Chapter 5
Lorenzo
I’m just finishing a call when the door to my office swings open and Francesca Marino breezes in like she owns the place.
Every line of her body is deliberate from the tilt of her chin, the curve of her hip, and to the way one hand clutches a designer purse.
The black dress clings close, elegant and unforgiving, the kind of thing that demands attention without asking for it.
Her hair is sleek, cut sharp as a blade, framing her face in perfect precision. The glossy black of her bob, the shimmer of silver around her throat, the dark polish on her nails—it’s like she’s been painted in power. She looks at me with hazel eyes that don’t flinch as she glides toward me.
“Fran,” I greet, standing to kiss her cheek. “What a surprise.”
She smiles and returns the kiss. “I was in the area and wanted to say hello.”
Fran never does anything by accident, which means there’s another reason she’s here.
She pauses, looking up at me with those eyes that could melt steel when she wants them to. “Did you tell her?”
And there it is. The real reason she’s here. It makes me cringe inside, but I don’t show it. Nothing good ever comes from showing cracks.
“Unfortunately, not yet,” I say, moving around the desk to pour myself another cup of espresso. “There was an incident in Kansas City. I plan to tell her tonight.”
It was Fran’s idea to have Sienna come home, now that her courses are finished until after the new year. A simple suggestion that suddenly feels like fate twisting the knife, especially with Miss Miller also being here.
Fran nods, her expression smoothing into something practiced. “Of course. Would you like me to be there?”
I take a sip before answering, mostly to buy time. The bitter heat hits the back of my throat, grounding me.
Having my fiancée—who’s nearly the same age as my daughter—there when I tell said daughter I’m getting married to produce a male heir?
That will go over about as well as a gun at Sunday mass.
I set the cup down and give her a measured smile. “That conversation will go better if I’m the only one she wants to kill.”
Fran laughs softly, gliding closer. Her perfume curls into the narrow space between us, sweet and cloying.
“You always think she’s going to hate me,” she purrs. “You might be surprised. We might become best friends.”
Best friends. The word grates. Because the moment she says it, my mind flickers—not to her, not even to Sienna—but to Sienna’s actual best friend.
The curvy girl who’s gotten under my skin in a way I can’t shake.
Miss Miller should’ve been forgettable. Just another face that I can glance over once and never think about again.
But I do think about her.
Too much.
I think about the leggings I picked out, how they hugged her hips, how impossible it was not to stare. I think about the soft knit of her sweater and how badly I wanted to slip my hands beneath it, curl my fingers into the warmth of her skin, feel how she’d melt against me.
And worst of all—
I think about how I woke up this morning with my cock hard, chest tight, heart pounding, with the image of her blue eyes looking up at me. Trusting. Hopeful. Close enough to kiss. Only with her it wouldn’t be tenderness.
It would be hunger.
Need.
Obsession simmering under my skin, breaking through every carefully built wall I’ve spent years hiding behind.
And Fran is standing here, smiling, untouched by the mess brewing inside me and has no idea how close I am to losing control.
“I doubt it,” I murmur, brushing my thumb across her jaw. “Sienna’s her mother’s daughter. She’ll see this for what it is before I can explain why it has to happen.”
Her smile falters just slightly. “You make it sound so transactional.”
“Because it is,” I reply, meeting her gaze head-on. “Marriage has always been about legacy, Fran. You knew that when you agreed.”
For a moment, the silence between us stretches. Then she softens again, tilting her head. “And yet, you still kissed me like it wasn’t.”
“Don’t mistake necessity for lack of pleasure.”
Her answering smile is equal parts satisfaction and warning. “I’ll see you tonight, Lorenzo. Try not to make her hate me before I even walk in the door.”
She turns to leave, her heels clicking across the marble like a countdown.
Sienna’s going to be furious. But it doesn’t matter. In this world, peace is temporary. Legacy is not. And I always finish what I start.
But apparently, the universe has a sense of humor.
Because before Fran can reach the door, it swings open and my daughter barrels in, laughing at something over her shoulder. Elizabeth follows a step behind, stopping short when she realizes I’m not alone.
The laughter dies instantly.
Sienna freezes mid-step, her smile fading as her eyes flick between me and Fran.
“Dad,” she says carefully. “We didn’t know you had company.”
Fran’s poise doesn’t crack. She merely smooths an invisible wrinkle from her coat. “You must be Sienna,” she says pleasantly. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Yeah,” Sienna says slowly, narrowing her eyes. “And you are?”
“Francesca Marino,” I answer before Fran can. “My fiancée.”
The silence that follows could split the earth.
Sienna’s mouth falls open. “I’m sorry—your what?”
Fran offers a delicate smile, extending her hand. “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”
Sienna doesn’t take it.
Behind her, Elizabeth looks like she’s trying to disappear, her wide blue eyes darting between the three of us. I catch her gaze for a brief moment, and something twists low in my chest.
“Sienna,” I begin, my voice calm but firm, “this isn’t the place for a scene.”
She lets out a disbelieving laugh. “A scene? Dad, you’re getting married, and this is how you tell me? In passing? While she’s standing right there?”
Fran shifts subtly, and I can feel the heat of her indignation. I round the desk, going to Fran’s side. As much as my daughter doesn’t like this, she knows better than to question me.
But Sienna’s chest bows up the same way it did when she was a child and about to throw a fit.
“Maybe we should give them a moment,” Elizabeth says softly, her voice the only gentle thing in the damn room.
She, too, must know that my daughter is about to lose it. I’m so fucking grateful that she’s here and shoot her a thankful look.
But then Fran turns toward her, slow and feline, one perfectly arched brow lifting. “I’m sorry. And you are?”
The tone—sweetened venom, dipped in condescension—hits me like a slap and pisses me off immediately.
Because she’s speaking to Elizabeth like she’s beneath her.
Like she doesn’t belong here. Like she’s not good enough to breathe the same air we’re breathing.
And something hot and ugly coils low in my gut.
I don’t want Fran talking to her.
And I sure as hell don’t want anyone talking to her that way.
Elizabeth stiffens, eyes lowering for half a second before she lifts them again—brave, steady, and beautifully defiant. But Fran’s tone still lingers in the space between them, a reminder of the lines she thinks she can draw. Lines she thinks I’ll enforce.
The hell I will.
Because Elizabeth may not know it yet, and Fran sure as hell doesn’t, but the moment that girl stepped into my orbit, she stopped being someone people could talk down to.
And the fact that Fran even tried makes my jaw clench hard enough to ache.
Sienna jumps in. “Don’t talk to my friend like that.”
I step between them and say, “Fran I’ll see you tonight at eight.”
She shoots a triumph smile to Sienna and says, “Of course, darling. See you then. All of you.”
When the door closes behind her, Sienna rounds on me.
“Tell me this is some kind of sick joke,” she demands, voice trembling with anger. “Because if it’s not, you’ve officially lost your damn mind, Dad. First of all, that woman is my age! Second, she’s a bitch! I mean, is this some kind of midlife crisis?”
“Watch your tone with me.” I say, leaning against the edge of the desk. “It’s not a joke. Fran and I are getting married.”
“Why?”
The question lands heavier than it should.
“Because it’s time,” I say simply. “And because I need an heir.”
Sienna blinks, fury giving way to disbelief. “An heir? You sound like you’re living in the sixteenth century! And, I’d like to point you, you have an heir. Me!”
I don’t flinch. “It has to be a male heir. You’ll understand one day.”
Her eyes glisten, but she refuses to look away. “No, I won’t. Because I’m not you.”
Then she turns and storms out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the glass that overlooks downtown Chicago.
The silence that follows is almost deafening.
Elizabeth lingers by the doorway, torn between following Sienna and staying.
“Go after her,” I tell her quietly.
But she doesn’t move. Instead, she hesitates and then steps closer.
“Are you okay?”
For a moment, I’m too surprised to answer. No one asks me that. Not my men, not my business partners, not even Fran.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
She studies me like she doesn’t quite believe it. “That didn’t look fine.”
There’s no accusation in her voice, just quiet observation. Still, it stings more than it should. I turn away, pouring what’s left of my espresso into the sink.
“Sienna will calm down. She always does.”
Elizabeth’s voice is soft but steady. “You hurt her.”
I look at her over my shoulder. “You’re brave to say that to me.”
“I don’t think it’s brave to tell the truth,” she says.
Her words hang there, simple and honest and for the first time in a long while, I have no easy response.
I take a slow breath, letting the silence stretch between us before I finally speak.
“Sienna’s all I have,” I admit quietly. “Everything I’ve done—everything I’m doing—is to protect her future. Even if she doesn’t see it yet.”
Elizabeth’s expression flickers. “Does marrying someone her age protect her future? Or yours?”
It’s a clean hit, unexpected and sharp. I almost laugh at the audacity of it.
“Careful,” I murmur. “You’re starting to sound like me.”