Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Lorenzo
The cathedral reeks of lilies and hypocrisy.
I stand beside Sophia in the front pew, watching Chicago's underworld pretend to mourn Francesco Torrino. Every known family has sent representatives. They're not here to pay respects. They're here to size up the competition for Francesco's empire.
And every single one of them keeps staring at Sophia.
She looks lethal in the black Versace that Vittoria picked out. The dress transforms her from grieving niece to a power player they don't know how to read. Her face stays perfectly composed, not a tear in sight. The lack of grief makes her more dangerous somehow. More unpredictable.
"The heirs keep watching," I murmur against her ear, my hand on her lower back. What I really want to say is that killing every single one of them would bring me joy.
"Let them look." She says. "They're all trying to figure out what I know. What Francesco left me."
She's right. The vultures started circling the moment news of Francesco's death spread. Families offering condolences while fishing for information about his operations, his contacts, his territories.
Pietro sits two rows behind us with Nico and Dante. Bruno refused to come, claiming his wheelchair would draw too much attention.
The priest drones on about Francesco's dedication to family and community. I bite back a laugh. His dedication extended only as far as his bank account.
Movement catches my eye. Fabio Corelli slides into the pew across the aisle, his gaze locked on Sophia. He's twenty-eight, ambitious, and his family's been trying to expand into Francesco's waterfront territories for years.
The priest calls for a moment of silent prayer. Heads bow throughout the cathedral, but I keep my eyes open, scanning for threats. The Russians haven't shown their faces yet, but they're here somewhere. Daniil wouldn't miss this.
A hand touches Sophia's shoulder from behind. We both tense.
"My condolences, dear."
It's Chiara Benedetti, the matriarch of the Benedetti family. Seventy-three years old and sharp as the blade she allegedly keeps in her cane.
"Thank you, Mrs. Benedetti." Sophia's voice stays steady.
"Such a tragedy. Francesco was so young." Her fingers squeeze Sophia's shoulder. "If you need anything during this difficult time, the Benedetti family is at your disposal."
Translation: she wants to know what Sophia plans to do with Francesco's operations.
"Your kindness is appreciated," Sophia responds carefully.
Chiara's gaze shifts to me. "Mr. Sartori. How fortunate that your engagement was announced before this terrible loss. Otherwise, poor Sophia would be quite alone."
She's wondering if me or my family killed him.
"Very fortunate," I agree, my hand tightening on Sophia's waist.
The old woman moves on, but her message lingers. Everyone's waiting to see what happens next. Whether Sophia will try to claim Francesco's empire. Whether the Sartoris will back her play.
Whether the Russians will come for what they think they're owed.
"How many more of these conversations do I have to endure?" Sophia asks under her breath.
"All of them. Every family will want their moment. They need to gauge whether you're a threat or an opportunity."
"And which am I?"
"Both."
Daniil Morozov enters through the side door.
He moves through the cathedral like smoke, his men flanking him in perfect formation. The smaller families shift nervously in their pews. Conversations die mid-sentence. Even the priest stumbles over his eulogy.
Daniil's ice-blue eyes lock onto Sophia and don't let go.
He's watching her like she's a meal he's been denied. Like Francesco's death is just an inconvenience between him and what he considers his property. My hand moves to the gun at my hip, calculating angles and casualties if I put three bullets in his skull right here in God's house.
But something bothers me about this whole setup.
Francesco dismissed his guards before meeting his killer.
That means he trusted whoever pulled the trigger.
Daniil wouldn't have earned that trust. Francesco feared the Russians too much.
And Daniil would've wanted credit for the kill.
He'd have left Francesco's body displayed like a trophy, not executed quietly in his study.
The smaller families are making their own calculations. I can see it in how they position themselves, creating distance from both us and the Russians.
Daniil approaches our pew.
"My condolences on your loss," he says to Sophia.
I step between them. "You're not welcome here."
His pale eyes flick to me, amused. "According to whom?"
"Me." Sophia's voice cuts through the tension like a blade. She steps around me, chin raised, meeting Daniil's stare without flinching. "Francesco is dead. Whatever arrangement you thought you had with the Torrino family died with him."
That's my girl.
Daniil's smile spreads slow and cold. "I'm simply being polite." He says it louder, ensuring the surrounding families hear every word. "Paying my respects to a business associate. Surely you wouldn't deny me that courtesy in front of all these witnesses?"
He's establishing his claim publicly. Making it known he had dealings with Francesco that might extend beyond death. The smaller families lean in, hungry for information they can sell or leverage.
"Your courtesy isn't required," Sophia says. "Or wanted."
"Such hostility." He says.
If we weren't surrounded by half of Chicago's underworld, if Sophia wasn't standing in the middle of this powder keg, I'd have already painted the cathedral walls with his blood.
Since the other night, I've been imagining exactly how I'd kill him.
Slow enough to make him beg, fast enough that Sophia wouldn't have to watch him die.
Sophia
The lawyer's hands shake as he reads Francesco's will.
We're in Pietro's study at the compound, and I can barely process what I'm hearing. The burial was three hours ago. Now I sit between Lorenzo and Pietro while this nervous man in wire-rimmed glasses destroys my life all over again.
"To my niece, Sophia Torrino, I leave the entirety of my estate, both personal and business holdings..."
The words blur together. Properties. Bank accounts. Restaurants. Warehouses. Everything Francesco built, stole, or killed for—he left it all to me.
"This can't be right." My voice sounds distant, like someone else is speaking.
The lawyer adjusts his glasses. "The will was updated two months ago, Miss Torrino. Everything is legal and binding."
Two months ago. When Francesco started talking about marrying me to Daniil.
Pietro leans forward. "What about the business operations? The territories?"
"All assets transfer to Miss Torrino." The lawyer's Adam's apple bobs. "Including all existing contracts and arrangements."
My stomach drops. That means Francesco's deals with the Russians. His agreements with other families. Every promise he made, every threat he issued—they're mine now.
"I need air." I stand too quickly, the room tilting.
Lorenzo's hand steadies me. "We're done here."
He guides me out of the study, down the hall to his room. I sink onto his bed, trying to make sense of this disaster.
"I can't go to his house, can I?" I already know the answer. "To look through his things, figure out what I'm actually dealing with?"
"You're not going anywhere until our wedding. At least."
I look up at him, confused. "But Francesco's dead. Why do we still need to get married?"
Lorenzo sits beside me, his expression grim. "Because him being dead is worse than when he was alive."
"How is that possible?"
"Think about it." His hand finds mine. "You just inherited millions in assets. Legal businesses, illegal operations, and most importantly—Francesco's connections and debts. Every family in Chicago now sees you as either an opportunity or a threat."
The weight of it crashes over me. "They'll come for me."
"Every single one. Daniil will say you're part of the assets he was promised."
"But I don't want any of it. They can have—"
"No." Lorenzo's grip tightens. "You show weakness now, you're dead within a week. Maybe less."
I pull my hand away, standing to pace. "So what am I supposed to do? Pretend to be some crime boss? I don't know the first thing about running Francesco's operations."
"You marry me. Become a Sartori. That protection might be the only thing that keeps you breathing."
I close the bathroom door behind me and lean against it, grateful for the privacy.
Francesco is dead. I wait for grief to hit, but it doesn't come. How can I mourn someone like him? Who would have watched Daniil destroy me without blinking?
I turn on the faucet, letting cold water run over my wrists. The lawyer's words echo in my head. Everything is mine.
The Torrino family. My family now, I suppose. What's left of it anyway.
I could hand it all to Lorenzo. Sign papers, transfer assets, walk away clean. The Sartoris would absorb Francesco's operations and I'd be... what? Lorenzo's kept woman? His wife who gave him an empire as a wedding gift?
My mother's voice whispers in my memory: "Never give away your power, Sophie. Once it's gone, you can't get it back."
But what does running a crime family even mean? Ordering hits? Counting drug money? Meeting with men who'd rather see me dead than taking orders from a woman?
I splash water on my face. At least Lorenzo wants me. I'm certain of that now. It's not just protection or obligation anymore.
Pietro has been surprisingly reasonable since Francesco's death. Even Nico nodded at me this morning in the kitchen, almost like acknowledgment. Like I'd earned something by surviving this long.
It's Bruno who terrifies me. The way he watches me with those dead eyes, like he's calculating exactly how to hurt Lorenzo through me. He's not wrong that my presence puts them at risk, but there's something else there. Something personal in his hatred.
I dry my hands on the towel, thinking through my options.
If I keep the Torrino holdings, I become a target for every ambitious criminal in Chicago.
If I hand everything to Lorenzo, I lose any leverage I might have.
Not that I think he'd hurt me, but independence means something. My mother taught me that too.
I step out of the bathroom to find Lorenzo standing by the window, his shoulders tense as he stares at the darkening sky.
"You don't have to think about the business right now," he says without turning around. "Francesco left you money—a lot of it. Enough to shut down anything illegal if that's what you want."
I move closer, drawn by the unexpected gentleness in his voice. "Just... shut it down?"
"Why not?" He finally faces me. "The restaurants, the legitimate holdings—we can put managers in place to run them. It's not a big deal, Sophia. You don't have to become anything like us."
Relief floods through me so fast my knees almost buckle. "But what about—"
"First, we need access to his records. Figure out what he owes and to whom. Pay off any debts that could come back on you." Lorenzo's jaw tightens. "After that, we'll figure out the next moves. Together."
"Together," I repeat, the word tasting like hope.
"You're not in this alone." He steps closer. "I know it feels like the world just dropped on your shoulders, but we'll handle it. One piece at a time."
The knot in my chest loosens. For the first time since the lawyer read that will, I can breathe properly. "I thought I'd have to... I don't know, become him somehow. Run meetings, make deals—"
"You could, if you wanted." Lorenzo's eyes search mine. "You're stronger than you think. But you don't have to be anything you don't want to be. And right now it's risky to even try to work among other crime families."
I want him so bad.
This man who deals in violence and power is offering me a choice. Real choice, not the illusion of it.
I close the distance between us, my hands finding his chest. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not assuming I'd just hand everything over to you. For giving me options."
His hand comes up to cup my face. "You're not property to be managed, Sophia. Not Francesco's, not mine Well, you are mine but not in that way. You get to decide what happens next."
The words undo something inside me.
"Right now?" My voice comes out rough. "I just want you."
Lorenzo pulls me against him, his arms wrapping around me like armor.
His hand strokes my hair, and I tilt my head back to look at him. Whatever he sees in my face makes his expression soften.
"Sophia..."
I rise up on my toes, cutting off whatever he was going to say with my lips against his. For a moment he's still, then his arms tighten around me and he's kissing me back with a hunger that matches mine.
One of his hands tangles in my hair while the other spreads across my lower back, pressing me closer. I can feel his heart beating against my chest, fast and hard. Mine matches its rhythm.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Lorenzo rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.
"We should talk about the wedding," he says, but makes no move to let me go.
"Tomorrow." I press closer, not ready to let reality back in yet. "Can we just... can this be enough for now?"
His answer is another kiss, slower this time, like he's memorizing the feel of me. His hands frame my face with surprising gentleness for someone capable of such violence.
"Whatever you need," he murmurs against my lips. "However long you need."