CHAPTER 7:The Rome Ultimatum

Day 19 started with a summons, not a call.

“Signore Bianchi requires your presence in Rome. Tonight. Both of you.” Marco’s assistant didn’t blink when she said it. Just handed Giulia a flight ticket and a black dress box.

Giulia stared at the ticket. FCO. 8pm. “He knows.”

Marco was already in his suit, tie undone, jaw tight. “He knows something. Contessa called him after dinner. Told him about the kiss at the gala. About Valentina. About how ‘public’ we’ve been.”

Giulia’s stomach dropped. “Day 19 of 30. We’re not even halfway.”

“Exactly.” Marco tossed his keys on the table. “Which is why we’re going. If he cancels the merger now, we lose everything.”

The private jet to Rome was silent. Giulia sat by the window, watching clouds turn pink over the Apennines. Marco sat across from her, laptop open but eyes closed. Neither spoke about the kiss. Neither could.

“Why did you do it?” Giulia finally asked. Voice barely above the engine noise. “In the office. You could’ve signed the papers and let me go.”

Marco opened his eyes. “Because you were drowning and I couldn’t watch it anymore. Because 30 days felt like a death sentence if I didn’t touch you once.”

“That’s not part of the deal.”

“I know.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “And I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry I kissed you, Giulia. I’m only sorry it took me 8 years to admit I still want you.”

Giulia looked away. Her hands gripped the armrest. “Don’t. We have 11 days left. Don’t make it harder.”

“Harder than pretending you don’t feel it too?” Marco’s voice was low. “I saw your face, piccola. You kissed me back.”

The plane landed before she could answer.

Rome at night was gold and stone and too much history. The Bianchi family villa here was older than Milan’s. Taller gates. Colder air. Contessa Isabella waited on the steps, arms crossed. Signore Bianchi stood beside her, cane in hand, eyes sharp as ever.

“You’re late,” Contessa said as Giulia stepped out.

“My apologies, Contessa,” Marco said smoothly, stepping in front of Giulia. “Traffic from Linate.”

“Traffic.” Signore Bianchi’s voice was dry. “And the ring?”

Giulia held out her left hand. The fake diamond caught the light. “It’s here, sir.”

He studied it. Then her face. Then Marco’s. “Inside. We dine. Then we talk.”

Dinner was worse than Lake Como. No Sofia to break tension. No pasta to hide behind. Just four people, a chandelier, and the weight of 4 billion euro on the table.

Halfway through the second course, Signore Bianchi set down his fork. “Marco. Tell me why my grandson’s ‘fiancée’ works for his project manager’s salary and not her own company.”

Giulia froze. “I—”

“She chose to work with me,” Marco cut in. “Because she’s good at it. Because she sees problems before I do. Because she’s not here for my money.”

“Isn’t she?” Contessa asked, eyes on Giulia. “€35,000 hospital bill paid 3 days ago. From Bianchi Foundation. Your mother’s account.”

The room went silent. Giulia’s blood went cold. She hadn’t told Marco. The hospital had filed the paperwork under his name because Luca used to work for him.

Marco didn’t flinch. “Yes. I paid it.”

“You see?” Contessa leaned forward. “Gold digger.”

“No.” Marco stood up. Chair scraped stone. “She didn’t ask. She didn’t know I saw the invoice. I paid it because she’s my fiancée. Because that’s what you do when you love someone.”

Giulia shot to her feet too. “I don’t need your charity, Marco.”

“And I don’t need your pride,” he shot back, but his eyes were soft. “Not when your mother’s life is on the line.”

Signore Bianchi raised a hand. Silence fell. “Enough. Marco. Take Giulia to the garden. We will talk after.”

The garden was all cypress trees and moonlight. Giulia walked fast, heels clicking on stone. “You promised no lies. No hiding things.”

“I didn’t hide it,” Marco said. “I just didn’t announce it. Would you have let me pay if I asked?”

“No.”

“Exactly.” He stopped her, hands on her shoulders. “Giulia, listen to me. In 11 days this contract ends. The merger signs in 3 days. After that, you can walk away. No money. No ring. Nothing.”

“Then why are you doing this?” Tears burned her eyes. “Why pay €35,000 if I’m just a 30-day lie?”

“Because you’re not a lie to me.” His thumbs brushed her cheeks. “You never were. Even at 17. Even when I left. You were the one real thing in my life.”

Giulia shook her head. “Don’t say that. Not now. Not with 11 days left.”

“Why not?” He stepped closer. “What happens on Day 30 that makes the truth illegal?”

“The contract.”

“Screw the contract.” For the first time, CEO Marco was gone. Just Marco. 27, desperate, honest. “Screw my grandfather. Screw Valentina. Tell me what you want, Giulia.”

She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to run back to Milan and pretend none of this happened.

“I want my mother alive,” she whispered. “I want Luca safe. I want to stop feeling like a pawn in your family’s game.”

“You’re not a pawn.” He pulled her against his chest. Not a kiss. Just an embrace. “You’re the queen. You always were. I was just too stupid to see it.”

Giulia let herself stay there for 10 seconds. Breathing him in. Cedar and cologne and something that felt like home. Then she pulled back.

“3 days until the merger,” she said, voice steady. “We play the part. We sign the deal. Day 30, we end it. Clean. No more kisses. No more ‘I love you’ moments. Deal?”

Marco stared at her for a long time. Then nodded once. “Deal.”

But his eyes said he was lying.

They walked back inside. Signore Bianchi was waiting, cane tapping once on the marble.

“Marco,” he said. “The merger board meets Friday. If Giulia is truly your fiancée, she signs the family clause with you. Tomorrow. In front of witnesses.”

Giulia blinked. “Family clause?”

“A Bianchi tradition,” Contessa said, smiling thinly. “Any spouse of a Bianchi CEO must sign. It binds her assets to the company if there’s divorce within 5 years. To protect the family name.”

Giulia’s stomach fell. “I don’t have assets.”

“You have your name,” Signore Bianchi said. “Your reputation. Your brother’s job. Sign it, and I believe this is real. Refuse, and the merger is off.”

Marco went still. “Nonno—”

“Tomorrow, 9am,” the old man cut him off. “Decide, Giulia Romano. Are you marrying my grandson, or are you lying to us all?”

The room spun. Giulia looked at Marco. He looked back, and for once he had no answer. No CEO mask. No plan.