Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Lorenzo
The buzzing cuts through my exhaustion like a blade. One hour. That's all the sleep I managed after keeping Sophia up until dawn, learning every inch of her body.
I slide out of bed, careful not to wake Sophia. She's sprawled across the sheets, her hair a dark tangle against the pillow, bruises from my mouth blooming across her throat and shoulder.
The bathroom door clicks shut behind me before I answer.
"What?" My voice comes out rough, scraped raw from groaning her name all night.
"Francesco's dead." Pietro doesn't waste time on pleasantries. "Found him in his office an hour ago. Three bullets to the head, execution style."
The words hit like ice water. I grip the marble counter, my knuckles going white. "When?"
"Sometime after midnight. His men found him when they came for the morning shift change."
"Daniil?" I ask, though I already know.
"Has to be. The Russians don't take rejection well." Pietro's voice drops lower. "Lorenzo, if he killed Francesco over this—"
"He won't stop." The words taste like ash. "Francesco was her blood. If Daniil's willing to kill family over a broken deal, Sophia's next."
"We’ll be ready."
"Get to the compound. Now. Dante and two of our best are already on their way up. You've got ten minutes to get her ready."
The line goes dead.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My chest bears scratches from Sophia's nails, my shoulder marked where she bit down to muffle her screams. And now I have to tell her that her uncle is dead.
Worse, I have to tell her she's in more danger than ever. Because she won't care about him being dead.
I splash cold water on my face, trying to shake off the fog of too little sleep and too much whiskey. My gun sits on the bathroom counter where I left it before undressing Sophia for the first time. I check the clip, then grab a clean shirt from the hook behind the door.
Seven minutes left.
Back in the bedroom, Sophia hasn't moved. The sheet barely covers her, and I can see every mark I left on her skin. Mine, mine, mine—the word pounds through my head with each heartbeat. But being mine means being a target.
I sit on the edge of the bed, my hand hovering over her shoulder. She looks so peaceful.
"Sophia." I keep my voice gentle, my hand finally making contact with her warm skin. "Piccola, wake up."
She stirs, a soft moan escaping as she stretches. Her eyes flutter open, still hazy with sleep and satisfaction. "Lorenzo?" Her voice is hoarse from screaming. "What time is it?"
"Early. We need to go."
Something in my tone must alert her because she sits up immediately, the sheet falling away. "What's wrong?"
I force myself to meet her eyes, not letting my gaze drop to her exposed breasts, to the evidence of our night together written across her skin. "Your uncle's dead. We need to get to the compound. Dante will be here in five minutes."
The color drains from her face. "Francesco's... when?"
"Last night. After the party." I stand, pulling her up with me. "We need to move. Now."
She doesn't argue, doesn't ask questions. She just nods and starts gathering her clothes from where I threw them hours ago. But I see her hands shaking as she pulls on her dress, see the way her breathing has gone shallow.
If Daniil killed Francesco, he's declaring war. And Sophia just became the prize everyone will kill to claim.
My phone buzzes. Dante's text is brief: Back entrance. Two minutes.
I grab Sophia's hand. "They're here."
At the door, I stop and turn to face her. Her eyes search mine, and I see the fear she's trying to hide. Not for herself—I know that look. It's the same one Nora gets when Pietro takes unnecessary risks.
"Nothing's going to happen to you." The words come out fiercer than intended. My free hand cups her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "I promise you that."
She leans into my touch, and what she says next stops my heart.
"I'm more scared for you than I am for myself."
I stare at her, this woman standing here worried about me.
This can't be real. This feeling in my chest—like something cracking open, letting light into places that have been dark for years. I've spent my entire adult life being the one who worries, who protects, who carries the weight of keeping everyone safe.
But Sophia's looking at me like I matter. Like my safety means something beyond my usefulness to the family.
My phone buzzes again. Dante's getting impatient.
"We need to go." I squeeze her hand tighter, already making plans. The compound first, then somewhere more secure. Somewhere Daniil can't reach. I'll lock her away if I have to, keep her in a room where no one can touch her, where she can't leave, where she'll be safe even if she hates me for it.
I know what that means though. Caging her like that would be worse than the alternative. At least if I let her walk around she would have had some freedom before Daniil inevitably killed her. With me, she'll be a prisoner indefinitely. My prisoner.
But alive. She'll be alive.
We take the back stairs, our footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell.
Each floor we descend, my mind races through options.
The compound isn't secure enough—if Daniil killed Francesco in his own office, nowhere in Chicago is truly safe.
Maybe the cabin upstate. Or further. Canada, Europe, somewhere the Russians have no reach.
"Lorenzo." Sophia's voice pulls me back. We've reached the ground floor. Through the small window in the door, I can see Dante's SUV idling in the alley, exhaust visible in the cold morning air.
"Stay behind me." I draw my gun, checking the alley through the window. Empty except for our men. "When we move, we move fast. Straight to the car."
She nods, but her grip on my hand tightens.
I push open the door. The November air bites at our faces. Dante's already out of the driver's seat, scanning the rooftops while Marco covers the alley entrance.
"Clear," Dante calls.
We move. Ten feet to the car. Five. Sophia's hand in mine, her breathing quick and shallow behind me.
Then we're inside, Dante slamming the door and sliding back behind the wheel. The locks engage with a solid thunk.
"Compound?" Dante asks, already pulling into traffic.
"For now." I keep Sophia pressed against my side, my arm around her shoulders. Through the tinted windows, I watch every car, every pedestrian, every shadow that could hide a Russian shooter.
Sophia burrows closer into my side, and I hate myself for what I'm about to do to her. For the cage I'm building in the name of keeping her safe.
Sophia
My entire body aches in ways I didn't know were possible.
Every shift against the leather seat sends little sparks of pain mixed with memory through me.
Between my legs throbs with a soreness that makes me want to squirm and hold still at the same time.
But there's no time to process what happened last night.
Francesco is dead.
"Intel came through about an hour ago," Dante says from the driver's seat, his eyes constantly checking mirrors. "A maid at Francesco's estate called the compound. She was hysterical."
Lorenzo's arm tightens around me. "How did she know to call us?"
"She didn't. Called looking for Sophia, actually. Said she knew Sophia was with us from the engagement photos." Dante takes a sharp turn, and I bite back a wince as my tender body shifts. "Here's the strange part—no guards were hurt. Not one."
"That's impossible," Lorenzo says. "Francesco kept at least six men on night shift."
"He dismissed them." Dante glances at us in the rearview mirror. "The maid said Francesco ordered food for two sent to his office around midnight. Then he told the night shift to take a half-hour break. Said he had a guest coming that no one could see."
What?
"He never did that."
"The staff assumed it was a woman," Dante continues. "You know, something sexual. The maid said they'd heard rumors he had someone on the side, someone he kept very private."
"No." The word comes out sharper than intended. "Francesco never had women over. I lived in that house my entire life. He was always alone."
Lorenzo shifts beside me. "You're sure?"
"Positive. He was..." I search for the right words. "He was bitter about women. Luna's mother died giving birth to her, and it destroyed something in him. That's why he and Luna had such an awful relationship. He blamed her for existing."
The car goes silent except for the hum of the engine.
"I never knew they had a bad relationship." Lorenzo's voice sounds distant, like he's speaking from very far away. "Luna always said she loved him so much. Said he was the only family who understood her."
I turn to look at him, ignoring the protest from my sore muscles. "Luna lied about a lot of things."
Dante clears his throat. "If it wasn't a woman Francesco was meeting..."
"Then it was business," Lorenzo finishes. "Someone he trusted enough to dismiss his guards for. Someone who could get close enough to put three bullets in his head without a fight."
"Daniil?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"Had to be someone Francesco knew well. Someone he'd let get that close." Lorenzo's jaw works. "The Russians have been working with him for months. He'd trust Daniil enough to meet privately."
"You're right," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "If it was someone else, it could be anyone. Someone I had no idea he was working with."
The compound gates loom ahead.
Dante pulls into the circular drive, and Lorenzo helps me out of the car.
The moment we step through the door, Bruno's wheelchair blocks our path.
"Well, well." His voice drips venom. "Now that your sweet uncle is out of the picture, you can do me a favor and get the hell out of here."
"Bruno." Lorenzo steps between us, his body a wall of controlled fury. "Sophia will stay here because she's a family member."
Bruno laughs, the sound harsh and bitter. "Family member? Christ, Lorenzo, I knew you were thinking with your dick, but this is pathetic."
Heat floods my face. The soreness between my legs suddenly feels like a brand, like everyone can see what we did last night.
"If you continue talking like that," Lorenzo's voice drops to something dangerous, "and making Sophia feel unwelcome, I'll leave too."
The foyer goes silent.
Bruno's eyes glitter with cruelty. "I don't give a fuck."
Lorenzo's entire body goes rigid beside me, and for a moment I think he might actually hit his brother. His brother in a wheelchair. His brother who just woke from a coma to find everything changed.
"Bruno—" Vittoria appears from the hallway, her face pale. "Stop it."
"Why? Because the princess might get her feelings hurt?" Bruno's gaze never leaves mine. "Her uncle just got three bullets to the brain. You think whoever did that is going to stop there? Every second she's in this house, she's putting us all at risk."
"We're already at risk," Lorenzo says quietly. "Have been since the Russians moved into Chicago."
"Not like this." Bruno wheels closer, and I force myself not to step back. "Francesco's dead. The Torrino empire is up for grabs. Every family in Chicago is going to be scrambling for a piece, and his dear niece here is the key to that. Whoever controls her—"
"No one controls me," I interrupt, finding my voice despite the trembling in my chest.
Bruno's laugh is sharp enough to cut. "Really? Because it looks like my brother's doing a pretty good job of it. Tell me, princess, did he at least wait until after the engagement party to fuck you, or—"
Lorenzo moves so fast I barely see it. His hand slams against the wall beside Bruno's head, the sound echoing through the foyer.
"Finish that sentence," Lorenzo says, his voice deadly quiet. "I dare you."
I don't think that Bruno is ready to stop. He's about to talk again.
"Lorenzo." Pietro's voice cuts through the tension. He stands at the top of the stairs, looking down at all of us with an unreadable expression. "My office. Now."
Lorenzo straightens slowly, his hand dropping from the wall. There's a crack in the plaster where his palm hit.
"This isn't over," Bruno says as we pass.
"No," Lorenzo agrees without looking back. "It's not."
As we climb the stairs, I can feel Bruno's eyes burning into my back. My legs shake with each step.
Behind us, I hear Vittoria's soft voice trying to calm Bruno, and his harsh response. But I can't make out the words over the pounding of my heart.