Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lorenzo
Dawn creeps through my windows, painting Sophia's skin gold where she lies against my chest. Her breath warms my skin, each exhale a whisper of trust I don't deserve.
I should move. Should put distance between us before she wakes.
Instead, my arm tightens around her.
She shifts in her sleep, leg sliding higher across mine. The innocent movement sends heat straight through me. My jaw clenches as I fight the urge to roll her beneath me, to wake her with my mouth on her neck, my hands learning every curve.
Fuck.
Her hair spills across my chest like silk. I breathe her in. Her scent goes straight to my cock, already hard from having her pressed against me all night.
This is torture. Sweet, perfect torture.
She makes a soft sound, burrowing deeper into my side. Her hand flexes against my ribs, fingers spreading like she's trying to hold onto me even in sleep.
I want to keep her here forever. Want to wake up like this every morning until I'm dead. Want to be inside her so deep she forgets where she ends and I begin.
But she's a virgin.
My rule has always been simple. I don't touch virgins. Too much responsibility. Too many complications. They want promises I can't make, build fantasies around something that should just be physical.
Except nothing about Sophia is just physical.
She's worked her way under my skin, into my blood. I think about her constantly. Dream about her when I manage to sleep. The sound of her laugh makes my chest tight. Her tears feel like knife wounds.
What the hell has she done to me?
Her body shifts again, breast pressing against my side through her thin shirt. I bite back a groan. My control hangs by a thread, and she's not even awake.
The bigger problem isn't my rule about virgins. It's that I'm not sure she actually wants this—wants me. She trusts me because I protected her. Maybe she's confused that feeling of safety with desire. Maybe she just likes the idea of me because I'm the first man who hasn't tried to use her.
The thought makes my chest ache.
If she comes to me, I need to know it's real. Not gratitude. Not some misplaced hero worship because I kept her from marrying a monster.
But Christ, her body makes it impossible to think straight.
The curve of her hip under my palm. The way her breath catches when I touch her. How she pressed against me last night, asking me to keep her.
Keep me then.
Those three words replay in my mind. The way she looked at me. Fierce and certain and so fucking beautiful I couldn't breathe.
I trace my fingers along her shoulder, feather-light. She sighs, turning her face into my chest. Her lips brush my skin, and my whole body goes rigid.
"Lorenzo?" Her voice comes out husky with sleep.
"Go back to sleep."
She lifts her head, blinking up at me. Her hair falls around her face in waves, and I have to fist my free hand in the sheets to keep from tangling my fingers in it.
"How long have you been awake?"
"A while."
She studies my face, those honey eyes seeing too much. "You're thinking too hard."
"Someone has to."
"About what?"
About how badly I want to spread your legs and taste you until you scream. About marking every inch of your skin so everyone knows you're mine. About keeping you in this bed for days.
"About how we proceed from here."
She props herself on an elbow, the movement pulling her shirt tight across her breasts. "We proceed however we want. Isn't that the point?"
If only it were that simple.
The dining room feels like a funeral parlor. Six plates, six people, and enough silence to choke on.
I push eggs around my plate, watching my family avoid eye contact. We haven't eaten together in days. Not since Rafaella dropped her bomb about Giuseppe's second family. About the secret I kept for over a decade.
Sophia sits beside me, her thigh barely brushing mine under the table.
Pietro's fork scrapes against porcelain.
Bruno wheels himself closer to the table, his movements jerky with barely contained rage. He hasn't spoken to me since calling me out for protecting myself instead of the family.
Nora watches Pietro with concern, her hand resting near his on the table. Vittoria stares at her untouched coffee like it holds answers to questions she's afraid to ask.
"The past days have been difficult." Pietro's voice cuts through the silence.
Everyone stops pretending to eat.
Pietro sets down his fork, his jaw working as he chooses his words. "I've been thinking." His dark eyes find mine across the table. "About secrets. About family. About what we owe each other."
My chest tightens. Here it comes.
"I can't forgive you easily, Lorenzo." Each word lands like a punch. "You kept this from us for twelve years. Twelve fucking years of lies."
"Pietro—" Nora starts, but he raises his hand.
"Let me finish." He leans back in his chair, still holding my gaze.
"But I've been asking myself what I would have done.
If I'd discovered Dad's betrayal at twenty-two.
And the truth is..." Pietro exhales hard.
"I might have done the same. Might have thought I was protecting everyone by keeping it buried. "
The admission doesn't absolve me, but something in my chest loosens slightly.
"I hate this life."
We all turn to Vittoria.
"I love you all," she continues, her voice shaking. "But I'm so tired of the people I love most proving me wrong. Showing me I never really knew them at all."
Tears gather in her eyes. "I loved Dad so much. He was my hero. The man who taught me to be strong, who said family came first, who—" Her voice cracks. "And all that time, he was playing us. Had another family. Other children. Another life."
The guilt crushes me. Not just for keeping the secret, but for shattering her image of Giuseppe. For being another man she trusted who let her down.
"I can't forgive myself for not seeing it," Vittoria whispers. "For being so blind."
"You were a child," Nora says gently.
"I'm not a child anymore." Vittoria's eyes find mine. "And you knew. You knew and you looked me in the eye every day for twelve years and said nothing."
I set down my fork.
"You're right." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "I looked you in the eye every day and said nothing."
Vittoria's jaw tightens, waiting for excuses that won't come.
"I wanted to tell you all immediately. Had my phone out in the car, ready to call Riccardo." The words stick in my throat. "But Giuseppe asked me one question that stopped me cold."
"What question?" Pietro's voice is deadly quiet.
"He asked if I wanted to be the one to destroy our mother."
The temperature in the room drops.
"He said, 'Your mother's heart is already fragile. This would kill her. Do you want to be responsible for that? For breaking Vittoria's heart? For making everyone question everything they believe about family?'"
I meet each of their eyes in turn. "And I was a coward. Because I couldn't do it. Couldn't be the one to shatter your world the way mine had just been shattered."
"So you carried it alone," Nora says softly.
"I'm not asking for sympathy." My voice hardens. "I made my choice. And honestly? Even knowing how much you all hate me right now, I'd make the same choice again."
Bruno's laugh is cold. "Of course you would."
"Because this family comes first. Always." I lean forward, my voice dropping. "Even when it means being the villain. Even when it means you all despise me. The family survives. That's all that matters."
"That's bullshit," Vittoria snaps. "Family means honesty—"
"Family means whatever keeps us alive and together.
" The words come out harsher than intended.
"You think I enjoyed keeping this secret?
You think I didn't want to rage at Giuseppe every time he preached about loyalty?
Every fucking Sunday dinner when he'd talk about family honor while knowing he had another wife across town? "
My control cracks slightly. "But what would telling you have accomplished? Giuseppe was already dead when Rafaella showed up. The damage was done. All I could do was try to minimize the casualties."
"You can hate me. You can shut me out until I leave the family if that's what you want." I look at each of them. "But everything I've done, every secret I've kept, every lie I've told. It's all been to keep this family whole. Even if it means I'm the one who breaks."
Sophia
I want to speak. Want to tell them Lorenzo protected them from pain, that maybe carrying secrets alone is its own kind of love. But I'm not family. Not really. One word from Pietro and I'd be back in that locked room upstairs, or worse.
So I stay silent, my hand finding Lorenzo's under the table.
Pietro clears his throat, his dark eyes scanning the room. "We need to change the subject." His voice carries that commanding tone that makes everyone straighten. "This conversation isn't finished, but we have more immediate concerns."
He turns to Lorenzo and me. "You two need to go public. Really public. Not just leaked photos and speculation."
My stomach drops.
"With everything that's happened you look like you're hiding." Pietro's jaw tightens. "Francesco's already spinning stories. Says you're keeping Sophia prisoner, that the engagement is fake."
"It is fake," Bruno mutters from his wheelchair.
Pietro ignores him. "We need an engagement party. Something big, visible. Show Chicago that Sophia chose this, chose us."
Lorenzo's hand tightens around mine. "When?"
"This weekend. Three days." Pietro's tone leaves no room for argument. "Vittoria will handle the guest list. Every family that matters needs to see you two together, happy, in love."
In love. The words make my chest ache.
"After the party, we accelerate the wedding timeline." Pietro's eyes find mine, cold and calculating. "Once you're officially a Sartori, you'll have more freedom of movement. Francesco won't be able to claim you're being held against your will."
I nod, understanding what he's not saying. Once I'm married, I become useful. Once I'm married, I can get close to Francesco again.
"And after the wedding," Pietro continues, his voice dropping, "you retrieve that ledger from Francesco's office. The one you promised us."
There it is. The real reason I'm sitting at this table instead of locked in a room. The only currency I have in this world of violence and blood.
"I understand," I say quietly.
"Do you?" Pietro leans forward. "Because once you're married to Lorenzo, there's no backing out. You become one of us permanently. You betray us, and family or not, you'll be handled like any other traitor."
The threat hangs in the air like smoke.
Lorenzo's chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. "That's enough, Pietro."
"Is it?" Pietro rises too, matching his brother's stance. "She needs to understand what she's agreeing to. This isn't some romance novel where love conquers all. This is business."
"She understands." Lorenzo's voice drops to that dangerous register that makes my skin prickle.
Pietro's eyes never leave mine. "Tell me, Sophia. Do you really understand what it means to retrieve that ledger? Your uncle won't just hand it over. You might have to lie to him. Manipulate him. Maybe worse."
My chin lifts. "I know what needs to be done."
"Knowing and doing are different things." Bruno wheels himself closer.
I force myself to meet Bruno's dead eyes. "I'll do whatever it takes."
"Whatever it takes," Pietro repeats slowly. "Remember those words when you're standing in Francesco's office, when he trusts you enough to turn his back."
Nora places her hand on Pietro's arm. "She gets it."
"She better." Pietro sits back down, his expression softening slightly.
Fake engagement or real feelings, it doesn't matter. To them, I'll always be the Torrino girl who showed up at their door. The outsider. The stranger who knows too many secrets.
"I need a word." Lorenzo's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. He stands, pulling me up with him.
Lorenzo leads me through the hallways, his hand warm against my lower back. We pass the living room, the stairs to my room, continuing deeper into the house. He opens his bedroom door.
The door clicks shut behind us.
"Are you okay?" His voice is softer now, without the edge he carries around his family.
I want to lie. Want to tell him I'm fine, that Pietro's threats don't scare me, that being forever marked as an outsider doesn't hurt. But the words that come out are different.
"I'll handle it."
It's not really an answer, but it's the truth. I've handled my mother's death, Francesco's betrayal, Daniil's threat. I'll handle this too.
Lorenzo steps closer, his hand coming up to cup my face. "Sophia—"
"I'll handle it," I repeat, firmer this time. "I know what they think of me. I know what I am to them. A tool. A means to an end. I'll get the ledger, I'll play the part, I'll—"
He kisses me.
His lips move against mine with a tenderness that makes my chest ache, makes my knees weak, makes me forget about Pietro's threats and Bruno's cruelty.
I melt into him, my hands gripping his shirt. For this moment, I'm not the outsider. I'm not the Torrino girl with a price on her head. I'm just Sophia, and he's just Lorenzo, and maybe that's enough.
When he pulls back, his thumb strokes my cheek. "Go get dressed."
I blink, still dizzy from the kiss. "What?"
"We're going shopping." He steps back, creating distance between us that feels wrong. "You need things."
"I have Vittoria's clothes—"
"You've been wearing Vittoria's clothes for days." His voice shifts back to business, but his eyes stay soft. "You need your own things. Dresses for the engagement party. Clothes that fit properly."
"Okay." I move toward the door. "I'll go change."
"Sophia."
I turn back.
"Wear something comfortable. We'll be out for a while."
I nod and leave his room, my lips still tingling from his kiss.