Chapter 15 #2
"I know." I keep my eyes on the screen. Marina Reeves, twenty, nursing student at UIC, clean record, no family connections to any of the families. Vittoria pulled everything on her within an hour of my request.
"You know Pietro's going to lose his shit when he finds out you brought a civilian into this."
I shrug, watching as Sophia grips her friend's hands across the table like she's drowning and Marina's the only thing keeping her afloat. "Pietro doesn't need to know."
"Right. Because nothing gets past Pietro in his own territory." Dante moves closer to the monitor. "She could be a liability."
"She's leverage."
"Against who? Sophia?"
I turn to face him. "For Sophia. There's a difference."
Dante raises an eyebrow but doesn't push. He knows me well enough to understand the distinction. Everything I do for Sophia makes her more mine, more dependent, more tied to this life. But it also makes her stronger, more willing to stay.
"Vittoria did good work," I say, turning back to the screen. "Found their entire friendship history through social media, text patterns, even their Venmo transactions. Coffee every Tuesday. Sushi twice a month. They've been inseparable since freshman year."
I watch Marina wipe tears from Sophia's face with a tenderness that makes something twist in my gut. This is what Sophia needs. Not me and my complications, not this world of violence and arrangements. She needs her friend.
But she can't have normal anymore. That ended the moment Francesco decided to sell her to the Russians.
"You had a backup plan," Dante says. It's not a question.
"Always do." I pull out my phone, showing him the tracker I had ready. "If Marina hadn't come willingly, you were going to her apartment."
"To convince her."
"To bring her. One way or another." I pocket the phone.
I sink into my desk chair after Dante leaves, eyes still on the monitor.
Vittoria's words from yesterday echo in my head. She'd cornered me in the kitchen at the compound, that look in her eyes that meant she was about to say something I didn't want to hear.
"She has no one, Lorenzo. No one." She'd set down her coffee with enough force to make her point.
"She's protected."
"She's alone." Vittoria had tilted her head, studying me. "When Papa died, I had you. I had Pietro and Riccardo and Nico and Bruno. Even when it hurt so much I couldn't breathe, I had family. Who does she have?"
I'd walked away from that conversation, but her words stuck.
The truth is, I know what isolation does to a person.
After Luna, I tried it. Cut myself off from everyone except business associates.
Pietro and Riccardo dragged me back, literally sometimes.
Showed up at my apartment at three in the morning with a bottle of grappa and wouldn't leave until I talked.
Nico would appear at my restaurants, plant himself at the bar, and wait me out.
Even Bruno, would text me stupid memes until I responded.
They wouldn't let me disappear into my own head.
I watch Marina reach across the table to squeeze Sophia's hand, and I know that this is what Sophia needs. Someone who knew her before.
My phone buzzes. Pietro.
"Where are you?"
"Rosso's. Handling business."
"The Torrino girl?"
"Among other things."
There's a pause. Pietro's calculating, weighing whether to push. "Francesco's going to make his move soon."
"Forty-three hours left on the deadline."
"He won't wait that long."
"I know." I lean back in my chair, still watching the monitor. "I've got eyes on him."
Two hours pass. I've reviewed the security footage three times, checked the restaurant's books twice, and still my eyes drift back to the monitor showing Sophia and Marina at their corner table. They've moved from tears to quiet conversation, Marina's hand never leaving Sophia's across the table.
Marina left five minutes ago and I'm now scrolling waiting for Sophia to come whenever she's ready.
The knock on my office door is soft, almost hesitant.
"Come in."
Sophia enters, closing the door behind her. Her eyes are red-rimmed but brighter somehow, like crying washed something clean. I stand, reaching for my jacket on the back of my chair. Time to get her back to the compound before Francesco decides to do something stupid.
But she doesn't stop at a polite distance. She keeps coming, crossing my office with purpose until she's right in front of me.
"Thank you," she whispers, and before I can respond, she launches herself at me.
Her arms wrap around my waist, her face presses into my chest, and she holds on tight.
For a heartbeat, I stand frozen. My hands hover in the air, every instinct screaming at me to push her away, to maintain the boundaries I've set. But then she makes this small sound—not quite a sob, more like relief—and my control shatters.
My arms come around her, one hand sliding into her hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands. "I've got you," I murmur against the top of her head. "I've got you, piccola."
The endearment slips out before I can stop it. She burrows deeper into my chest, and I stroke her hair, feeling her breathing slow against me. This is dangerous. More dangerous than facing Francesco, than dealing with the Russians.
She pulls back slightly, just enough to tilt her head up. Her face is so close I can count the gold flecks in her honey-brown eyes. Her lips part slightly, and her gaze drops to my mouth.
My hand is still in her hair, and it would be so easy to angle her head just right, to finally taste what I've been denying myself. One kiss. Just one time to know what those lips feel like against mine. To know if she tastes as sweet as she smells.
I lean down a fraction, and her eyes flutter closed. Her breath catches. My other hand comes up to cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone where tears have dried.
No.
The word slams through my mind like a gunshot. She's vulnerable. She just cried in her best friend's arms for two hours. She doesn't know what she wants right now. She's grateful, emotional, seeking comfort.
If I kiss her now, I'm no better than Francesco, taking advantage when she's too hurt to think clearly.
I force myself to step back, my hands dropping to my sides. Her eyes snap open, confusion flickering across her face.
"We need to leave," I say, my voice rougher than intended. "It's getting late, and Pietro will want an update."
She blinks, color rising in her cheeks as she realizes how close we were. "Right. Of course."
I grab my jacket, shrugging it on to give my hands something to do besides reach for her again.