Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sophia
The lock clicks and my whole body tenses. Dante steps inside, his expression unreadable as always. Something about the way he closes the door behind him makes my stomach drop.
"You're being moved to the Sartori compound." His voice is flat, professional. "Pietro's orders."
Pietro. The Don.
My heart slams against my ribs so hard I'm sure he can hear it. I remember Nico's gun in my face this morning, the rage in his eyes just for existing in their space. If Lorenzo's brother reacted that violently, what will their Don do?
"I..." My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. "Does Lorenzo know?"
"He's the one who called me."
Of course.
I stand on shaking legs, grabbing flip phone Lorenzo gave me. My hands won't stop trembling.
"Is he going to kill me?"
Dante's dark eyes meet mine. "If he wanted you dead, you wouldn't be getting a ride."
That's not exactly comforting. There are worse things than death in their world. I've heard Francesco's men joke about what they do to people who betray the family. The stories about basement rooms and tools and—
"Now," Dante says, cutting through my spiral of panic.
I follow him because what choice do I have? Run? Where would I go? Francesco's looking for me. The Russians want me. The Sartoris have me. I'm trapped between three different hells.
We go down the back stairs, my legs feeling like water. The restaurant kitchen is dark, empty. No Lorenzo. Part of me hoped he'd be here, though I don't know why.
Dante leads me through a door I hadn't noticed before, into a loading area. A truck sits idling, "Sartori's Premium Provisions" painted on the side. The back doors are open, revealing stacks of produce boxes and restaurant supplies.
Another man with sandy hair jumps down from the truck.
"Get in," Dante tells me, nodding toward the truck.
I stare at the dark interior. "In the back?"
"Can't have anyone seeing you." Dante's tone suggests this isn't up for discussion. "Liam will drive. I'll follow behind."
My feet won't move. The truck looks like a mouth waiting to swallow me whole. Once those doors close, I'm completely at their mercy. No windows. No way out. Just me in the dark, heading toward a man who probably wants me dead.
"I can't." The words slip out before I can stop them.
Dante steps closer, not threatening but firm. "You came to us, remember? You asked for protection. This is what that looks like."
He's right. I chose this.
I climb into the truck, having to use a produce box as a step. The smell of vegetables and cardboard fills my nose. There's a small space cleared between the boxes, just big enough for a person to sit.
"It's a twenty-minute drive," Liam says, trying to sound reassuring. "I'll go easy on the turns."
I settle into the space, pulling my knees to my chest. The metal floor is cold through my jeans.
The doors swing closed with a metallic clang, plunging me into darkness. I hear the locks engage, sealing me in. The engine rumbles to life and the truck starts moving, taking me toward whatever judgment waits at the Sartori compound.
The truck lurches to a stop, and my whole body goes rigid.
The locks disengage with a metallic scrape that makes me flinch. Light floods in as the doors swing open, blinding me after the darkness. I blink, trying to adjust, and then I see him.
Lorenzo.
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost buckle. He's standing there, hands in his pockets, watching me with those eyes that give nothing away.
But he's here.
"Out," he says, his voice low.
I scramble forward, accepting his offered hand to help me down from the truck. His grip is warm, steady, gone too quickly. My legs shake as they hit solid ground.
The compound spreads out before me. All stone and iron gates and cameras I can feel watching from every angle.
The main house rises like an Italian fortress, cream-colored stone that probably cost more than most people see in a lifetime.
A fountain dominates the circular driveway, water flowing down marble tiers.
This is where they'll decide what to do with me.
"Scared?" Lorenzo asks, studying my face.
"Yes." There's no point lying.
"Good. You should be."
At least he's honest. I spent those twenty minutes in the dark running through my options, and they all end the same way. Death. The only variable is how much I'll suffer first.
If the Sartoris kill me, it'll probably be quick. A bullet, maybe. They're business people. Efficient.
If Francesco finds me, if Daniil gets his hands on me...
"I know I'm probably going to die," I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. "I just... I'd rather it be quick."
Lorenzo's jaw tightens. "Nobody's killing you today."
"Today," I repeat. "What about tomorrow?"
He doesn't answer, which is answer enough.
Liam appears beside us, giving Lorenzo a nod before heading toward what must be a security entrance. Dante's car pulls up behind the truck, engine purring to a stop.
"Pietro's waiting," Lorenzo says. "Along with the rest of the family."
The rest of the family. How many Sartoris will be there to judge me? To decide if I'm lying, if I'm another Luna sent to destroy them from the inside?
"Will you be there?" I hate how small my voice sounds.
"Yes."
"Do you think he'll believe me? About Francesco, about the marriage?"
Lorenzo looks at me for a long moment. "Pietro doesn't trust easily. Especially not Torrinos."
My stomach twists. "Because of Luna."
His expression hardens. "We don't talk about her."
"But that's why everyone thinks I'm here to—"
"Enough." The word cuts through the air between us. "You want advice? Answer his questions. Don't lie. Don't embellish. And whatever you do, don't mention her name again. Never."
I nod, wrapping my arms around myself.
"Lorenzo?" I call as he starts toward the house.
He pauses, glancing back.
"Thank you. For coming out here. For not just sending me in alone."
Something flickers across his face, too quick to read. "I'm not doing you a favor, Sophia. I'm making sure you get inside." He shrugs.
He walks toward the massive front entrance, expecting me to follow. I take one last breath of free air, then trail after him toward whatever judgment waits inside.
The foyer steals my breath.
A chandelier hangs from the ceiling like frozen fireworks. The staircase curves up both sides, meeting somewhere I can't see.
We pass through an archway into what must be the living room, though calling it that feels like calling the ocean a puddle.
My legs turn to water.
They're all here. All of them watching me.
Pietro Sartori sits in an armchair like it's a throne, and I know it's him without anyone saying a word.
He has Lorenzo's dark hair but there's something harder in his face, something that makes my survival instincts scream run.
His eyes are almost black, tracking my every movement like he's deciding if I'm worth the energy to kill.
A young woman sits beside him on the arm of his chair. She's beautiful and she's watching me with curious eyes, not hostile ones.
Thank God.
Another woman stands near the fireplace, younger than the first, maybe early twenties. She's got the same dark hair as the men but softer features. Her head tilts as she studies me, like she's trying to solve a puzzle. No hatred there either, just interest maybe?
Nico leans against the far wall, arms crossed, still looking at me like I'm a bomb about to explode. Dante stands near the door we just came through—blocking it, I realize. No escape that way. Liam positions himself by the windows, completing the cage.
"Sophia Torrino." Pietro's voice fills the room without him raising it. "Francesco's niece."
It's not a question but I nod anyway. My throat feels like sandpaper.
"Sit."
He gestures to a chair across from him. I'm terrified to touch it. But this isn't a request. I force my legs to move, lowering myself onto the edge of the seat.
"I'm told you came to my brother for protection." Pietro's fingers drum once on the armrest. "That your uncle sold you to the Russians."
"Yes." The word comes out as barely a whisper. I clear my throat. "To Daniil Morozov. We're supposed to marry in nine days."
"Supposed to." He leans forward slightly. "You seem very certain we'll prevent that."
"I—" My hands twist in my lap. "I hoped—"
"Hope." He says it like it's a foreign word. "You hoped my family would save you from yours."
The woman beside him shifts, her hand moving to rest on his shoulder. He doesn't acknowledge it, but something in his posture changes, becomes marginally less terrifying.
"Tell me about your information," he says.
I glance at Lorenzo, who's moved to stand behind my chair. I can't see his face but somehow knowing he's there helps.
"Three weeks of recordings. Everything Francesco discussed in his office. The deal with the Russians, the shipment they stole from you, which cops he's paying off. All in a USB." I force myself to meet Pietro's eyes. "He doesn't know I have it."
"And the ledger you mentioned to Lorenzo?"
"Francesco keeps it in his office safe. All his business dealings, every transaction, everyone he's paid or threatened. I know the combination."
The younger woman by the fireplace steps forward. "How do you know the combination?"
"He told my mother once when he was drunk. She was supposed to get it if something happened to him." My voice cracks. "She's dead now, so I guess it's mine."
"Convenient," Nico mutters from his wall.
Pietro raises a hand and Nico falls silent.
"You're asking for our protection based on information you might be able to get us," Pietro says. "That's a significant risk for a very uncertain reward."
Lorenzo
I keep my position behind Sophia's chair, hands clasped behind my back. Pietro's testing her, pushing to see if she'll break or beg. It's his way. Establish dominance first, decide later. As Don, it's his call to make.