Chapter 14 #2
"Daniil won't accept this," he says finally.
"Daniil's acceptance isn't required." I straighten my jacket. "He's not family. He's not even Italian. He has no claim here except what you give him."
Francesco looks at Sophia for the first time since I grabbed him. Something flickers across his face—regret maybe, or just calculation.
"You really think you can protect her from him?" he asks me.
"I don't think." The words come out flat, final. "I know."
Silence stretches between us. Francesco's men watch him, waiting for orders. The Benedettis are already edging toward the door, wanting no part of whatever comes next.
"You have forty-eight hours to make your choice," I tell him. "Accept the engagement. Publicly. Make it clear to everyone—especially the Russians—that this is a family matter, a love match. Or refuse and deal with the consequences."
Francesco's face twists. "You're giving me an ultimatum?"
"I'm giving you an opportunity." I turn my back on him.
"When you've made the smart choice, you can contact us through the usual channels."
I reach for Sophia's hand without looking, and her fingers immediately find mine. This time they're warm, steady.
"We're done here," I say to Dante, who keeps his gun trained on Francesco's men as we move toward the door.
Sophia
The SUV door slams behind us, and Lorenzo's hand stays locked around mine again. Not gentle. Not careful. Like if he lets go, I'll disappear.
Dante follows us through the restaurant's back entrance, but Lorenzo doesn't acknowledge him. Doesn't acknowledge anyone. The kitchen staff freeze as we pass, their eyes tracking our joined hands.
His office door comes into view. Lorenzo pushes it open, pulls me inside, and kicks it shut behind us. The sound echoes in the sudden quiet.
Only then does he stop moving.
He stands there, back against the door, chest rising and falling like he's been running. His jaw works, that muscle jumping the way it does when he's fighting for control.
"Are you okay?" The words slip out before I can stop them.
His eyes snap to mine. For a second, something raw flashes across his face. Then it's gone, replaced by that careful mask he wears.
"Fine." The word comes out rough.
I don't believe him. His hand is still wrapped around mine, his grip almost painful. There's a wildness in his eyes I've never seen before. Not when Nico pulled a gun on me. Not even when he had Francesco against the wall.
"What happens now?" I ask. "If Francesco goes public with the engagement?"
Lorenzo's gaze sharpens. "Then we play the part."
"Which means what exactly?"
"Public appearances. Family dinners. You'll move into my apartment." He lists each item like bullet points in a business presentation. "We'll need to be seen together. Often enough to be believable."
My heart does something stupid in my chest. "And that's all?"
"What else would there be?"
But even as he says it, his eyes drop to my lips. Just for a second. Maybe less. But I catch it, and heat floods through me like someone opened a furnace door.
"Lorenzo..."
His name comes out breathless. I hate how desperate I sound. How obvious. But I can't help it. Not when he's looking at me like that. Like he's starving and I'm the only thing that could satisfy him.
"This is an arrangement only." His voice is steel, but there's something underneath. Something that makes my pulse race. "Protection. Nothing more."
The words should hurt. They don't. Because he's still holding my hand, and his thumb is moving against my palm in tiny circles, and I don't think he even knows he's doing it.
"Then why are you still holding my hand?"
He looks down, and genuine surprise crosses his face. Like he forgot our fingers were still intertwined. Like his body made the choice without consulting his brain.
He releases me immediately, stepping back so fast he hits the door.
"We'll need to be convincing," he says, and now he won't look at me at all. "In public."
"And in private?"
The question hangs between us. I watch his hands flex at his sides, watch him fight not to reach for me again.
"In private, we maintain boundaries."
"What boundaries?"
He finally meets my eyes, and the heat there makes my knees weak.
"The ones that keep you innocent and me sane."
The tension between us stretches so tight I can barely breathe. But I recognize the wall going up behind his eyes, the way his shoulders set. If I push now, he'll only retreat further.
"Why did we come here?" I ask instead, letting my voice soften. "To the restaurant?"
He moves away from the door, putting distance between us that feels like miles.
"You've been at the compound long enough." He walks to his desk, straightening papers that don't need straightening. "Thought you might want a change of scenery."
My heart does a little flip. He thought about what I might want.
"You can have dinner here tonight," he continues, still not looking at me.
Hope blooms in my chest, warm and dangerous. "Will you join me?"
He goes completely still. When he finally turns to face me, his expression is carefully neutral. "No."
The single word lands like a slap. I fight to keep my face blank, to not show how much that hurts. But I think he sees it anyway because regret flickers in his eyes. Or just acknowledgment of the wound he's inflicted.
"Come on." His voice is gruff. "I'll show you where you can sit."
He walks past me, careful not to touch me this time. I follow him out of the office and into the main dining room. The restaurant is empty this early except for us.
Lorenzo stops at a corner table with a view of the street. It's intimate, tucked away from the main floor. The kind of table couples request for anniversaries.
"Here." He pulls out the chair for me, ever the gentleman even when he's rejecting me. "The waiter will be with you shortly."
I look at the table set for two but it’s just me. The loneliness of it makes my throat tight. But I won't beg. Won't ask him again to stay. I've already shown too much, been too obvious about what I want.
"Thank you," I say quietly, sitting down.
He stands there for a moment, his hand still on the back of my chair. His fingers brush against my shoulder, so light I might have imagined it.
Then he's gone, walking away without another word.
I sit alone at the table, watching the street outside.