Chapter 21
Lorenzo
I leave Elizabeth tangled in her sheets, her golden hair fanned across the pillow like something out of a dream I don’t deserve. For a moment, I linger in the doorway, watching the rise and fall of her chest, memorizing the peaceful way she sleeps when she thinks she’s safe.
Then I slip out, quietly shutting the door behind me.
There are three missed calls on my phone, all from Federico Marino. I knew they’d come eventually. I can’t put him off forever. Not without drawing more suspicion. But that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy the conversation.
In my study, I pour myself two fingers of whisky and sit behind my desk. The house is quiet. It’s the kind of quiet that usually means power or danger, and this evening it’s danger.
I light a cigar, take a slow drag, then hit call back.
He answers on the first ring.
“Conti,” he barks in that gravel-edged voice of his. “Why are you ignoring my calls?”
I exhale a slow stream of smoke.
“I’m running an empire, Federico. You know how it is. What did you need?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence. We both know why I’m calling.” His voice is taut with fury barely masked by civility. “Fran is upset. Which means my wife is upset. Which means—”
“You’re upset,” I finish flatly.
He doesn’t deny it.
“How long do you plan to keep that girl in your home?” There’s a pause loaded with unspoken threats. “It’s bad optics, Lorenzo. People are talking. You’ve missed events. Fran is fielding questions she shouldn’t have to answer. You promised us—”
I cut in, voice low and edged with warning. “What happens under my roof is none of your damn business.”
The line goes still. Not dead, just simmering. Then Federico speaks, his voice softer now but more dangerous because of it.
“I wonder what Sienna would think of this,” he says quietly.
My jaw tics. “Of what?”
“Of how you’re acting right now.” He doesn’t back down. “You need a male heir, Lorenzo, and we both know it. If Sienna were here, she’d tell you to do what’s best for the Family.”
My grip tightens around the cigar until the wrapper crackles.
“Careful,” I warn, voice low, the kind of low that makes grown men reconsider their life choices.
But he doesn’t take the hint.
“You think I don’t mourn her too? She was like a niece to me. I watched that girl grow up. I watched you love her. And now I’ve watched you bury her.”
My teeth grind together.
“But grief,” he continues, “doesn’t give you license to destroy everything you’ve built. Not the territories. Not the alliances. Not the stability your father died securing. And not your future, either.”
I take a slow sip of scotch, letting the burn center me. The thing is, he’s telling the truth. He was like an uncle to Sienna when she was younger, and I’m sure he does mourn her loss. But not in the same way I mourn her.
“You’re playing with fire, Lorenzo. Keeping that girl under your roof, letting your enemies see your weakness. They’re watching. They’ll think she’s leverage. That they can use her to get to you. Is that what you want?”
I say nothing because anything I say will be used against me. Against Elizabeth…
“Fran has been patient. She’s humiliated, and yet she defends you. She still wants this union. And believe me, my daughter is the only reason I haven’t stepped in sooner.”
He waits a beat, then adds the final blow.
“Don’t make me reconsider our alliance,” Federico warns. “Come to the gala tonight. Walk in with Fran. Show them the truth or the version of it they need to believe.”
The words slice clean under my skin because he’s right. About the optics. About the volatility. About the whisper of weakness the Families will smell if I don’t show.
My jaw clenches.
Elizabeth’s scent still lingers on my skin—something warm and soft and unmistakably hers.
The echo of her touch, the imprint of her breath on my neck…
all of it clings to me like she’s still wrapped in my arms. I picture her sleeping upstairs, curled in my sheets, unaware that the quiet moment we carved out of the world is already unraveling.
That the night we shared, the truth whispered against her lips, is being shoved back into the dark where no one is supposed to see it.
Her peace.
My chaos.
Two different worlds colliding.
“Fine,” I say after a long silence, voice flat as steel. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.” Federico pauses. I can hear him breathing, weighing his next words. “And Lorenzo?”
My patience thins. “What.”
“Don’t embarrass my daughter again.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone in my hand, the pulse in my jaw pounding. Slowly, I crush the cigar into the ashtray. The ember hisses out in an instant, but the bitterness in my mouth stays.
It coats my tongue.
My thoughts.
My heart.
I sit there in the silence, the smoke fading, the weight settling heavy in my chest. I’m expected at the gala. Fran will be waiting. The Families will be watching. The world will continue to spin.
But upstairs… Elizabeth sleeps in my bed, trusting me, breathing easy, wrapped in the warmth we created. And I know one way or another I’m about to betray someone.
Maybe even both of them.
Lifting the phone on my desk, I call Cesaro. He appears in the study a moment later, sharp-eyed and steady, the way he always is.
“Everything okay?” he asks, closing the door behind him.
I exhale, leaning back in my chair as I meet his gaze. “I’ve been sleeping with Elizabeth.”
He pauses mid-step, then lets out a low whistle before sinking into the chair across from me.
“Well, that’s not what I was expecting you to say.”
“She’s more than just a fling, Cesaro.” My voice is low. “It’s serious.”
“How serious?”
I weigh my words. “Too serious.”
He mutters a curse. “Fuck.”
I nod, eyes unfocused, staring through the haze of everything unraveling around me. “Fran’s father just called. Threatened me without needing to raise his voice.”
“Want me to take care of him?” Cesaro says, half-joking. Half not.
“The human side of me wants to say yes.” I give a bitter laugh. “But the Don in me? He knows Federico isn’t entirely wrong. I’m losing control of the optics with Fran. With the girl upstairs. With everything.”
Cesaro leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His silence is heavy, contemplative.
“May I speak freely?”
“Always,” I say, even though I already know what’s coming.
He snorts softly but doesn’t look away. “If you love Miss Miller, if this thing between you and her means something real—then you owe it to her to end things with Fran. Officially. No more dragging your feet.”
“And if I can’t?” I ask, voice low.
“Then you send Miss Miller away,” he says evenly. “Because keeping her here and feeding her half-truths while keeping Fran on your arm for show is going to break her, Lorenzo. And worse, it’s going to break you.”
A long silence stretches between us. The only sound is the ticking of the old clock in the corner.
I already know what I have to do. The question is do I have the spine to do it?
“Thank you, friend. You always know what to say.”
Cesaro nods solemnly. “I’m sorry I can’t give you the answer you want.” He pauses, the weight of the past weeks etched in the lines around his eyes. “There are still no new leads on who came after Sienna that night. Il Macellaio is laying low, which is good—for now. Maybe he made his point.”
Maybe.
But as I replay Federico’s warning, a different realization settles into my bones. If I want to protect Elizabeth, to keep her close, to keep her safe, I have to end the performance.
I push to my feet, purpose crystallizing in my chest. “Have the car ready by eight. I’m going to the gala tonight.”
Cesaro arches a brow, but I don’t wait for the judgment or the commentary. I leave the room before he can say anything else and make my way upstairs.
Elizabeth is awake, curled in bed, the glow of her phone screen lighting her face. She’s scrolling, her expression soft, content. For a moment, I just watch her.
“I was looking for a movie for us to watch,” she says with a smile that tightens something in my chest. “How do you feel about The Lord of the Rings?”
Her comment earlier about popcorn, wine, and a movie crosses my mind. How does that already feel like a lifetime ago?
I sit on the edge of the bed. “I have to go out tonight. To the gala.”
Her smile falters. Just a flicker, but it guts me all the same.
“Oh.”
“It’s not what you think,” I say quickly, reaching for her hand. Her skin is warm in mine. “I’m going to end things with Fran. Tonight. For good. It’s not fair to you. Or to her.”
She doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at me, her expression unreadable as a thousand thoughts seem to flicker through her mind.
“Are you sure?” she finally asks, voice quiet.
I curl my fingers around hers, anchoring her to me. “I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”
Her breath catches, but she nods. And in that moment, I know no matter what tonight brings, this is the woman I want to fight for.
“Okay.” She smiles. “We can always start the movie when you get home.”
I lean forward, kissing her. “It’s a date. Rest now.”
I return to my suite and begin dressing for the gala, the familiar ritual dull and lifeless. Black suit, cufflinks, tie. The same uniform I’ve worn for a hundred power plays.
Only tonight, the endgame is different.
I run the plan over in my mind again and again. Fran won’t be happy. Federico even less so. But I’m the one with the leverage. I’m the one with the empire. I’ll offer Federico something better than a marriage alliance: a permanent seat at my table. Access. Power. Safety. A future without war.
Fran will throw a fit, maybe even a scene, but I’ve already made arrangements. I know men in New York, in Dubai, in Madrid—wealthy, connected, in need of a pretty political wife. She’ll land on her feet. She always does.
I walk into the night with steel in my veins.