Chapter 7 #2
She kisses Pietro, then heads for the door. She pauses beside me, her hand briefly touching my shoulder.
"Whatever it is," she says quietly, "don't let it eat you alive."
Then she's gone, leaving her absence like a cold spot in the warm room.
Pietro waits exactly three seconds. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"Bullshit." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "You've been off since yesterday. Dante mentioned you've been at the restaurant but it's more than usual."
I pour myself a drink from the bar cart, buying time. The whiskey burns, but not enough to wash away what I've been thinking about all morning. Sophia Torrino, locked in that room above my restaurant.
"It's business," I say finally.
"It's always business." Pietro's jaw tightens. "The Torrinos?"
The irony almost makes me laugh.
I've been carrying secrets that would destroy this family. Secrets that would shatter Pietro and Nico's trust, Vittoria's faith, everything we've rebuilt since Riccardo's death.
"There's something you need to know." I set down my glass, meeting Pietro's eyes directly. "Sophia Torrino is locked in one of the rooms above Rosso's."
The transformation is instant. Pietro shoots to his feet, his face darkens from confusion to rage in the span of a heartbeat.
"What the fuck did you just say?" His voice drops to that deadly quiet tone that makes grown men piss themselves.
"Pietro—"
"You have a Torrino. In our building." Each word comes out like a bullet. "Francesco's niece?"
"She came to me for help."
"Help?" Pietro's laugh is sharp, ugly. "Are you out of your goddamn mind? After what that family did to us? After Luna?"
"This is different."
"Different?" He's across the room in three strides, getting in my face. "How is harboring our enemy's blood different? How is keeping this from me different?"
"Because she's running from them." I keep my voice level, refusing to match his aggression. "Francesco sold her to the Russians. To Daniil Morozov."
Pietro's jaw works, but the fury doesn't dim. "So? Let them have her. One less Torrino to worry about."
"She's twenty years old, Pietro. She has information—"
"I don't give a fuck if she has the nuclear codes!" His fist slams into the wall beside my head. "You brought a Torrino into our territory without telling me. You've been hiding her for—how long?"
"Last night."
"Last night." He steps back, running both hands through his hair. "Jesus Christ, Lorenzo."
"She has recordings. Evidence of Francesco's deals with the Russians. Details about the shipment they stole."
"And you believe her?" Pietro's voice cracks with disbelief. "After Luna played you exactly the same way?"
"This isn't the same."
"No? Young Torrino woman shows up desperate, needing protection, offering information?" He counts off on his fingers. "Sounds pretty fucking familiar to me."
"Luna came to me through the family. Sophia came alone, terrified, with actual evidence—"
"Evidence you have verified?"
"I'm working on it."
"Working on it." Pietro turns away, then spins back. "You know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe it's not the same. Because last time, you only got four of our men killed. This time, you might get us all killed."
The door slams open. Nico strides in, looking between us with interest.
"Nobody invited me to the fight?" He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. "What are we arguing about? Territory? That missing shipment? Or did Lorenzo finally—"
"Shut up," Pietro snaps without looking at him.
Nico's eyebrows rise, but he closes his mouth. The silence that follows is suffocating. Pietro's breathing is harsh, his hands clenched into fists. I can see him struggling for control, the violence he wants to unleash barely contained.
"Actually," Nico says, pushing off the doorframe, "I already verified what the Torrino girl said."
Pietro's head snaps toward him. "You knew?"
"Found out this morning." Nico pulls out his phone, scrolling through something. "My contacts at the docks confirmed it. Daniil Morozov is definitely planning to marry Francesco's niece. They're setting up an import-export company together."
I watch Pietro process this, his jaw working like he's chewing glass.
"And?" Pietro's voice is deceptively calm.
"Word is they want to align against us. Classic pincer move. Russians from the north, Torrinos from the south." Nico pockets his phone. "Francesco's been meeting with the Bratva leadership for weeks. Marriage seals the alliance."
Pietro laughs. "Everything in this world happens on repeat.
" He walks to the bar cart, pouring himself three fingers of whiskey.
"Every fucking month, someone wants to plan against others.
Kill the competition. Rise to the top." He downs half the glass in one swallow. "Same shit, different players."
"This is different," I say.
"Is it?" Pietro turns, leaning against the bar. "The Irish tried it last year. The Corellis before that. Now the Russians and Torrinos. Everyone wants to be king of Chicago."
Nico moves further into the room, his analytical mind already working. "Here's the interesting part—Francesco hasn't gone public about his niece missing."
That gets Pietro's attention. His eyes narrow.
"My sources inside Torrino territory say he's keeping it quiet," Nico continues. "Probably searching for her without letting the Russians know she fled. Can't have his bargaining chip running off before the wedding."
"Smart," Pietro admits grudgingly. "Daniil would see it as weakness. Might even call off the whole deal."
"Exactly." Nico looks at me. "So whatever the girl's angle is, she's got Francesco by the balls. He can't report her missing without losing face with the Russians."
"She just wants her uncle down," I say, meeting Pietro's gaze. "That's all. She's not playing some long game. She's a twenty-year-old girl who doesn't want to marry a psychopath."
Pietro sets down his glass with deliberate precision. He crosses the room slowly, until he's standing directly in front of me. Close enough that I can smell the whiskey on his breath.
"Any other secrets you want to share with me, brother?" His voice is soft, dangerous. "Any other Torrinos you've got stashed away? Maybe you're running a halfway house for enemy families now?"
"Pietro—"
"Because if we're keeping things from each other, I'd like to know now." He leans in closer. "Before I find out from someone else that my own brother is making moves behind my back."
The accusation hangs between us like a blade. I can feel Nico watching, calculating, probably already three steps ahead in whatever game he thinks we're playing.
"There's nothing else," I say.
Pietro studies my face, looking for the lie. After what feels like hours but is probably seconds, he steps back.
"Good." He returns to his chair, dropping into it with controlled violence. "Because we've got enough problems without adding family betrayal to the list."
The word 'betrayal' hits exactly where he intended. I hate myself for keeping a secret something that involves all of us.
"What do you want to do about the girl?" Nico asks, ever practical.
Pietro's fingers drum against the armrest. "Where is she?"
"Locked in a room above Rosso's," I answer.
"Alone?"
"Dante's watching the building."
"Dante." Pietro's laugh is humorless. "Of course. Your shadow knows everything before your own family."
"Tell Dante to bring her here," Pietro says, his voice carrying that edge of command that brooks no argument. "Tonight."
I reach for my phone, but he's not done.
"And have Liam take our food supplies truck." Pietro's fingers drum against the leather armrest. "Less suspicious than one of our regular vehicles. Tell him to use the service entrance at Rosso's."
A food delivery truck at a restaurant raises no questions. No one would look twice at Liam loading supplies—or a terrified girl—into the back.
"The meeting happens as soon as she arrives," Pietro continues. "All of us. I want to hear what Francesco's niece has to say for herself."
Nico shifts against the doorframe. "You sure bringing her here is smart? This is our home."
I keep my face neutral. If he wasn't right, I would have punched him already. Maybe it’s not smart.
"Go," Pietro waves his hand dismissively.
I leave without responding. What could I say that wouldn't sound like an excuse?
The hallway feels longer than usual as I head to one of the empty bedrooms. I need privacy for this call, away from my brothers' judgment and Nico's calculating stares.
I close the door behind me and dial Dante's number. He answers on the second ring.
"Tell me."
"Change of plans." I move to the window, watching the grounds below where our security patrols. "Pietro knows about the girl."
Silence. Then, "How bad?"
"Could've been worse. He wants her brought to the compound."
"Tonight?"
"Now. Liam's coming with the food truck. Use the service entrance, make it look like a regular delivery."
"Understood." Dante's voice carries no judgment, just acceptance. That's why he's lasted so long in this life—he knows when to follow orders without questions. "The girl's been quiet. Hasn't tried anything."
"How is she?"
"Scared. She doesn't show it much, but scared."
I end the call and remain at the window.