Chapter 10

Betrayal in the Frame

She stood outside Giulia’s apartment in the Navigli district, clutching a faded photo of her and Giulia, taken years ago when they were teenagers, laughing under a summer sky. Now, that memory felt like a lie. Sergio’s warning about a mole echoed in her mind, and Giulia’s name had surfaced in a text from an unknown number, slipped into her clutch after the club last night: Giulia’s talking to Sofia. Safehouse compromised. Livia’s heart pounded, her auburn hair sticking to her neck as she steeled herself. Giulia, her childhood friend, had sold her out.

The safehouse key Alessandro gave her weighed in her pocket. She couldn’t afford to lose that trust. But Giulia’s betrayal cut deeper than Dante’s voicemails or Sofia’s taunts. Livia had trusted her, shared secrets over late-night coffees, only to learn she’d leaked her plans to Sofia, Dante’s scheming ally. The photo trembled in her hand, Giulia’s smile now a smirk. Livia’s green eyes narrowed with resolve hardening like the steel she’d forged burning Dante’s voicemails last night. She wasn’t that gambled bride anymore—she was a player, and players didn’t forgive traitors.

She knocked on Giulia’s door, the sound sharp against the canal’s quiet ripple. Giulia opened it, her blonde hair messy, her eyes widening with a flicker of guilt. “Livia?” she said, her voice too bright, like she hadn’t expected a reckoning. “What’s wrong?”

Livia stepped inside, the apartment’s clutter—wine bottles, scattered magazines—mirroring Giulia’s unraveling loyalty. “Don’t play innocent,” Livia said, her voice low, cutting. She held up the photo, her fingers tight enough to crease it. “You told Sofia about the safehouse. You sold me out.”

Giulia’s face paled, her hands fidgeting with a bracelet Livia had given her years ago. “I didn’t—Livia, you’re wrong!” she stammered, but her eyes darted to the floor, betraying her. “I’d never hurt you.”

“Then why’s Sofia breathing down my neck?” Livia snapped, stepping closer, her heels clicking on the hardwood. “Why’s my safehouse compromised, Giulia? You were my friend.” Her voice cracked, not from weakness but from the raw sting of betrayal, a wound deeper than Dante’s gambling ever cut.

Giulia’s lips trembled, her facade crumbling. “Sofia offered me a way out,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “My brother’s debts—they’re drowning me. She promised cash, connections.” She reached for Livia’s hand, but Livia pulled back, her green eyes blazing.

“You chose her over me,” Livia said, her tone ice-cold, her heart racing. “You knew what Dante did, how he gambled me away. And you still fed me to her.”

She held up the photo, her fingers shaking with rage, and pulled out the lighter she’d used on Dante’s voicemails. The flame sparked, catching the edge of the photo, Giulia’s smile blackening as it curled into ash. “We’re done.”

Giulia’s sob broke the silence, but Livia turned, as the burning photo dropped to the floor fading like their friendship. She walked out into the canal’s damp air cooling her skin. Betrayal had sharpened her, not broken her. She was done being anyone’s pawn.

Back at Alessandro’s penthouse with the storm in Livia’s chest, she paced the living room, absorbed in her thoughts. The mysterious text about Giulia gnawed at her—who sent it? The mole Sergio warned about, or someone else watching her moves? She needed to tell Alessandro, but the safehouse key in her pocket held her back. His trust was her leverage, and she couldn’t risk it until she knew more.

Her phone buzzed, another voicemail from Dante. She played it, her jaw tight. “Livia, you can’t run,” he slurred, his voice thick with desperation. “Sofia’s got plans, and you’re in the way. Come back to me.”

She deleted it, her thumb steady, her pity for him gone. But Sofia’s plans—tied to Giulia’s betrayal—were a threat she couldn’t ignore. Clara’s article, Matteo’s vengeful shadow, the mole—they were all pieces in a game she was learning to master.

Alessandro’s footsteps broke her thoughts. He entered, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, eyes scanning her with that quiet intensity that saw everything.

“You’re restless again,” he said, his voice low, introverted but piercing, the faint scar on his jaw catching the light. He leaned against the counter, his cedarwood scent drifting toward her. “What happened?”

Livia’s breath caught. She could keep Giulia’s betrayal secret, protect her own moves, but his trust—the key, his “You’re my equal” from the club—demanded honesty. She met his gaze, her green eyes fierce.

“Giulia sold me out to Sofia,” she said, her voice steady but raw. “She leaked the safehouse. I ended it.”

His brow arched, a flicker of surprise breaking his reserve. “You burned that bridge,” he said, not a question, his lips twitching with something like pride. He stepped closer, his hand brushing her arm, a possessive touch softened by respect. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Livia”.

”So are you,” she shot back, her chin lifting, defiance sparking. “But you trusted me with a key. I’m sure l trust you with this.” She held his gaze, her heart pounding, the memory of Giulia’s guilt flashing in her mind. Trust was a risk, but so was betrayal, and she’d survived both.

Alessandro’s eyes darkened, his fingers pausing on Vincenzo’s watch in his pocket, a habit that betrayed his guilt. “You’re not just surviving,” he said, his voice soft but firm, like a vow. “You’re fighting.” He closed the distance between them, his hand cupping her cheek, his touch warm, grounding. “And I’m with you.” Her pulse raced, his closeness igniting a spark she wasn’t ready to name. The club’s dance, his “I want yours,” echoed in her mind, a promise of partnership, not possession.

“Then we need to find the mole,” she said, in a low urgent voice. “Someone’s watching us, Alessandro. They knew about Giulia.”

His jaw tightened, his hand dropping to her shoulder, protective but not controlling. “We’ll find them,” he said, his tone clipped, his eyes searching hers. “But you need to rest. Tomorrow, we hit back.” She nodded, her fingers brushing the safehouse key, her resolve steeling.

Giulia’s betrayal was ash, Dante’s voicemails were dust, and Sofia’s schemes were next. As Alessandro’s hand lingered on her shoulder, his trust a weapon, Livia knew she wasn’t just a gambled bride—she was a queen, and Milan’s underworld would bend to her will.