Secrets and Threats

Rome wasn’t just resisting—it was ruled. By a man who thought he could challenge us. A man who believed that his control couldn’t be shaken.

Leonardo and I didn’t come to negotiate.

We came to win.

The message arrived early the next morning.

A formal request—not a demand—for an audience with Giancarlo Costa, the man who controlled Rome’s underground. He was the architect behind the hesitation, the whispered warnings, the disruptions in our territories.

Leonardo stood by the window, reading the invitation over twice before tossing it onto the desk with a smirk.

“He thinks this is still his game,” he murmured.

I picked up the note, scanning the carefully chosen words. “He wants to see if we’re reckless or careful.”

Leonardo poured himself a drink, turning to face me. “And which are we?”

I took a slow sip of my own glass before answering. “Neither. We’re inevitable.”

His laugh was low, rich. “I should have married you sooner.”

I smirked, setting down my drink. “You wouldn’t have been ready for me.”

Leonardo leaned against the desk, watching me now, the weight of his stare heavier than before. “And now?”

I stepped closer, tilting my head slightly. “Now you’re catching up.”

His fingers tapped against his glass once before he exhaled. “Let’s go teach Giancarlo what happens when he tries to rewrite the rules.”

The Grand Contessa, one of Rome’s most exclusive lounges, had been chosen as neutral ground. It was deliberately ostentatious—crystal chandeliers, gold filigree, high ceilings that drowned voices in elegance. A place designed for appearances rather than purpose.

We arrived together. Leonardo in perfectly tailored black, presence commanding yet effortless. I matched him, my dress a dark emerald, sleek and sharp, every detail meant to remind them that I wasn’t just a wife—I was a ruler.

Giancarlo was already waiting, flanked by two of his men. He was older, refined in his composure, but there was something calculated in the way he assessed us.

“DeMarcus,” he greeted first, then shifted his attention to me. “And the infamous Xena Marquis.”

I smiled, slow and measured. “Infamous? You flatter me.”

Giancarlo chuckled, gesturing for us to sit. “You move quickly. That’s dangerous.”

Leonardo leaned back in his chair, smirking. “No. What’s dangerous is thinking you can slow us down.”

Silence settled for a fraction of a second—just long enough to confirm that Giancarlo was calculating, adjusting, reassessing his approach.

“Rome does not bow easily,” he said finally.

I picked up my glass, tilting my head slightly. “Then it should prepare to kneel.”

The conversation had been tense, layered with silent challenges, but the outcome was inevitable—Giancarlo had been exposed. His control was slipping, and he knew it.

Back at the villa, Leonardo and I found ourselves in his private lounge, the weight of the evening lingering between us.

I paced the length of the room, the silk of my dress brushing against my skin with each movement. “He’s nervous.”

Leonardo sat on the couch, swirling his whiskey. “And nervous men make mistakes.”

I stopped near him, watching him now, something unspoken hanging in the air. “You enjoyed watching me play him, didn’t you?”

His blue eyes met mine, sharp and knowing. “You played him better than I expected.”

I smirked, stepping closer. “Did you doubt me?”

Leonardo exhaled, amusement flickering across his features. “Never. But I like watching you prove them wrong.”

I reached for his drink, taking the glass from his fingers, holding it just between us. “You like watching me, period.”

He chuckled, the sound low, rich, dangerous. “And what if I do?”

I took a slow sip of his whiskey before responding. “Then you’re smarter than most men.”

Leonardo set his glass aside, standing now, his presence closing the space between us. “I’d say marrying you proves that already.”

His proximity was deliberate now, calculated but charged with something else—something heavier, something neither of us were pulling away from.

I arched a brow. “And here I thought you married me for strategy.”

Leonardo smirked, fingers brushing the edge of my wrist. “Strategy was only part of it.”

I laughed softly, tilting my head just enough to make him chase the movement. “And the rest?”

His thumb traced a slow path against my skin. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

I could feel the pulse of the moment, the shift in tension, the silent challenge that neither of us had acknowledged until now.

And for once, I let him have his victory.

“Maybe later.”

Leonardo chuckled, stepping back, but his eyes lingered. “Careful, Xena. One day, I’ll make you answer your own questions.”

I smirked, retrieving my drink, settling into the chair opposite him. “Then you better be patient.”

Leonardo raised his glass, amusement still thick between us. “I’m learning.”

And with that, the war continued.

And so did we.

The night had confirmed what we needed—Giancarlo’s empire wasn’t unshakable. It was fractured.

And now?

We were ready to break it.