Page 15 of Vows Made in Silence
I take a step closer to Luca, barely realizing I’ve done it. Geno sees. His smirk deepens.
“So, it’s true then?” he murmurs. “She's all yours.”
Luca doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to.
Geno continues, circling just enough to put space between us and the door. “I was under the impression this exhibit was a safe zone after our last meeting. Neutral ground. But then I walk inand find you two at odds. Makes a man wonder what he’s really stepped into.”
Luca takes another step forward. “The next step you take better be toward the door—or I make this ground anything but neutral.”
—
But Geno doesn’t move. He just lets out a low, mocking chuckle.
“I miss the old days,” he says, casually inspecting one of the sculptures as if we’re not a breath from bloodshed. “When territory lines were drawn in bullets, not gallery openings.”
“You’ve got thirty seconds,” Luca warns, his tone colder now—deadlier.
“And yet, here we are,” Geno continues, ignoring him. “In this pretty little exhibit, surrounded by glass and sentiment. Funny thing about art—it reveals more than it hides.”
His eyes cut to me again. “You always did have good taste, Giuliana. Too good to stay buried under a new name forever.”
I freeze.
My spine stiffens. He knows. Not just about the alias. But more. Or he’s fishing—either way, the danger sharpens like a blade at my throat.
“Why are you really here, Geno?” I ask.
He smiles. “Let’s just say... I like to be ahead of the narrative. And I heard the Moretti are rewriting history. Thought I’d stop by and see which chapter we’re on.”
Luca’s jaw clenches. “You’ve got five seconds to walk out before I write your ending myself.”
—
Geno raises an eyebrow, unfazed. "You always were dramatic, Moretti.
Luca doesn’t blink. His silence is a countdown.
Geno sighs, brushing a speck of dust from his lapel. "Fine. You want honesty? Here it is. New York doesn’t like surprises, and your sudden appearance in Las Vegas—this little reunion with your long-lost curator—has them twitchy.
I blame myself, of course," Geno continued smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks as if he owned the goddamned room. "That Warhol gift? Should’ve known better. The familiarity—the way she handled it. The way she looked at it, touched it—"
His eyes flicked to me, slow and deliberate. "It told me everything I needed to know. That this gallery was no ordinary front—and that its pretty little curator had a much deeper history with the man now sitting at the top of the Moretti empire."
I stiffened.
Geno’s gaze returned to Luca, gleaming with poison. "So, I looked. Dug where the polite boys wouldn’t. And what do you know? Your little Giuliana wasn’t as lost as the story claimed. A new name, a new life… but not enough to stay out of reach."
His grin curled into something colder. More dangerous. "And now? Well—" his tone dropped lower, dripping with jealousy, "you’ve conquered your next tasting, haven’t you, Moretti? Claimed what the rest of us were only meant to admire from a distance."
He took a slow step forward, eyes glittering. "You must’ve known I'd come calling when word spread. A man doesn’t let something that tempting slip through untouched. Especially when it was nearly mine to begin with."
Luca’s jaw flexed. His hand hovered near his jacket again, a predator’s stillness.
"She was never yours," he said. "And you’re one heartbeat away from finding out what happens to men who pretend otherwise."
Geno’s smile faded. "Funny," he said, gaze flicking between us again. "Because for a woman who ran so hard from this life, she’s awfully tangled in it now. Which makes her... fair game, Luca. And you know how games work."
The threat hung there, thick and choking.
