. Her eyes, dark as night, widened.

In his hand, he held a whip.

He took a slow step into the room, the door closing softly behind him. The sound was final. The air turned dense, heavy.

“It’s time, sweetheart.” His voice was low, rough, but each word was a cut. “I’m going to show you what happens to those who defy me.”