Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Lorenzo
My hips ache with every breath, a dull throb where they extracted the marrow.
The doctor said it would fade in a few days, but right now each movement sends sharp reminders through my bones.
I pour myself whiskey despite the medication warnings, needing something to cut through more than just physical pain.
Sophia's door remains closed down the hall. She went straight there when we got back, didn't say a word during the entire drive. Dante kept glancing at us in the rearview mirror, sensing the tension but smart enough to stay silent.
I fucked up.
The words replay in my head. The only reason. Christ, I might as well have slapped her. Saw the exact moment those words hit, watched something die in her eyes. Like a light switching off.
I drain the whiskey and pour another.
Usually, I think before I speak. Calculate every word, measure impact, control the narrative.
It's what makes me good at negotiations, at keeping Pietro from starting wars every other week.
But with Sophia, that control keeps slipping.
She gets under my skin in ways that terrify me, makes me react instead of thinking first.
The truth sits heavy in my chest, harder to swallow than the whiskey. I don't want Francesco's empire. Don't need his territories or his connections. If Sophia walked away from all of it tomorrow, burned every ledger and dissolved every alliance, I wouldn't care.
But she can't walk away. That's what she doesn't understand.
She's twenty years old. Twenty. Still believes in good outcomes, in escape routes, in the possibility of normal life after all this.
Doesn't understand that Francesco's death painted a target on her back that will never fade.
Every family in Chicago sees her as either an opportunity or a threat.
The Russians want her for what Francesco promised.
The Corellis want her for leverage. Even our allies would use her if given the chance.
I press my palm against my ribs, feeling the ache deepen.
The real truth, the one I can't say out loud, is simpler and more complicated. If none of this had happened I wouldn't be putting a ring on her finger this fast. She's too young. Not just in years but in experience, in understanding what this life really costs.
She deserves time to figure out who she is without grief crushing her, without fear driving every decision.
Time to decide if she actually wants me or if it's just circumstances pushing us together.
Time to realize she could do so much better than a man who's killed more people than he can count, who lies as easily as breathing, who spent twelve years frozen because one woman taught him love was weakness.
But we don't have time.
The wedding has to happen because without it, she's vulnerable. Every day she stays unmarried is another day someone could take her, hurt her, force her into something worse than what we have. At least with me, she gets choices. Gets to keep her spirit intact even if her freedom is limited.
I can't explain this without admitting things I'm not ready to say.
Can't tell her that watching her sleep next to me feels like redemption I don't deserve.
Can't admit that every time she says my name, something in my chest cracks open a little more.
Can't reveal that the thought of her with anyone else makes me want to paint Chicago red.
So instead, I hurt her. Push her away with harsh truths that aren't really truths at all. Make her think she's just an obligation when she's become everything I'm terrified of losing.
Another drink. The pain in my ribs has nothing on the ache in my chest when I think about her behind that locked door, probably crying, definitely hating me.
I should go to her. Apologize. Explain.
But I don't know how to be vulnerable with her. Don't know how to admit weakness to someone whose strength terrifies me. Don't know how to say "I need you" without it sounding like another cage.
The knock interrupts my third glass of whiskey. I don't answer, hoping whoever it is will take the hint.
Another knock, more insistent.
"Lorenzo?" Vittoria's voice filters through the door. "I know you're in there."
"Go away, Vittoria."
She opens the door anyway, because of course she does. My baby sister never did listen when it mattered.
"Giulia said you told her not to bring you dinner." She steps inside, closing the door behind her. "She's worried."
"I'm fine."
"You're drinking whiskey after donating bone marrow. That's not fine, that's stupid."
I set the glass down harder than necessary. "Did you need something?"
"Maybe I wanted to check on my brother who just saved a kid's life." She moves closer, and I see the concern in her eyes. The same eyes our father had. "What's going on with you and Sophia?"
"Nothing."
"Right. That's why she locked herself in her room and you're sitting here trying to pickle your liver."
"Leave it alone, Vittoria."
She crosses her arms, and suddenly she looks less like my baby sister and more like the woman who keeps our entire digital empire running. "I'm not twelve anymore, Lorenzo. Stop treating me like I can't handle real conversations."
The words sting because she's right. I've spent so long protecting her from the worst parts of our world that I forget she's twenty-three now. She's seen death, betrayal, our father's secret life. She doesn't need my protection from words.
"I told Sophia the marriage is just for her protection." The admission tastes bitter. "She thought it meant something more."
Vittoria's eyebrows rise. "Doesn't it?"
"It can't."
"Why?"
Because I'm poison. Because everyone I touch either dies or wishes they had. Because I've done things that would make her look at me with the same disgust I see in the mirror.
"She's twenty," I say instead. "She's grieving. She doesn't know what she wants."
"Bullshit." Vittoria sits on the arm of my chair, something she used to do when she was little. "You're scared."
"I'm being practical."
"You're being an idiot." She sighs. "Lorenzo, I might not be an expert on relationships, but I know you. You keep digging these holes inside yourself, burying everything so deep that you end up alone."
"I'm not alone."
"Really? When's the last time you had a real conversation with anyone? You've pushed everyone away. Even Dante keeps his distance now, and he's been your best friend since you were kids."
She's right about that too. Dante still follows orders, still watches my back, but we don't talk like we used to.
"It's better this way," I tell her.
"For who?" Vittoria stands, frustration clear in every movement. "You think you're protecting people by keeping them at arm's length, but all you're doing is hurting them. Hurting yourself."
"You don't understand—"
"Because you won't let me!" Her voice cracks slightly. "You won't let anyone understand. You just sit in your office with your whiskey and your guilt and your secrets, acting like some noble martyr when really you're just scared of being seen."
The words hit harder than any punch. I want to tell her she's wrong, but the lie won't come.
Want to explain that being seen means revealing the monster underneath, the one who's killed without hesitation, who's ordered deaths like ordering dinner.
The one who looked at a twenty-year-old girl and wanted to possess her completely, consequences be damned.
But I can't tell my baby sister that. Can't admit that the brother she looks up to is exactly the kind of man our mother warned her about.
"Sophia cares about you," Vittoria says, softer now. "Real caring, not obligation or circumstances. Don't throw that away because you think you don't deserve it."
Sophia
I stare at the ceiling. My eyes burn but sleep won't come. Every time I close them, I hear Lorenzo's voice.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I ignore it. Then it buzzes again.
Marina: You okay? You've been quiet.
Marina: Sophia, seriously. Just let me know you're alive.
I grab the phone, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. What do I even say? That I'm an idiot who thought sex meant love? That I confused protection with genuine feeling?
Instead of typing, I hit call.
"Finally!" Marina's voice fills my ear. "I was about to storm that fortress you're living in."
The sound of her voice—normal, safe, untouched by all this darkness—breaks something inside me.
"Marina." My voice cracks on her name.
"Oh honey, what's wrong?"
And then I'm crying. Not pretty tears but ugly, choking sobs that I've been holding back since Lorenzo's words shattered my stupid fairy tale.
"Everything," I manage between gasps. "Everything is so messed up."
"Talk to me. I'm here."
I wipe my face with my sleeve, trying to find words.
"I'm living in a house where half the people want me dead.
Nico pulled a gun on me the first day. Bruno looks at me like I'm personally responsible for his wheelchair.
They hate me, Marina. They hate that I'm a Torrino, hate that Lorenzo brought me here, hate that I exist."
"But Lorenzo—"
"Lorenzo's playing savior." The bitterness in my voice surprises me. "That's all this is to him. Saving the poor little orphan girl from the big bad Russians. He doesn't actually want me. He just... he feels responsible or something."
Marina stays quiet, letting me spill everything.
"And Pietro, God, he's playing chess with my life. Moving me around like a piece on his board. Marry Lorenzo, retrieve the ledger, be useful or be gone. That's all I am to any of them. A tool. A means to an end."
"That doesn't sound like the Lorenzo you described before."
"I was wrong about him." The words taste like ash. "I built him up in my head, you know? This fantasy from when I was a kid. The man who saved me, who'd protect me, who'd see me as more than just Francesco's niece or a problem to solve."
"Sophia—"
"We slept together." The admission tumbles out. "Multiple times. And I thought... God, I'm so stupid. I thought it meant something. I thought when he looked at me, when he touched me... I thought that was real."
"Maybe it was."
"He told me today that protection is the only reason we're getting married. The only reason, Marina. After everything, after the way he held me, after—" My voice breaks again. "I'm such an idiot."
"You're not an idiot. You're twenty years old, your mom just died, your uncle sold you to psychopaths, and you're trying to survive. Anyone would be confused."
"I'm not confused. I'm in love with him." The truth burns coming out. "I'm in love with a man who sees me as an obligation. Who's marrying me because he has to, not because he wants to."
"Have you told him how you feel?"
A bitter laugh escapes. "Why? So he can let me down gently? Tell me I'm too young, too naive, too much of a liability? I've already got enough rejection for one day."
"Or maybe he's scared too."
"Lorenzo Sartori doesn't get scared."
"Everyone gets scared, Sophia. Especially when it comes to love."
I pull my knees to my chest, making myself smaller on this too-big bed. "It doesn't matter. In a few weeks, we'll be married. I'll play the part and then... I don't know. Maybe they'll let me disappear. Start over somewhere."
"Do you want me to come over?" Marina asks. "I can be there in twenty minutes."
My heart jumps at the offer. God, I want her here so badly. But this isn't my house. I'm a guest here—or prisoner, depending on how you look at it.
"I need to ask first," I tell her. "It's not my place."
"Seriously? You have to ask permission for visitors?"
"It's complicated." Everything here is complicated. "Hang on."
I pull up Lorenzo's number on my phone. My thumb hovers over the keyboard. Part of me doesn't want to ask him for anything, not after today. But Marina... I need Marina.
Can Marina visit for a couple hours? If that's okay.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself. The response comes immediately.
She can stay as long as you need her.
I stare at the message. As long as I need her? What kind of answer is that?
"He says yes," I tell Marina. "Says you can stay as long as I need you."
"See? That doesn't sound like someone who doesn't care."
"No, it sounds like someone managing an asset.
" The anger flares hot in my chest. "Making sure his investment doesn't break before the wedding.
This man is so freaking confusing, Marina.
One minute he's pushing me away, telling me we're only getting married for protection.
The next he's being... considerate? I can't read him at all. "
"Maybe he can't read himself either."
"Stop defending him."
"I'm not defending anyone. I'm just saying, men are idiots when it comes to feelings. Especially men like him."
My phone buzzes with another text from Lorenzo.
Dante will pick her up.
I relay the message to Marina, who immediately scoffs.
"Absolutely not," she says. "I'm not getting in some mob guy's car. I'll grab a taxi."
"Marina—"
"No, Sophia. I'm already walking into some mafia compound to see you. That's enough crazy for one day. I'll take my own transportation, thank you very much."
Despite everything, I almost smile. Marina's stubborn streak is exactly what I need right now.
"Fine. I'll tell him."
"Good. I'll get ready and come. And Sophia?"
"Yeah?"
"We're going to figure this out, okay? All of it. The Lorenzo thing, the marriage thing, everything. You're not alone in this."
Tears prick my eyes again. "I know."
"And bring tissues. We're going to eat ice cream and trash talk every man in that house if necessary."
"I don't know if they have ice cream here."
"Then we'll order some. I doubt the mob is going to stop a Dairy Queen delivery."
This time I do smile, even though it's watery. "I love you."
"Love you too. See you soon."
She hangs up, and I'm left staring at my phone. Lorenzo's messages are still on the screen. She can stay as long as you need her.
I throw the phone on the bed and head to the bathroom to wash my face.
The man is impossible. Hot and cold, tender and distant, protective and dismissive. He holds me like I'm precious then tells me I'm just an obligation. He gives me what I need without question, but won't give me what I want.
Him.