Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Sophia
The whiskey burns a path down my throat, chasing away the cold that settled into my bones. My hands have stopped shaking from the temperature, but a different kind of trembling takes over. The kind that comes from sitting across from Lorenzo Sartori and asking him to save my life.
He hasn't moved since I said Daniil's name.
Just watches me with those warm brown eyes that seem too gentle for what he is.
The office lamp casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the perfect slope of his nose.
His dark hair falls slightly across his forehead, and he runs his fingers through it in what looks like an unconscious gesture.
God, he's beautiful.
How can someone who orders people killed look like this? Like he stepped out of some Italian fashion magazine instead of a crime family. His suit fits him perfectly. Even at three in the morning, not a single wrinkle mars the fabric.
When he reaches for his own whiskey, his hands are steady, elegant even.
Those are the same hands that probably signed death warrants yesterday.
"Tell me about the flash drive." His voice cuts through my thoughts, smooth and deep.
I force myself to focus. "Three weeks of recordings. Francesco doesn't know I have them."
"Recordings of what?"
"Everything." My voice comes out stronger than I feel. "His deals with the Russians. The cops he's paying off."
His mask slips for an instant. I can see interest there. Or calculation. With men like him, they're probably the same thing.
"Why would Francesco discuss business around you?"
"He didn't. Not directly. He uses the house for meetings sometimes. Thinks I'm too stupid or scared to pay attention. But my mother taught me to listen. To remember."
"Smart woman."
"She was." The past tense sticks in my throat. "She tried to keep me away from all this. The family business. But when you're a Torrino, there's no real escape."
Lorenzo leans back in his chair and observes me.
But it's Lorenzo who scares me more. Because I can't read him. Can't tell if he's considering my offer or calculating how to dispose of my body.
"You said ten days." Lorenzo's voice pulls me back. "Why the timeline?"
"The wedding." The word tastes like ash. "Francesco made the deal two weeks ago. Daniil gets me, Francesco gets a percentage of the Russian drug trade. They're signing the final agreements at the ceremony."
"A business merger sealed with blood." There's no emotion in his voice, but his jaw tightens slightly. "How traditional."
My laugh comes out bitter. "Except I'm the one who bleeds."
Lorenzo's eyes darken, and for a second, I see something dangerous flash across his face. Then it's gone, replaced by that careful neutrality.
"You're asking me to start a war with both the Torrinos and the Russians."
"You're already at war with them." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Francesco and the Russians. They're not your partners. They stole from you tonight."
Lorenzo's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in the air. The temperature drops a degree.
"What do you know about that?"
"The shipment from the docks. Three hundred thousand worth of product." I keep my voice steady even though my heart hammers against my ribs. "Francesco was bragging about it yesterday. Said the Sartoris were getting soft."
The man by the door takes a step forward. "How convenient. She shows up the same night we get hit, claiming to have all the answers."
Lorenzo raises a hand, and he stops. But his eyes never leave my face.
I realize I'm gripping the edge of the chair so hard my knuckles hurt. There's nowhere else to go. No other doors to knock on at three in the morning. No other devils to bargain with.
"I'll work for you." The words come out in a rush. "Whatever you need. Information, access to Francesco's operations. I know his schedule, his habits. I know which cops he owns and which judges he's buying." I swallow hard. "But I can't go back. I won't go back."
"Work for me?" Lorenzo's voice carries a hint of something I can't identify. Amusement? Skepticism?
"I'm not useless. My mother made sure of that. I speak three languages. I have a degree in accounting—Francesco doesn't know about that. Paid for it myself, and took classes online." My chin lifts slightly. "I'm not just some mafia princess looking for protection."
The man at the door laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Why the hell should we believe any of this? You're a Torrino. Your uncle's blood runs through your veins."
"Dante's right." Lorenzo's agreement feels like a punch to the stomach. "Blood doesn't lie. Family loyalty runs deep in our world."
My throat tightens. Of course. Why would they trust me? I'm Francesco's niece. The enemy's family. Just another potential trap.
"You want to know what I can give you?" My voice comes out harder than intended.
"I can give you Francesco's entire operation.
Every shipment coming in for the next six months—I helped him organize the schedules because he thinks I'm too stupid to understand what they mean.
I know where he keeps his real books, not the ones he shows the IRS.
I know about the warehouse in Cicero where he stores product before distribution. "
I lean forward, desperation making me bold. "I know he's planning to hit your restaurant supply trucks next week. Tuesday night, specifically. The ones that run from your warehouse to your downtown locations."
Lorenzo goes completely still.
"He thinks if he disrupts your legitimate business, you'll be too distracted to focus on the territory disputes. Make you look weak to the other families." I pull out my phone with shaking fingers. "I have photos. Texts between him and his lieutenants. Everything's time-stamped."
I set the phone on the desk next to the flash drive. "The wedding isn't just about drugs. It's about eliminating the Sartori family entirely. Francesco and Daniil have a plan. After I'm married, after the alliance is sealed, they're coming for all of you. Starting with your brothers."
The silence stretches so long I can hear my own heartbeat.
"Francesco keeps a safe in his study," I continue, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I know where exactly and I have the safe's code.
Inside, there's a ledger with every dirty deal he's made in the last five years.
Every murder he's ordered. Every cop he's bought.
Including the one who's been feeding him information about your dock schedules. "
Dante mutters something I can't hear but it sounds like a curse.
"I can get you that ledger," I say, meeting Lorenzo's eyes. "But you have to help me hide first."
Lorenzo
I keep my eyes on Sophia Torrino, watching her hands tremble despite the brave face she's wearing. The flash drive sits between us like a live grenade, and all I can think about is another woman with dark hair and desperate eyes who once sat in that same chair.
Luna.
The name cuts through my thoughts like broken glass. Twelve years, and her ghost still haunts this office. Another Torrino woman seeking sanctuary. Another set of promises wrapped in lies.
Luna claimed for months that she loved me. Instead, she'd gathered intel on our operations, learned our weaknesses, and four of my men ended up dead because I'd been thinking with my cock instead of my brain.
Sophia shifts in her chair, and the movement snaps me back to the present. She's younger than Luna was. More innocent, maybe. Or maybe that's just another mask, another performance designed to slip past my defenses.
I can't think straight with those honey-brown eyes watching me. Can't separate past from present when another Torrino sits across my desk promising salvation and asking for protection.
"Dante." My voice comes out rougher than intended.
My consigliere straightens, ready for orders.
"Get Aldo up here."
Dante's scarred eyebrow rises slightly, but he pulls out his phone without questioning me.
I force myself to look at her again. She's gripping the edge of the chair like it's the only thing keeping her upright.
Christ, she looks young. Too young.
The door opens, and Aldo walks in—one of my most trusted soldiers, a man who's been with the family since my father's time. His weathered face shows no surprise at being summoned at this hour.
"Boss?"
"There's a room on the top floor. The one we keep ready." I don't look at Sophia as I speak. Can't trust myself to read her expression without seeing Luna's calculating smile. "Take Miss Torrino there."
Sophia's breath catches slightly, but she doesn't protest. Smart girl. Or well-trained. With Torrinos, it's impossible to tell the difference.
"She stays there until I decide what to do with her," I continue, the words coming out colder than winter wind off the lake.
"Understood." Aldo moves toward the door, waiting.
Sophia stands slowly, like sudden movements might shatter whatever fragile agreement we've reached. She leaves her phone and the flash drive on my desk. A show of faith, or another manipulation.
"Thank you." Her voice is barely above a whisper, carefully neutral. No emotion bleeding through, no tears of relief or gratitude.
But I catch it anyway. The slight loosening of her shoulders, the way her breathing evens out. She'd been terrified I'd throw her back to Francesco. Genuinely terrified, or an excellent actress.
Sophia follows Aldo to the door, her steps measured despite what must be exhaustion. She doesn't look back, doesn't plead her case one more time. Just walks out like she's placing her life in my hands without question.
The door closes behind them, and I'm left staring at the flash drive. Evidence. Information that could change everything.
I reach for it, turning it over in my fingers. The weight of it feels heavier than it should, like it contains more than just data. Behind me, the city lights blur through the window, Chicago sleeping while people like us stay awake.
"What the hell are we going to do, Lorenzo?" Dante moves closer, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone he uses when we're walking a tightrope. "Francesco's going to tear this city apart looking for her."
"What was I supposed to do?" I set the flash drive down, the click against my desk too loud in the silence. "Leave her standing outside in the middle of the night? She's a child, Dante."
"She's definitely not a child Lorenzo. Not with a body like—"
"Cut it."
The words come out sharp enough to draw blood. Dante holds up his hands, but there's no apology in his expression. Just that calculating look he gets when he's reading the angles.
"I'm just saying what you're thinking." He drops into the chair. "Francesco's niece shows up at three in the morning, offering you everything you need to destroy him. You don't find that convenient?"
I pour myself another whiskey, then grab a second glass for him. The burn down my throat helps clear some of the fog, but not enough. Never enough when Torrino women are involved.
"Of course it's convenient. That's what worries me."
"Luna was convenient too." Dante takes the glass I offer, our fingers brushing for a moment. His hands are steady where mine want to shake. "Different kind of convenient, but still."
The comparison sits between us like a loaded gun. Luna had been older, confident, walking into my world like she belonged there. Sophia had been shaking on my doorstep, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.
But appearances mean nothing in our world. The best liars are the ones who believe their own stories.
"I need to brief Pietro." Dante swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. "He's going to lose his mind when he finds out you've got Francesco's niece upstairs."
"No."
Dante's eyebrows rise. "No?"
"I need time first. Need to figure out what's real and what's not." I move to the window, staring out at the city that's about to explode. "Give me until morning."
"Lorenzo—"
"A few hours, Dante. That's all I'm asking." I press my palm against the cold glass, feeling the chill seep into my skin. "Let me listen to what's on that drive. Let me think without Pietro breathing down my neck about territory and revenge."
Dante stands, setting his empty glass on my desk with deliberate care. "Pietro's not going to wait much longer to hit back for that shipment. And when he finds out you kept this from him..."
"I'll handle Pietro."
Dante moves toward the door, then stops. His hand rests on the handle, but he doesn't turn it. The tension in his shoulders tells me he's wrestling with something.
"Lorenzo." His voice drops to that low rumble that means serious business.
"You know I've always got your back. Since we were kids running these streets, through all the blood and bullets.
Through Luna. But you need to be careful here.
" He turns to face me, and for once, there's no calculation in his dark eyes.
Just concern. "Francesco's not going to let this slide. And if she's playing you..."
"I know."
"Do you?" He crosses his arms, the movement making his shoulder holster visible beneath his jacket. "Because you've got a Torrino woman upstairs, and you haven't even checked if she's wired."
The words hit like ice water. Christ. He's right. I let her walk into my office, let her sit across from me, let Aldo take her upstairs—all without the most basic security check. The kind of amateur mistake that gets people killed in our world.
"Fuck."
Dante's mouth twitches, not quite a smile. "Yeah. That's what I thought." He opens the door but pauses in the doorway. "Check her, Lorenzo. Check everything. And if you find something that doesn't add up..."
"I'll handle it."
He nods once and disappears into the hallway, leaving me alone with my whiskey and my mistakes.
I drain the glass, letting the burn steady my nerves. I open the drawer and take out a phone to give her. Then I head for the stairs, taking them two at a time. The top floor is quiet, just the hum of the building's heating system and the distant sound of traffic from the street below.
The room we keep ready is at the end of the hall. It's nothing fancy. A bed, a window with bars disguised as decorative ironwork. We've used it for witnesses, for people who need protection, for situations exactly like this.
Or nothing like this at all.
I don't knock. Just turn the handle and walk in like I own the place—which I do.
Sophia jumps in her seat, nearly dropping the glass of water she's holding. She's perched on the edge of the bed like she's afraid to get comfortable, still wearing that same black dress from earlier. Her coat is folded neatly on the chair beside her.
"Mr. Sartori." She sets the glass on the nightstand with careful precision, but I catch the tremor in her fingers.
"Stand up."