Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Lorenzo
The hospital waiting room smells like disinfectant and fear. I sit between Sophia and Vittoria, my hands steady despite what's coming. The bone marrow donation isn't what has me on edge—it's the silence from my sister that cuts deeper than any needle will.
Vittoria hasn't looked at me once since we arrived. She stares at the abstract painting on the wall like it holds the secrets of the universe. Her fingers twist the delicate gold bracelet our father gave her for her thirteenth birthday. The last birthday he was alive for.
"Mr. Sartori?" A nurse appears in scrubs. "We'll be ready for you in about twenty minutes."
I nod. Twenty more minutes of this suffocating quiet.
Sophia's hand finds mine, her thumb tracing circles on my palm. She doesn't speak. She's learned when words help and when they don't. This morning she simply kissed me and said, "I'm proud of you." Nothing more needed.
Vittoria shifts in her chair. The movement is small, but after days of her avoiding me, it feels like an earthquake.
"You all handled it better than me," she says suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. "When Papa died."
I turn to look at her, but she's still focused on that painting.
"You were so young, Vittoria—"
"I was thirteen," she repeats, stronger now. "Old enough to understand death. Old enough to know my father was gone." Her jaw tightens. "Old enough to deserve the truth about him having another family."
The accusation hangs between us. I want to defend myself, explain again why I kept Giuseppe's secret, but I've said it all before.
"I lost Papa," Vittoria continues, her voice cracking slightly. "Then Riccardo became... he was everything. He walked me down the aisle at school father-daughter dances. He threatened my first boyfriend." A bitter laugh escapes her. "He was supposed to give me away at my wedding someday."
My chest tightens. Riccardo's death hit us all, but Vittoria... she's twenty-three and has already buried two fathers.
"Now he's gone too," she says, finally turning to face me. Her eyes are dry but filled with a pain that makes me want to look away. "And Ava... she couldn't stay. Seeing us, being in that house without him... she said it was killing her."
"They were close," I say so Sophia can understand what's costing her.
"Like sisters," Vittoria corrects. "Ava taught me how to do my makeup, how to walk in heels. She was there when I got my first period because Mama was in Italy visiting family." Her fingers abandon the bracelet to grip the armrest. "Everyone leaves, Lorenzo. Death or choice, everyone leaves."
Sophia squeezes my hand tighter.
"But you," Vittoria continues, and now her eyes search mine. "You kept that secret for ten years. Let it eat at you, let it isolate you, all to protect us. To protect me from knowing my father was a liar."
"Vittoria—"
She shifts her chair closer, her knee bumping mine. "I'm still angry. I may be angry for a long time. But I'm also..." She takes a shaky breath. "I'm proud of you."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
"Not for keeping the secret," she clarifies quickly. "For this. For doing this for Alberto. A stranger who represents everything Papa hid from us, and you're saving his life anyway."
"It's not his fault," I say quietly. "He didn't choose any of this."
"Neither did we." Vittoria reaches over and takes my free hand. "But you're choosing to help him anyway. That's... that's who you really are, Lorenzo. Under all the control and calculation. You protect people, even when it costs you everything."
Her hand is smaller than Sophia's, but her grip is fierce.
"Don't leave me too," she whispers, and for a moment she's not the brilliant woman who handles our cyber security. She's my baby sister, terrified of losing anyone else. "Promise me."
"I promise," I tell her, meaning it with everything I have.
The waiting room door opens again, and Rafaella walks in. My half-sister. The words still feel foreign in my mind.
She looks exhausted. Dark circles shadow her eyes. She's been living at the hospital for days, watching her brother die by degrees.
"Lorenzo." She stops a few feet away, uncertain. Her gaze flicks to Sophia and Vittoria, then back to me. "Thank you. I know those words aren't enough, but—"
"They're enough," I cut her off.
Rafaella's shoulders drop slightly. "I'm sorry," she says, the words rushing out. "For bringing this to your family. For disrupting your lives. If it wasn't for Alberto's life, I would never have—"
"This isn't up to you." The words come out harsher than intended. Sophia's hand tightens on mine in warning.
Rafaella flinches but doesn't back down. "I know. Giuseppe made his choices. We're all just dealing with the consequences."
Vittoria stands abruptly. "I need coffee," she announces, though we all know it's an excuse. She squeezes my shoulder as she passes. "I'll be back before they take you in."
The silence stretches after she leaves. Rafaella shifts her weight, looking like she wants to sit but isn't sure if she's welcome.
"How is he?" Sophia asks, her voice gentle. "Alberto?"
Rafaella's composure cracks slightly. "Scared. He's trying to be brave, but he's nineteen. He shouldn't have to be brave about dying."
I study her face, seeing echoes of Giuseppe in her features. The same jaw, the same dark eyes that give away nothing unless you know where to look.
"Do you need—" I start, then stop. Money feels like an insult, but it's the only help I know how to offer.
"We're fine," Rafaella says quickly. Too quickly. "Giuseppe set up trusts. We have what we need."
It's a lie, or at least a half-truth. I can see it in the way she holds herself, proud despite the weight crushing her. She'd never take Sartori money, not after spending twenty-three years as Giuseppe's secret. Taking our money now would make her feel like exactly what she's tried not to be.
"The medical bills," I try again, but she shakes her head.
"We have insurance. And savings." Her chin lifts slightly. "We've never needed anything from your family. We don't need to start now."
Except she needs my bone marrow. The one thing money can't buy.
"You're not responsible for us," Rafaella continues. "Any of you. After today, after Alberto recovers, we'll disappear. You'll never have to see us again."
"That's not—" I stop myself. What would I say? That she's family? We share DNA and nothing else. That we want her in our lives? I don't even know if that's true.
Sophia speaks when I can't. "You're doing what any sister would do. Protecting your brother."
Rafaella's eyes fill with tears she refuses to let fall. "They're all I have left. Our mother died four years ago."
Vittoria comes back and no one speaks for a while.
The nurse appears in the doorway again. "Mr. Sartori? We're ready for you now."
I stand, and Rafaella steps forward impulsively, then catches herself. "Thank you," she says again. "I know you don't owe us anything. I know this complicates everything for your family. But you're saving his life."
I nod, not trusting myself with words. Sometimes silence says more anyway.
Sophia
We've been in this hospital for six hours, and Lorenzo looks ready to climb the walls. He sits on the edge of the bed, already dressed despite the nurse's protests that he should rest longer.
"The doctor said—" I start, but he cuts me off with a look.
"The doctor said I'm fine to leave." He rolls his shoulder, testing for pain. "Dante's bringing the car around."
"You're supposed to take it easy for the next few days." I move closer, noting the slight tension around his eyes that he's trying to hide. "No heavy lifting, no strenuous activity—"
"I heard the instructions, Sophia."
But I know him now. Know how he pushes through pain, ignores his body's limits when he thinks something more important needs his attention. He'll be back in the gym tomorrow morning, probably sparring with Nico by evening.
"You won't follow them," I say flatly.
His mouth quirks slightly. "I'll be careful."
"Liar."
The word hangs between us, an echo of all the times I've called him that before. Usually, it makes him smile. Now he just looks tired.
I sit beside him on the bed, our thighs touching. The clinics lights make everything look harsh, cold. Nothing like the warmth we've found together these past days.
"Lorenzo..." I take a breath, gathering courage for what I need to say. "I've been thinking. These past hours while you were in there."
His body tenses slightly, probably expecting bad news. I press on before I lose my nerve.
"About Francesco's legacy. The Torrino empire." My fingers twist in my lap. "I don't want any of it."
He goes completely still.
"After we get married," I continue, staring at my hands instead of his face, "you can have it all. The territories, the businesses, the connections. Whatever the Sartoris want to do with it, I don't care. I just... I can't be her. I can't be the kind of person who runs that world."
The silence stretches so long I finally look up.
"Is that what you think this is about?" His voice is dangerously quiet.
"I know the families expect—"
"Fuck what they expect." He stands abruptly, putting distance between us. "You think I'm marrying you for Francesco's fucking legacy?"
The venom in his voice makes me flinch. "Lorenzo, I didn't mean—"
"Every family in Chicago wants what you inherited. The Russians, the Corellis, even the fucking Benedettis despite their polite smiles." He turns to face me, and his eyes are darker than I've ever seen them. "You think you can just hand it over and walk away? You think they'll let you?"
"If I'm married to you—"
"If you're married to me, you're protected. That's the only reason we're doing this." Each word is sharp, precise, meant to cut. "Not because I want Francesco's territories. Not because Pietro wants to expand. Because without my name, without my family's protection, you're dead within a week."
My chest tightens. "I know that—"
"Do you?" He moves closer, looming over me. "Because it sounds like you think this is some business acquisition. Like I'm using you to get to what Francesco left behind."
"That's not what I said."
"It's what you implied."
The hurt in his voice, buried under all that anger, makes my stomach drop. I stand, reaching for him, but he steps back.
"Lorenzo, please. I just meant I don't want to become him. I don't want to run drugs or order hits or—"
"You think I'd ask you to?" Now he sounds genuinely offended. "You think I'd turn you into that?"
"No, I—"
"You're on your own out there without protection. Every vulture in this city circling, waiting to tear you apart for what you inherited. That's the only reason we're getting married. To keep you breathing."
The words shouldn't hurt. This was always an arrangement, a business deal disguised as romance. But after last night, after everything we've shared...
The only reason.
To keep me breathing.
Not because he wants me. Not because these past nights meant something. Just another person who needs protection, like any civilian caught in crossfire.
God, I'm so stupid.
All those moments I thought meant something.
The way his control cracked when he touched me.
The desperate way he said my name. The possessive grip of his hands like he couldn't bear to let go.
I thought... I actually thought he wanted me.
Not just my body, not just the convenience of our arrangement, but me.
My chest feels hollow, carved out. Every kiss, every touch. Playing the role. Making sure Francesco's niece stays breathing long enough to neutralize the threat.
I'm so pathetic. Twenty years old and still believing in fairy tales. Thinking the dangerous man who saved me might actually care beyond duty and obligation. Marina warned me about this. About confusing gratitude with love, protection with desire.
All this time, I thought I was becoming something more to him. Thought maybe, despite everything, we were building something real beneath the arrangement.
The only reason.
Those three words have destroyed every foolish hope I'd let myself nurture.