Chapter 15
Lorenzo
Elizabeth looks up at me, her lips parted, pupils blown wide.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, voice thick with alcohol.
“I’d like to ask you the same thing.”
When I got word she was gone, I almost lost it. Every second she was unaccounted for scraped at my nerves like glass. And then to find out she’d slipped past my men with one of my men and ended up here, in some filthy apartment full of drunk strangers?
Unprotected. Unwatched. Unsafe.
I don’t remember crossing the room. I just know that when I see her with no shirt on, eyes glassy, lips slick from another man’s mouth that there’s a roaring in my ears that drowns out the music.
The crowd fades. All I can see is her.
Elizabeth giggles, the sound light and wrong in this place. “Where did Rick go?”
“Come on, cara,” I say, keeping my tone even only by sheer will. “It’s time to go home.”
I take her arm, firm but careful, and she leans back, resisting me with a surprising strength.
“I don’t want to go back there.”
Her words are slurred, but they hit harder than they should.
“Oh? And where do you want to go?”
“Back to Kansas City,” she murmurs, gaze unfocused. Then she blinks up at me and frowns adorably. “Hey… you ruined my plan.”
“Plan?” I echo, my pulse slowing in that dangerous way it does before everything burns.
She nods, almost proudly. “I was kissing Rick so he’d take me to bed.”
For a moment, the world stills. The music, the lights, the laughter—it all disappears under a single, furious thought.
She was going to let him touch her.
I remind myself she’s drunk. That she doesn’t understand what she’s saying. That she’s grieving and confused.
It doesn’t help.
“Is that so?” My voice comes out quieter than I intend. Too calm.
She looks around, trying to find him, but she won’t. His brother and father dragged him out the moment I arrived. And I made sure he understood what would happen if he ever came near her again.
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Tell me, cara, what else did you have planned? Were you going to seduce him in my house while I was away?”
Her chin tilts up, defiant even in her haze.
“Maybe.” She sways slightly. “You weren’t there, so why would it have mattered?”
Something twists deep in my chest. Anger. Guilt. Something darker I don’t want to name.
“Did you miss me?” I ask, the words escaping before I can stop them.
She blinks slowly, then leans forward so close that I can feel the warmth of her breath as she inhales against my jacket.
“Mmm. I missed this smell,” she murmurs, her voice barely a whisper.
Her eyes lift to mine, soft and unfocused, and I know I should step back. I should end this.
But I don’t.
I lower my head until our noses brush, my breath tangling with hers. “Did you?”
“Yeah.” Her voice trembles. “You should kiss me.”
“Is that so?”
She nods, her mouth inches from mine. “Yeah.”
“And why should I do that?”
“So I can see.”
“See what?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she rises on unsteady toes and presses her lips to mine, soft and hesitant, tasting faintly of smoke and cheap whiskey. The contact lasts only a second. But it’s enough to undo every ounce of control I’ve built.
For one heartbeat, I forget where we are.
The noise, the strobe lights, the stench of sweat and cheap liquor all blurs into nothing.
There’s only her.
When she sways, I catch her before she falls. Her body fits against mine as if it’s supposed to be there. Her breath is warm against my throat.
“Elizabeth,” I whisper, but it comes out rougher than I mean it to. “Enough.”
She smiles faintly, lost somewhere between exhaustion and intoxication, and the sight guts me. She has no idea what kind of fire she’s playing with.
I scoop her up before she can argue. She makes a small sound of protest but curls into me, her head falling against my chest. The crowd parts without a word. Even drunk, these people recognize danger when they see it.
Outside, the cold night hits like a slap. Snowflakes drift down, catching in her hair, melting against my jacket. I breathe deep, trying to steady myself, but all I smell is her—smoke, sugar, and something that’s become too familiar.
Cesaro’s waiting by the car, jaw tight, eyes hard. He opens the back door without a word.
“She’s fine,” I mutter before he can ask. “Make sure Ricardo’s father knows how disappointed I am.”
I slide into the back seat with her still in my arms. She stirs faintly, murmuring something that sounds like don’t take me back.
It lodges somewhere deep in my chest.
She doesn’t belong in my world. She shouldn’t be here, trapped in my orbit, suffering for my sins and my enemies’ greed. And yet, when I look down at her sleeping face, all I can think is that I can’t let her go.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
The car glides through the Chicago streets, and I stare out the window, jaw tight, every nerve still raw from that single kiss.
It meant nothing.
It has to mean nothing.
But when her fingers twitch against my chest, curling into the fabric of my coat like she’s holding on even in her dreams, I know I’m lying to myself.
The next day, there’s a knock on my office door. I already know who it is before I say, “Enter.”
Riccardo and his father step inside. Both men keep their eyes low, shoulders drawn tight. The boy looks pale; his father looks like he hasn’t slept. It’s nowhere close to the remorse they should be showing right now.
“Don Conti,” Riccardo starts, voice strained. “I wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday.”
I set my pen down deliberately, letting the silence stretch before I answer.
“For which part?” I ask, my tone smooth as glass. “For taking her out of my home or for getting caught?”
The boy swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Both, sir.”
His father speaks up then, his voice low and gravelly. “It was my fault, Don Conti. I should have made sure he understood the limits of his assignment. I’ve already spoken to him about the mistake.”
“Mistake?” I repeat, leaning back in my chair. “That’s one word for it.”
Riccardo’s eyes flick up, just for a second, before he drops them again. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. She just wanted to see the market. I thought—”
“You thought,” I cut in, “that the rules I set don’t apply when she smiles at you?”
He flinches, and I almost pity him. Almost.
What he doesn’t know is that I’ve seen every moment they shared together while I was gone. The balcony conversations. The cigarettes. The smiles that lingered too long. Each one replayed for me in grainy footage the second I returned. Each one a knife twisting deeper.
“She was grieving,” I say, pacing slowly behind my desk. “Vulnerable. And you mistook her kindness for something else. You thought because she talked to you, because she laughed with you, that meant you could touch her.”
Riccardo’s breathing hitches.
“You think I don’t know what it’s like?” I continue, my tone turning softer. “To want something you can’t have?”
No one dares answer.
I stop in front of Riccardo again, close enough for him to see that I’m not shouting because I don’t need to. “You should have remembered who she is. Who I am. And what happens when someone under my protection gets hurt.”
“She could have been taken,” I continue. “Do you have any idea what that would mean for you? For your family? For me?”
“Yes, sir,” Riccardo whispers.
“You think she’s harmless,” I say quietly. “That she’s just some pretty girl who wanted a night out. But people like us don’t get to forget what the world is, Riccardo. You should have remembered that.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again, and to his credit, his voice doesn’t break.
His father steps forward. “Don Conti, please. Allow me to—”
I hold up a hand, stopping him. “Your family has served me loyally for years. That’s the only reason the boy is still breathing.”
Riccardo’s breath catches.
I let the words hang there for a moment before adding, “He’ll stay on. But he’s off her detail. Effective immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” the father says quickly. “Thank you.”
Riccardo nods, eyes shining with shame. “Understood, Don Conti.”
I study him for a beat longer, then turn back toward the window. The snow outside is still falling, soft and soundless. So deceptively calm.
“Dismissed,” I say.
The door closes behind them with a quiet click.
For a long moment, I just stand there, staring at my reflection in the glass.
I should feel better. I don’t.
Because punishing the boy doesn’t erase the image still seared in my mind. Elizabeth, flushed and laughing, and another man’s hands on her bare waist just below her gunshot wound. And no amount of control can change the truth gnawing in my chest. I’ve already crossed the line I swore I wouldn’t.
I purposely stay away from the house for the rest of the day. My emotions are uncontained, and I don’t want to say or do something I may regret.
Cesaro is the only one brave—or stupid—enough to speak to me. He knocks once and walks in around the time I should be going home. The man’s never been good at pretending he doesn’t know what’s going on.
“Are you avoiding her?” he asks.
I glance up from my desk. “Why would I be avoiding Miss Miller?”
His dark brow lifts, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I was talking about Fran. She’s called at least ten times.” He pauses just long enough for it to sting. “But interesting that your first thought was Miss Miller.”
I lean back in my chair, folding my hands on my stomach, pretending the jab doesn’t land. “Fran knows I’m busy.”
Cesaro’s expression doesn’t change. “She also knows you never let her calls go unanswered.”
I exhale slowly through my nose. “Maybe I’ve run out of patience for people who talk more than they listen.”
He snorts. “Then you must be very lonely these days.”
That earns him a glare, but he only shrugs, used to the risk by now.
“She didn’t know what she was doing,” he says quietly, tone shifting. “The girl, I mean. She’s young and grieving. You can’t expect her to act like she understands the world we live in.”