Chapter 55 - Jealous Hearts, Sharp Tongues

The grand ballroom shimmered with a glow that could only be described as dangerous, too perfect, too polished, hiding the serpents slithering just beneath its golden surface.

Talana’s fingers were laced through Massimo’s, but even that connection couldn’t quiet the fire curling in her chest.

Chiara Bellini, That name had always stirred something in Talana, long before she knew the depths of her cruelty. Now, seeing her in full armor, that silver dress clinging to every deliberate curve, Talana’s instincts were screaming.

Chiara had made her move. She approached, oozing charm and venom in equal measurefuls, her voice as saccharine as it was pointed. And worst of all, Massimo hadn’t stopped her right away.

Talana’s hand tightened slightly in his, her knuckles going pale. Massimo didn’t look at her, not yet. He stood still, his expression unreadable, like he was watching Chiara speak from behind a glass wall.

“I must say, you clean up well, Massimo,” Chiara purred, her fingers lightly grazing the lapel of his tuxedo. “I remember when you used to leave your jacket crumpled on my floor.”

Talana’s stomach churned. Her jaw tensed, the heat of humiliation brushing her cheeks. She stepped half a pace back, enough that the cool air of the ballroom licked at her bare shoulders.

Massimo didn't move. He didn’t immediately pull away. He let Chiara’s fingers linger for a second too long.

The burn of betrayal, brief but sharp, flared in Talana's chest.

“Oh,” Chiara added with a sly smirk, “and how the tables have turned. The mighty Morelli clinging to the new queen. Tell me, Massimo, are you guarding her? Or, using her?”

The flash of that question made Talana step forward before she realized it. Her voice was low, measured, but ice cold.

“Funny. I was about to ask if you were here as a guest or a ghost.”

Chiara turned, lips twitching into a brittle smile as she regarded Talana with practiced disdain. “Ah, the new Dona speaks. I wondered how long you’d stay silent and let your man handle your fights.”

Massimo finally stirred. He stepped between them, his voice steady. “Enough.”

Talana blinked.

Enough?

That was all?

No sharp rejection. No scathing dismissal of Chiara’s poison. Just a diplomatic ceasefire?

Her stomach twisted tighter.

Chiara chuckled softly. “Always the diplomat, Massimo. You were never good at choosing sides, were you?”

“I chose a long time ago,” he said, his eyes flicking toward Talana, but the fire she needed wasn’t in them. And for Talana, that wasn’t enough.

She turned, ignoring the feel of his hand brushing her shoulder as he tried to guide her away. “I need air,” she muttered.

“Talana—”

But she was already walking, heels clicking like gunshots against the marble floor, her pulse thundering in her ears. She pushed through the doors leading to one of the quiet balconies overlooking the water.

The cool night air bit at her skin. She welcomed it.

Her mind spiraled. She had faced worse, humiliation, betrayal, captivity. But this, this felt intimate. Personal. Because it came from the man she loved and trusted most.

She gripped the stone railing tightly.

Was she overreacting? Maybe. But wasn’t she entitled to feel hurt when someone like Chiara, someone who had tried to destroy her, was given even a sliver of ground?

Behind her, the sound of a door creaked and Massimo stepped outside.

“Don’t,” she said, without turning.

“I didn’t let her get to me.”

“But you let her touch you.”

A beat of silence passed.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t stop her,” Talana said, finally turning to face him. Her voice was steel now, her eyes lit with betrayal. “You could’ve shut her down. Right there. In front of everyone. But instead, you stood there like a statue while she humiliated me.”

Massimo took a step forward. “I didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“She already was a scene!”

Their voices were low, hidden from the ballroom, but crackling with electricity. Massimo ran a hand through his hair, frustration curling around him.

“You think I care about her?” he snapped. “You think she matters to me, after everything we’ve been through?”

“I think you didn’t show her she didn’t matter,” Talana replied sharply.

In the background the music drifted faintly from inside, elegant and detached. A cruel contrast.

Massimo stepped closer, reaching for her hand, but Talana pulled away.

“I stood in front of a crowd of killers and thieves and claimed my birthright tonight. I faced the ghosts of my past and looked them in the eye. But somehow, this, this is what hurts.”

Massimo’s face softened. “I didn’t realize…”

“Because you don’t see her the way I do. You clearly never did. She tried to ruin me. She had a hand in my mother’s death, my career, my life.”

“I know that now,” he said quietly. “And I’m not defending her. But you know where I stand. You know I’m with you.”

Talana’s eyes searched his, and for the first time tonight, she saw something real, something remorseful.

Still, the damage was done.

Before either of them could say more, the balcony doors opened once again, and out stepped Chiara.

Of course.

Her eyes glittered, reading the tension instantly.

“Trouble in paradise?” she said, almost innocently.

Talana’s hand curled into a fist at her side. Massimo looked between the two women, his mouth tight.

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome,” he said, finally.

Chiara tilted her head. “Did I? Or did I just peel back a layer you two weren’t ready to face?”

“Leave,” Talana said, her voice like shattered glass. “Now.”

Chiara’s smile turned to ice. “You think you’ve won, Talana. But this empire has a long memory. Be careful who you trust. Even the ones who say they love you.” She turned and left.

Talana turned to Massimo. "You too Don Morelli!"

"Bella Mia?"

"Please just leave." The pain in her eyes greater than any pain he'd ever seen.

All that was left on the balcony was the sound of the waves below and Talana's aching heart.

Massimo stood frozen as the balcony doors clicked shut behind him.

She had told him to leave. And for the first time in he listened to the command of a woman.

Not because he wanted to. Not because it was easy. But because the look in Talana’s eyes, so full of betrayal, rage, and heartbreak, had severed something inside him. She needed space, and tonight, that was the only thing he could give.

Talana remained outside, gripping the cold stone railing like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, each one heavier than the last.

Everything inside her twisted like a snarl of barbed wire.

She had bared her soul to this man. Given him all the broken parts of herself. And still, still he hadn’t cast Chiara off like the venomous wretch she was. Instead, Talana had been left to fend for herself while her enemies poked and prodded for cracks in her armor.

The moment Chiara had touched him, Talana had known. That woman wanted more than to humiliate her, she wanted Massimo . She wanted anything and everything Talana had, for herself.

No matter how secure she’d once felt, that threat, the threat of Massimo with another woman, was now lodged deep in her mind like a splinter.

She stayed out on the balcony until the night air numbed her arms and legs. Until her emotions dulled from roaring fire to cold ash.

When she finally returned to the ballroom, it was quieter. The music had shifted to something slow and classical, a lull after the earlier storm of celebration.

Massimo was nowhere in sight.

"Good, he's out of sight," she thought bitterly.

She made her way toward the back of the ballroom, where the guests had thinned into clusters of hushed conversation and exchanged glances.

Talana passed a group of older men, one of whom tipped his head politely, the corners of his mouth twitching in respect, or perhaps amusement.

She caught only snippets of their murmurs.

“—quite the outburst…”

“...Morelli’s girl, no, the Dona now. Dangerous, that one…”

She ignored them. Let them whisper. Let them fear her. She’d earned that fear.

Then a voice cut through the crowd that made her blood run cold.

“I just don’t know how he puts up with her temper. She’s beautiful, yes, but fire like that burns everything eventually.”

It was a woman’s voice. Soft, velvety. Familiar.

Talana turned her head slowly.

Chiara. Again. But it wasn’t just her presence that stung, it was the person she was speaking to, Matteo, one of Massimo’s inner circle. Loyal. Calculating. And currently sipping from a glass of whisky, standing far too close to Chiara, allowing her every word to drip into his ear like poison.

“I always admired Massimo’s loyalty,” Chiara went on, her tone so smooth it was almost seductive. “But I wonder how long it will last when he’s constantly cleaning up her emotional messes.”

Matteo didn’t respond immediately, but he didn’t walk away either. And that was enough to snap something loose in Talana.

She stormed forward, not caring who watched. “You seem awfully invested in my emotional messes, Chiara. Would you like me to make a new one?”

Chiara blinked, as if she hadn’t expected Talana to reappear, but she recovered fast. “Talana, darling. I was just sharing my concern with someone who clearly values Massimo’s well-being.”

Matteo stiffened. “Talana, it’s not what it sounds like.”

She didn’t even look at him. “It sounds exactly like betrayal.”

Matteo opened his mouth to explain, but Massimo arrived just then, stepping between them like a shadow.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low and tight.

Talana looked at him, eyes blazing. “Why don’t you ask your consigliere what he’s been doing while Chiara slithers her poison around the room?”

Massimo turned to Matteo, who held up both hands in surrender. “I wasn’t agreeing with her. I was trying to bait her, get her talking. You know I wouldn’t betray you, Massimo.”

Chiara let out a soft laugh. “Please. As if you men don’t trade secrets and lovers like chips on a poker table.”

That did it. Talana lunged. She didn’t care about etiquette. Didn’t care that half the guests had turned to watch. Her hand collided with Chiara’s cheek with a sharp crack that echoed across the marble floors.

The room went silent.

Chiara staggered back, a hand to her face, mouth parted in stunned disbelief.

Talana didn’t wait for Massimo. Didn’t wait for an apology, or a lecture, or a scene.

She turned and left the ballroom, this time not stopping at the balcony. She marched straight through the halls of the villa, down corridors she barely remembered from the earlier procession, until she found a door leading to one of the gardens.

The cold night bit harder here. The breeze carried the scent of roses and damp stone. And still, it wasn’t enough to soothe the fury storming inside her.

Footsteps followed.

She didn’t turn. “Don’t.”

“Talana.” His voice was close now. She could feel the warmth of him behind her, even as she tried to will it away. “You think I wanted any of this?”

“I think you didn’t stop it.”

“I didn’t know she’d target Matteo. I didn’t know she’d show up at all. And I sure as hell didn’t know she’d try to turn my own people against you.”

“She doesn’t have to try very hard, apparently,” Talana snapped.

Massimo grabbed her arm, not roughly, but firmly and turned her to face him. “You’re not alone in this. No matter what poison Chiara spreads, no matter what words get twisted, you are the only one I choose. Every time. Even when you hate me.”

Talana’s eyes shimmered with tears she hadn’t meant to let surface. “Then why does it hurt so damn much?”

Massimo leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper. “Because you’re not just the Dona. You’re the woman I’ve been in love with since before I even understood what love meant. And that makes every wound feel like a war.”

Her breath hitched.

He stepped back just enough to give her space, but not enough to let her fall.

“I can fix this,” he said. “Let me.”

She didn’t answer. Not yet. But for the first time all night, the fire in her chest dimmed to a steady glow, still burning, but no longer consuming.

And Massimo stayed with her in that silence, waiting, not for forgiveness, but for the chance to earn it.