Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lorenzo
The dining room door opens and Liam enters, his expression unreadable as always. His eyes sweep the room, landing on Sophia.
"Sir." He addresses Pietro but his gaze lingers on Sophia. "I have information you need to hear."
Liam never hesitates. If he's pausing now, it's because he doesn't want to speak in front of her.
Pietro leans back in his chair, smile playing at his lips. "Go ahead, Liam."
"Perhaps we should discuss this privately—"
"No need." Pietro's eyes fix on Sophia. "If Miss Torrino is planning to harm us, she's just getting killed sooner."
The casual way he says it makes my jaw clench. Pietro gives Sophia a mocking smile, the kind that usually makes people squirm or look away.
Sophia laughs.
Not a nervous giggle or uncomfortable titter. A genuine, amused laugh that fills the room. She meets Pietro's stare without flinching, and I realize she understands exactly what my brother is—a killer who means every word.
"I appreciate you not acting like I'm stupid," she says, her voice steady. "That's refreshing, actually."
Pietro's smile sharpens. He's testing her, pushing to see if she'll crack.
Sophia straightens in her chair, chin lifting slightly. "I won't disappoint you, Mr. Sartori. And there will come a day when you'll actually change your mind about me."
The confidence in her voice surprises me. Vittoria hides a smile behind her wine glass.
Pietro studies her for a long moment. My brother likes smart people—always has. But more than that, he respects people who can stand on their own feet, who don't cower when he shows his teeth.
"We'll see," Pietro says finally, then nods to Liam. "Report."
Liam's steel-gray eyes scan the room once more before he speaks. "Francesco Torrino has contacted the Corelli and Benedetti families. He's offering them percentages of his drug routes in exchange for support against us."
My fingers tighten around my wine glass. The Corellis are small-time, but the Benedettis have connections in New York. If Francesco builds enough alliances, even Pietro's reputation won't protect us from a coordinated attack.
"He's also sweetening Daniil's deal," Liam continues, his British accent clipping the words. "The informant says Francesco is now offering Daniil territory rights along with Miss Torrino. Three blocks of waterfront property."
"That's our territory," Nico says, voice deadly quiet. "Francesco doesn't own waterfront."
"He will if Daniil helps him take it from us," Pietro says. His calm is more terrifying than rage would be. "How many families has he approached?"
"Four that we know of. The Greccos declined immediately—they remember what happened to the Morettis when they crossed us. But the others are considering."
The walls are closing in. Francesco's desperation makes him dangerous, like a wounded animal backed into a corner. He's throwing everything at the wall, hoping something sticks.
"We need to move first," Nico says. "Hit him before he consolidates support."
"That's what he wants," I counter. "If we attack now, we look like the aggressors. The smaller families will unite against us out of fear."
Pietro drums his fingers on the table—his only tell when he's thinking through violence. "We need better intelligence. Real-time information on his negotiations."
Sophia straightens in her chair. "I could call him."
Every head in the room turns to her.
"I could pretend to negotiate," she continues, voice steady despite the weight of our stares. "Tell him I'm scared, that I want to come home but need guarantees. It would buy you time and—"
"Absolutely not." The words rip from my throat before I can stop them.
Sophia's eyes flash. "I'm not useless."
"No one said you were." My voice comes out harder than intended.
"Then let me help." She looks around the table, addressing everyone now. "Francesco thinks I'm weak, that I'd cave under pressure. He'd believe I'm scared enough to negotiate."
"It's too dangerous," I say.
"Everything about this situation is dangerous." She meets my gaze directly, and there's steel in those honey-brown eyes. "At least this way, I'm doing something instead of sitting here like dead weight."
Pietro leans forward, interested now. My brother loves tactical advantages, and Sophia just offered him one on a silver platter.
"Pietro, no." I don't care that I'm contradicting him in front of everyone. "Francesco's not stupid. If he suspects she's playing him—"
"He won't," Sophia interrupts. "He's known me my whole life. To him, I'm still the little girl who spent three years nursing her dying mother and now is deep in grief. He has no idea who I really am."
"Neither do we," Nico points out, but there's less hostility in his voice now. He's considering the tactical benefits too.
Vittoria speaks up for the first time. "It could work. We'd need to prep her, make sure her story is airtight."
"This is insane." I look at Pietro, willing him to see reason. "We're not using her as bait."
"Wouldn't I be safer as useful bait than a useless burden?" Sophia asks, and the question hangs in the air like a challenge.
The room goes quiet. She's right and everyone knows it. In our world, useful people survive. Burdens disappear.
Pietro's dark eyes study Sophia with new interest, like she's a chess piece he hadn't considered before. "Tell me more about this plan of yours."
I can't let Sophia pitch her suicide mission. If she starts talking now, Pietro will see the tactical advantage and agree to something that'll get her killed. Francesco's desperate enough to hurt her if he suspects betrayal.
"I never finished explaining my idea," I say, cutting Sophia off before she can elaborate.
Every eye in the room shifts to me. Pietro's fingers stop drumming.
"You said we make her untouchable," Pietro prompts, impatience edging his voice.
I take a breath. The words feel like glass in my throat, but it's the only way. "She marries a Sartori."
The statement detonates like a bomb.
Vittoria's wine glass freezes halfway to her lips. Nico's chair creaks as he leans back. Pietro's expression doesn't change, but his stillness speaks volumes. Even Liam shifts slightly from his position by the door.
Sophia's face drains of color.
"Explain." Pietro's single word carries the weight of command.
I keep my voice steady, businesslike. This is strategy, nothing more. "Francesco wants us out of the picture because he can't work with us. We're too strong, too established. But if Sophia marries into our family, we flip the entire narrative."
"How?" Nico asks, skepticism thick in his voice.
"Think about it." I lean forward, selling the plan like it's not tearing something inside me. "Right now, Francesco's telling everyone she's been kidnapped. But what if the story becomes that she fell in love with one of us? That she chose to be here?"
Pietro's eyes narrow, considering. "Francesco would look like a fool."
"More than that." I force myself to continue. "He'd look like the villain. Trying to sell his own niece to Russians when she's already in love with someone else. The other families would see him as dishonorable, breaking the most basic family codes."
"And the man who marries her?" Pietro asks, his gaze sharp. "What's his angle?"
"He wants the alliance. Through her." The words taste bitter. "Francesco can't touch her without declaring war on her husband's family. And if that husband is a Sartori, Francesco knows he can't win that war."
Silence stretches through the room. I can feel Sophia's eyes on me, but I don't look at her. Can't look at her.
"It's brilliant," Vittoria says quietly.
"Francesco loses his bargaining chip with the Russians.
Daniil can't claim a married woman without starting a war with us.
And the other families..." She pauses, working through the implications.
"They'd see it as a love match. The Torrino-Sartori feud ending through marriage. It's almost romantic."
"Romantic." Pietro's voice drips sarcasm. "And which of my brothers volunteers for this romantic arrangement?"
The question hangs in the air. Nico's already shaking his head—he doesn't trust any Torrino, especially not after whatever happened with Luna. Pietro himself is not an option. He's with Nora but even if he wasn't he wouldn't. Bruno is in a coma.
That leaves me.
Sophia
The room tilts. My lungs forget how to work.
Marriage. To a Sartori.
The word echoes in my skull like a gunshot in an empty warehouse. I grip the edge of the table, trying to anchor myself to something solid while everything spins.
This isn't how I thought things would go. I came here for protection, not... this.
"Why?" The word scrapes past my throat. "Why would Francesco believe it?"
Lorenzo's eyes finally meet mine. Dark, calculating, completely unreadable.
"Because it makes sense," he says, voice flat. "You've been here over a week. You left after you found out that you're supposed to marry another man but you can't because you're in love with someone else."
My stomach churns. He makes it sound so clinical, like I'm just another piece on his chess board.
"But after Luna—" I start, then stop when every muscle in Lorenzo's body goes rigid.
"What about Luna?" He asks.
I swallow hard. "After what happened between you two, why would Francesco believe you'd want another Torrino woman? Why would he be okay with it?"
Lorenzo laughs.
It's not a pleasant sound. It's sharp and bitter. The laugh of someone who's seen too much, lost too much, and finds dark humor in the cruelty of the world.
"You think Francesco gives a shit about what happened to Luna?" He leans back in his chair, that terrible smile still playing at his lips. "You think he cares what happens to you?"
Each word hits like a slap.
"She was his daughter—"
"He's a businessman." Lorenzo cuts me off. "Luna was a tool that failed. You're a tool he's trying to cash in. That's all."