Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lorenzo
Blood pools in the vial, dark as the secrets I keep. The nurse's practiced efficiency makes the extraction clinical. Another sample, another test, another chance at redemption that might not come.
"Almost done, Mr. Sartori." The nurse switches vials. "Just two more."
The antiseptic smell is the smell of purity. Everything here is white. Sterile. I don’t belong in a place this clean.
Two days since I admitted wanting Sophia on that rooftop. Two days of her casual touches that set my skin on fire. Two days of her looking at me like I belong to her.
Which I do.
The needle slides free. Cotton and tape replace the invasion. "We'll have the results within hours. Dr. Martinez will call you directly."
I roll down my sleeve, button the cuff with fingers that won't quite steady. Alberto needs help. The boy raised in shadow while we lived in light. Now dying because genetics are cruel and ironic.
The drive back to the compound stretches through streets I've memorized. Every corner holds a memory.
The compound gates swing open. Luca nods from the security booth, but his expression carries the same careful distance everyone's adopted since Rafaella's revelation. The help knows. They always know everything.
Inside, the house breathes with practiced avoidance. Footsteps redirect when they might cross mine. Conversations pause as I pass. My family moves through shared spaces like ghosts avoiding contact with the living.
Pietro's office door stands open. He sits behind the old desk reviewing documents with Nora. Neither looks up when I pause in the doorway.
"The testing is done." My voice cuts through their studied concentration.
Pietro's pen continues moving across paper. "Good."
One word. Professional. Cold. The brother who used to sneak me cigarettes on the roof now treats me like a business associate he tolerates.
"We should have results—"
"Nora will coordinate with the medical team once we know." Pietro signs something with decisive strokes. "If you're a match, we'll schedule immediately. If not, someone else might try."
Dismissed. I turn from the doorway, chest tight with words that won't fix this. Down the hall, Vittoria's door stands ajar. She's inside, surrounded by screens and devices, building digital walls as effectively as the emotional ones.
Our eyes meet for half a second before she looks away. The baby sister who used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms now can't stand the sight of me.
"Vittoria—"
Her door closes. The click echoes like a gunshot.
"She'll come around."
I spin. Bruno sits in his wheelchair at the end of the hall, watching me.
"Will she?" I move closer, noting how his fingers drum against the armrest. His only tell that the body might be broken but the mind remains sharp.
Bruno’s smile was a scar. It never touched his eyes. "Too many secrets, brother. Always your problem."
"I was protecting—"
"Yourself." The word cuts. "You were protecting yourself from being the one who shattered their illusions. From being the bearer of bad news. From the mess that follows truth."
Heat floods my jaw where I clench it. "That's not it Bruno."
"Save it." Bruno wheels himself backward with practiced ease. "I don't judge you for it. Secrets are currency in our world. You just spent yours poorly."
He disappears around the corner, leaving me alone in the hallway of my father's house. My grandfather built these walls to protect family. Now they just trap us with our resentments.
"That was harsh, even for Bruno."
Nora stands behind me, arms crossed.
"He's not wrong." I lean against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "I did keep the secret for myself as much as them."
"Maybe." She moves closer, her Boston accent threading through her words. "But that's not what I want to talk about. I wanted to tell you that Sophia's good for you." Direct, like a blade between ribs. "Don't fuck it up."
The words hit precisely where she intended. I straighten, defensive walls slamming up. "It's complicated."
"Falling in love always is in this world." She tilts her head, examining me like a specimen. "Though you're going to deny that's what this is."
"It's not love. It's—"
"Lorenzo." Something shifts in her expression, softening the sharp edges. "I've been in your shoes and you know it. Pietro too. You don't have to act like it's not happening."
My phone rings, saving me from answering. Dr. Martinez's name flashes on the screen.
"Lorenzo Sartori."
"Mr. Sartori, I have your test results." His voice carries professional excitement. "You're a perfect match. Six out of six HLA markers align. We could schedule the donation as early as next week."
The doctor’s words didn't register at first. A perfect match. Then it hit me. I could save him..
"Mr. Sartori?"
"Schedule it." The words come out steady despite the earthquake in my chest. "As soon as possible."
"Excellent. We'll coordinate with—"
I end the call. Nora watches me, reading the answer in my face.
"You're a match."
"Yes."
"Pietro needs to know."
Twenty minutes later, we're gathered in Pietro's office.
Not the full family—Vittoria still won't come—but Pietro, Nora, and Nico.
Pietro paced behind the desk, a general moving pieces on a map only he could see.
Nico leaned over a city blueprint, his finger tracing a route.
Their focus was absolute, dissecting my body into a strategic asset.
"You're doing it next week." Pietro paces behind his desk, already seeing angles. "Right before the wedding."
"Convenient timing." Nico's voice carries its usual skepticism. "Save the boy, gain public loyalty, have allies we didn't know existed."
"It's solid strategy." Pietro stops pacing, fixes me with dark eyes. "Giuseppe's second family becomes our asset instead of our weakness if it goes public."
They're dissecting this like a business acquisition. Calculating value, measuring advantage.
"I'm not doing it for strategy," I say, the words raw.
Silence stretches. Then Pietro nods once, sharp and decisive.
"Fine. Save him because it's right. The strategic advantage is just a bonus." He returns to his desk. "Nora, coordinate with the medical team. I want our own doctors involved. Nico, run security protocols for the hospital. No chances."
Dismissed again, but this time it doesn't sting. I leave them to their planning, needing air, needing space.
"Lorenzo."
Sophia stands in the hall, tears carving paths on her face.
My first thought isn’t why. It is who. Who hurt her.
Then the muffled sound of Pietro’s voice from the office clicked into place.
She’d heard. Before I can speak, she crashes into me, arms wrapping around my waist, face pressed against my chest.
"You're saving him." Her voice muffles against my shirt.
"It's nothing important." I stand frozen, arms hovering, afraid to hold her where others might see. "People donate them all the time."
She pulls back, looking up at me with honey-brown eyes that see straight through my deflection. "It's redemption."
Redemption. The word suck the air from my lungs. She sees it. Not the strategy, not the power play. She sees the truth of it.
"Don't minimize this. You're literally giving part of yourself to save a boy you've just met once, whose existence proves your father's betrayal. That's not just donation."
My control cracks. I cover her hand with mine, trapping it against my chest where my heart pounds truth I can't speak.
"It doesn't fix what I did. Keeping the secret."
"No." Her fingers curl into my shirt. "But it's a start."
Sophia
The compound sleeps around me, but my mind races. Two weeks of this dance with Lorenzo.
I'm done waiting.
My bare feet whisper against cold marble as I leave my room. The hallway stretches dark and silent. Guards patrol outside, but inside, the family trusts walls and loyalty. My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I reach Lorenzo's door.
I knock before I lose my nerve.
Footsteps approach. The door opens, and there he stands—hair mussed, wearing only pants that hang low on his hips.
"Sophia?" Confusion flickers across his face. "What's wrong?"
I push past him into the room. The door clicks shut behind us, sealing us in shadows broken only by city lights through the window.
"Showing up this late in here is not the smartest thing to do." He says and I try not to smile.
"Why?" I turn to face him, chin lifted in challenge.
He moves closer, each step deliberate. Predatory. "You might not leave. Ever again."
My pulse pounds everywhere. Throat, wrists, between my legs.
This is it.
The moment we stop pretending.
I close the distance between us until I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "Keep me then."
And I see it happen. The exact second his control shatters. His hands slide down to cup my ass, fingers digging in as he lifts me like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, arms circling his neck.
"Do you know what you're asking?" His voice rasps against my ear as he carries me toward the bed.
"I know exactly what I'm asking." My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging until he looks at me. "I'm asking for you. All of you. Every piece."
He sets me on the edge of his bed, hands bracketing my thighs. The heat of his palms burns through my thin sleep pants. He towers over me, chest heaving, eyes black in the darkness.
"I'll ruin you." The words come out broken. "I'll want you every second. I'll need to know where you are, who you're with. I'll become everything you should run from."
"You already are." I reach up, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "And I'm still here."
He catches my wrist, pressing my palm flat against his chest where his heart hammers. "This isn't practice anymore."
"Good." I use my free hand to pull him down until his forehead rests against mine. "I'm tired of pretending I don't want you. Tired of you pretending you don't want me."
"Want?" A harsh laugh escapes him. "Sophia, I'm drowning in want. I think about you constantly. You've invaded every thought."
His confession steals my breath.
"Then stop fighting it." I shift back on the bed, pulling him with me. "Stop finding reasons we can't. Stop protecting me from you."
He follows me onto the mattress, caging me beneath him, weight balanced on his forearms. His body hovers inches from mine, close enough to feel his heat but not close enough to satisfy the ache building inside me.
His mouth crashes into mine, and everything else disappears. His tongue sweeps against mine as one hand tangles in my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me. I arch beneath him, desperate for more contact, more everything.
But then he pulls back, breathing hard.
"It's late." The words come out rough, strained. His forehead drops to mine. "We need sleep."
Every nerve in my body protests. I want to push forward, to finally cross this line we've been dancing around. My hands grip his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles.
I don't want to leave. Don't want to walk back to my cold, empty room where nightmares about my mother wait.
"Can I stay?" The question comes out smaller than intended. "Just to sleep. I just... I don't want to be alone tonight."
Lorenzo goes still above me. I watch him think, see the war playing out behind his eyes.
"Okay."
Relief floods through me. He shifts to the side, pulling back the covers. I slip beneath them. The bed dips as he settles beside me, leaving space between us.
For a heartbeat, we lie there in awkward silence. Then Lorenzo stretches his arm out.
"Come here."
I don't hesitate. I curl into his side, head finding the hollow of his shoulder, arm draping across his chest. His arm comes around me, holding me secure against him. The steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my ear grounds me.
"This is dangerous," he murmurs into my hair.
"Everything about us is dangerous."
His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. His fingers trace absent patterns on my shoulder through my sleep shirt. The simple touch sends warmth spreading through me. This is comfort. Safety. Something I haven't felt since before Mom got sick.
"Thank you," I whisper against his skin.
"For what?"
"For letting me in. Even just this much."
His arm tightens around me. "Go to sleep, piccola."
The endearment wraps around me like a blanket. My eyes grow heavy, body melting into his warmth. For the first time in three years—since that horrible day the doctor said "cancer"—I feel something besides grief and fear.
I feel hope.
My lips curve into a smile as sleep pulls me under. Here, in the arms of a man who claims he'll ruin me, I've never felt more whole. The irony doesn't escape me, but I'm too content to care.
Lorenzo's breathing evens out beneath me, his body relaxing by degrees. Even in sleep, his arm stays wrapped around me, keeping me close. Keeping me safe.
For tonight, that's enough.
Sleep takes me completely, deep and dreamless, with a smile still playing at my lips.