Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lorenzo
The shopping center stretches before us, all designer storefronts. Sophia's hand feels small, her fingers interlaced with mine like they belong there. I hate how right it feels.
Dante trails twenty feet behind us, pretending to check his phone. Two more of my men work the upper level, another pair covering the exits. After Francesco's stunt with the photographers, I'm not taking chances.
"People keep staring," Sophia says quietly, pressing closer to my side.
"Let them."
A woman in heels stops mid-stride when she sees me, her eyes widening before she quickly looks away. Her companion whispers something, and they both glance back.
"They know you," Sophia observes. "But when I looked you up online years ago, there was almost nothing. Just your name on some restaurant licenses."
Years ago. She looked me up years ago.
"How come you're invisible online but everyone here recognizes you?"
We pass a jewelry store where the manager steps out, nodding respectfully. I ignore him.
"I own twenty-three restaurants across Chicago," I tell her. "The kind of places where senators have their mistresses, where deals worth millions get made over wine. That makes me a name people whisper at charity galas and country clubs."
"But no photos, no social media, nothing."
"I don't like people looking at me." I guide her around a cluster of teenagers taking selfies. "Never have. The less people know about my face, my habits, my life, the safer I am."
"Your whole family is like that," she says.
"It's how we were raised. How your family was raised too, or should have been." I think of Francesco's recent media circus. "Your uncle forgot that lesson."
A man in an suit approaches, hand extended. "Mr. Sartori, what a pleasure—"
"We're busy," I cut him off, steering Sophia past him.
She glances back at the rejected man. "That was rude."
"That was necessary."
We enter a boutique where the staff immediately recognizes me despite my rare visits. The manager appears within seconds, dismissing other customers.
"But the photos of us," Sophia says as we're led to a private dressing area. "They're everywhere now. Your face is all over the internet with mine."
I watch her run her fingers along a rack of dresses, her touch gentle on the expensive fabrics.
"Those are the only photos I haven't paid to have removed," I admit.
She turns to me, surprise flickering across her face. "Why?"
Because I want the world to know you're mine. Because seeing those photos makes this feel real. Because for once, I don't mind being seen if it's with you.
"Strategy," I lie. "We need the public narrative."
"Right."The tone in her voice tells me she doesn't believe me. "Strategy."
The manager returns with champagne I didn't order and a selection of dresses already pulled in Sophia's size. Vittoria must have called ahead.
"Mr. Sartori, we've prepared our finest pieces for your fiancée."
Fiancée. The word sits heavy between us.
Sophia examines a black dress with delicate beading. "Must be nice, having that kind of power. Making photos disappear, having stores cleared out for you."
"It's not power." I accept the champagne, handing her a glass. "It's money."
"What's the difference?"
"Money can buy privacy, convenience, silence. Power..." I watch Dante position himself by the entrance. "Power means Francesco can't touch you. Power means the Russians think twice before moving against us. Power is what keeps you safe."
She sips her champagne, studying me over the rim. "And what happens when the photos of us aren't useful anymore? After this is over?"
The question hangs between us. After this is over. After the fake engagement ends. After she gets the ledger. After, after, after.
"Try on the dresses," I say instead of answering.
She sets down her glass, gathering several dresses. Before disappearing into the changing room, she looks back.
"You know, Lorenzo, I think you hide not because you're afraid of people looking at you, but because you're afraid of what they might see."
The curtain closes behind her, leaving me with the truth of her words.
I wait scrolling in my phone. The curtain parts and Sophia steps out.
The dress is midnight blue, high-necked and long-sleeved, covering her from throat to toe. Appropriate.
Then she turns to check herself in the mirror.
Jesus Christ.
The back is completely open, a dramatic cutout that starts at her nape and plunges all the way down, ending just above the curve of her ass. One wrong move and the dress would reveal everything. The fabric clings to every line of her body, and that exposed strip of skin makes my mouth go dry.
"What do you think?" She looks at me over her shoulder, and I realize she knows exactly what she's doing.
"Try something else."
Her eyebrows lift. "I actually kind of like this one."
She does another slow turn, pretending to examine the dress from different angles. The manager hovers nearby, ready to offer opinions, but one look from me sends her scurrying to the other side of the store.
I stand, closing the distance between us. Sophia watches me approach in the mirror.
I lean in close, my chest nearly touching her back, careful not to make contact with all that exposed skin. To anyone watching, it looks like I'm whispering something sweet in her ear. Playing the devoted fiancé.
"No one," I say, my voice low enough that only she can hear, "is allowed to see you in this dress but me."
She blinks, her lips parting slightly. Then a slow smile spreads across her face, and she tilts her head just enough that her hair brushes my jaw.
"Interesting." She pretends to adjust the neckline, the movement making the back gap slightly wider. "So you do like it then."
"Sophia."
"I mean, you must like it if you want to be the only one who sees it." She meets my eyes in the mirror, all false innocence.
My jaw clenches. The little minx is enjoying this.
"Or maybe," she continues, turning to face me, which brings us dangerously close, "you're worried about what you'll do if other men see me in it. Is that it, Lorenzo? Afraid you'll have to hurt someone?"
"I don't make threats I won't follow through on."
"Who's threatening?" She reaches up, pretending to smooth my collar, her fingers barely grazing my chest. "I'm just trying to understand my fiancé's preferences. For the public narrative, of course."
"Of course."
"So should I get it?" Her hand stays on my chest, and I feel the heat of her palm through my shirt. "For... strategic purposes?"
The manager clears her throat from across the store. "Should I start a fitting room for alterations?"
"No," I say, not breaking eye contact with Sophia.
"Yes," Sophia counters, still looking at me. "I'll take it."
"You're not wearing that in public."
"You're right." She steps back, giving me a view of the dress from the front again - all covered up and proper. "I'll save it for private occasions. When it's just you and me."
She turns and walks back to the changing room, the exposed line of her back taunting me with every step.
"After all," she whispers over her shoulder before disappearing behind the curtain, "we should practice being convincing in private too, don't you think?"
I pour myself another champagne and down it in one swallow, adjusting my jacket to hide my body's reaction to that dress. To her.
"Bring more dresses," I tell the manager. "Ones with backs."
From behind the curtain, I hear Sophia laugh - low and knowing and absolutely nothing like the innocent girl everyone thinks she is.
Sophia
Lorenzo's reaction was everything I hoped for and more. The controlled man finally showing cracks in his perfect facade.
I slip out of the scandalous dress and reach for the black one. This one is completely different - elegant, with long sleeves and a modest neckline. The back is fully covered, just like he demanded. But the way it hugs my curves makes it just as dangerous in its own way.
I step out of the changing room.
Lorenzo's eyes sweep over me, taking in every detail. He stands from his chair, circling me slowly like a predator examining prey. His gaze is clinical now, all business, but I catch the way his fingers flex at his sides.
"Turn," he commands.
I do a slow spin, letting him see the dress from every angle. The fabric whispers against my skin, and I feel powerful in it. Like I could walk into any room and own it.
"This one," he says, his voice decisive. "You'll wear this to the engagement party."
"You don't want to see the others?"
"No." He steps closer, adjusting the sleeve slightly even though it doesn't need adjusting. "This is perfect. Elegant. Appropriate."
"Appropriate," I repeat, fighting a smile. "Unlike the blue one?"
His jaw tightens. "The black one, Sophia. For the party."
I nod, playing obedient. "Whatever you say."
Back in the changing room, I take my time getting back into my jeans and sweater. My body still hums from our earlier exchange, from the heat in his eyes when he saw all that exposed skin. He wants me. He can deny it all he wants, but his body tells a different story.
When I emerge with both dresses draped over my arm, the manager rushes forward.
"Just the black one?" she asks, clearly expecting a bigger sale from Lorenzo Sartori's fiancée.
"Both of them," I confirm looking at him, handing them over. "The blue and the black."
Lorenzo's eyes narrow.
I walk over to Lorenzo, who's pulled out his gold card to pay.
"I need to find some underwear," I announce.
Lorenzo's hand freezes halfway to giving the manager his card.
"What?"
"Underwear. Lingerie. You know, the things that go under the dresses?" I keep my voice innocent, but I'm watching his reaction carefully. "These dresses require specific undergarments. Unless you'd prefer I go without?"
The manager suddenly finds something very interesting to examine on her tablet.
Lorenzo's grip on his card tightens. He pays for the dresses and then turns to me.
"There's a lingerie store two doors down."
"Good. You can help me pick something appropriate." I emphasize the last word, throwing his earlier statement back at him. "After all, you seem to have strong opinions about what I should wear."
"Sophia—"
"Or I could go alone," I whisper to him, already knowing his answer. "I'm sure Dante wouldn't mind accompanying me while you wait here."
His eyes darken at the suggestion of another man, even Dante, going lingerie shopping with me.
"We'll both go," he says through clenched teeth.
"Perfect." I beam at him, then turn to the manager. "Could you have those sent to the Sartori compound?"
"Of course Miss."
"Soon to be Mrs. Sartori," Lorenzo corrects, his hand finding the small of my back possessively.
The manager's eyes widen slightly at his tone, and she nods quickly.
As we leave the boutique, Lorenzo's hand stays on my back. I lean into him slightly, playing the happy fiancée for anyone watching.
"You're enjoying this," he murmurs close to my ear.
"Maybe a little," I admit. "Aren't you?"
His fingers press harder against my spine, and I have my answer.
The lingerie store is all soft lighting and aesthetic displays. Lorenzo stops just inside the entrance, his hand still on my back.
"You get what you need," he says, his voice clipped. "Then we leave."
I nod, starting to move away, but his grip tightens. He pulls me against him in what must look like an embrace. His lips brush my ear, and his voice drops to that dangerous whisper that that causes me goosebumps.
"The next male name that comes from your lips that isn't mine," he says slowly, "will cause me to make that man dead. Do you understand me, Sophia?"
Oh.
I try not to laugh.
I slide my hand up to the back of his head, my fingers threading through his dark hair.
"If you keep rejecting having sex with me," I whisper back, my lips barely moving against his ear, "the next male name I speak will be whoever I fuck instead."
His hand at my back becomes a fist in my sweater, and I feel the sharp intake of his breath.
I pull back just enough to see his face.
Then I spin away from him before he can answer and walk into the lingerie section, leaving him standing there.
My hands shake slightly as I browse through lace and silk. I can feel his eyes on me, tracking my every movement from where he stands near the entrance like a guard dog. Or maybe more like a wolf, waiting to pounce.
A saleswoman approaches, her smile professional but curious. She's definitely noticed Lorenzo.
"Can I help you find anything?"