Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Sophia
The knock at my bedroom door makes Marina jump, nearly dropping her toothbrush into the sink. We're both crammed into my bathroom, hair messy from sleep, when Vittoria's voice carries through the wood.
"Sophia? Marina? You two awake?"
I spit toothpaste into the sink and call back, "In the bathroom! Come in!"
The door opens and Vittoria appears in the bathroom doorway, looking perfectly put together despite the early hour. Her dark hair falls in neat waves, and she's wearing jeans and a cashmere sweater.
"Morning." She leans against the doorframe. "Giulia's making breakfast downstairs. Thought you might want to join us instead of hiding up here all day."
Marina rinses her mouth, then turns to face Vittoria. "You're the one who called me about that dinner at Rosso's."
"Guilty." Vittoria's smile is warm.
"Thank you for that." Marina's voice softens. "Really. I was going crazy not knowing where she was."
I dry my face on a towel, catching Marina's eye in the mirror. "You want to eat with us?"
"If you can handle the testosterone levels at our breakfast table." Vittoria rolls her eyes. "Pietro's in one of his moods, and Nico keeps picking fights with everyone."
Marina sets down her toothbrush harder than necessary. "Is that prick going to be there too?"
Vittoria's eyebrows rise. "You'll have to be more specific. We have plenty of pricks in this house."
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. Marina's mouth twitches, fighting a smile.
"Dante," Marina clarifies, crossing her arms. "The kidnapper."
"Ah, that prick." Vittoria grins. "He wasn't there when I came up, but I can't promise he won't show. He tends to appear whenever he wants, like some kind of violent ghost."
Marina considers this, then shrugs. "I can handle eating something. I'm starving."
"Good." Vittoria pushes off the doorframe. "Fair warning though—Giulia made enough food to feed an army. She stress-cooks, and with everything happening lately..." She trails off, but the meaning is clear.
We follow Vittoria out of my room and down the hallway. Marina walks close to me, taking in the artwork and family photos lining the walls. The smell of bacon and fresh bread drifts up from below, making my stomach growl.
"This place is insane," Marina whispers. "It's like a museum."
"Wait until you see the dining room," I whisper back.
Vittoria glances over her shoulder. "The dining room's nothing. You should see Pietro's office. We had it redone after Dad died. All black marble and intimidation."
"Sounds cozy," Marina mutters.
We reach the bottom of the stairs, and voices carry from the dining room. Male voices, arguing about something. Marina tenses beside me.
"That's just Nico and Pietro," Vittoria says. "They've been at each other's throats all week. Something about territory disputes."
The door swings open as we approach, and Giulia appears with an empty coffee pot. Her face lights up when she sees us.
"Good! More mouths to feed. Marina, yes? I'm Giulia." She doesn't wait for a response before ushering us toward the dining room. "Sit, sit. I bring food."
The dining room table is already half full. Pietro sits at the head, newspaper in hand, while Nico types furiously on his phone. Lorenzo stands by the window with a cup of coffee, and my stomach does that stupid flip it always does when I see him.
"Ladies," Pietro says without looking up from his paper.
Nico glances at Marina, then back at his phone. "The screamer's here."
"The asshole's here," Marina shoots back.
"Different asshole," Nico says. "I'm the one who pulls guns. Dante's the one who carries people in like luggage."
Marina blinks. "You people need name tags."
I bite back a laugh at Marina's comment, but it comes out as a snort anyway. The whole situation is terrifying and hilarious at the same time.
"Where's Bruno?" I ask, pulling out a chair for Marina. "Isn't he usually here for breakfast?"
Vittoria's expression tightens. "He's not in the mood."
"Is he ever in a mood?" The words slip out before I can stop them. "I mean, a good one?"
Pietro sets down his newspaper with a sharp snap. "Bruno's adjusting. Six months in a coma, waking up to find everything changed—it takes time."
"Time and a personality transplant," Nico mutters.
"Enough." Pietro's voice carries that Don authority that makes everyone shut up. His dark eyes shift to Lorenzo, who's still standing by the window like he's planning an escape route. "Sit. We need to discuss the wedding."
My stomach drops. Lorenzo doesn't move for a long moment, just stares at his brother. The tension in the room thickens until Marina shifts uncomfortably beside me.
"Now, Lorenzo." Pietro's tone brooks no argument.
Lorenzo crosses to the table and takes the chair directly across from me. Our eyes meet for half a second before he looks away, focusing on Pietro instead.
"The wedding needs to happen within the week," Pietro says, folding his hands on the table.
Giulia bustles in with platters of food—eggs, bacon, fresh bread, fruit. She sets everything down.
"A week?" I manage to say. "That's... fast."
"Fast is what keeps you alive," Pietro says bluntly. "Once you're officially a Sartori, the protection is ironclad. Until then, you're vulnerable."
Marina reaches for the coffee pot, her movements careful and deliberate. "So Sophia marries Lorenzo, and what? Everyone just backs off?"
"They back off or they declare war on the entire Sartori family," Pietro says. "Most aren't stupid enough to try that."
"Most," I repeat, the word tasting bitter.
"Daniil might be that stupid," Nico says. "Or that confident. The Russians have been pushing boundaries for months."
Lorenzo's hand curls into a fist on the table. "Daniil comes near her, he's dead."
"Which is why we need the wedding done quickly," Pietro continues, ignoring Lorenzo's outburst. "Saturday. Five days from now."
Five days. My head spins. Five days to become Sophia Sartori, to bind myself to this family and their world permanently. I glance at Lorenzo, but he's staring at his untouched coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe.
"That's barely enough time to even get a dress," Vittoria says.
"We'll manage," Pietro says. "Small ceremony. Family only. The reception can be larger. We'll need to make a statement to the other families."
"A statement," I echo. "Like 'hands off, she's ours now'?"
Pietro's smile is sharp. "Exactly like that."
Giulia returns with more food, setting a plate of pastries in the center of the table. The normalcy of breakfast clashes with the conversation about using my wedding as a territorial marker.
Lorenzo
I knock on Sophia's door after two hours of pacing my room like a caged animal. The sound of laughter filters through the wood.
The door opens, and Marina stands there with raised eyebrows. Behind her, Sophia sits cross-legged on the bed, a genuine smile lighting up her face. The smile dies the second she sees me.
The transformation hits like a punch to the gut. One second she's radiant, the next she's looking at me like I'm something she stepped in.
Marina glances between us. "Well, this looks fun." She grabs her phone from the nightstand. "I'm going to find someone to fight with until you two are finished. Maybe that Nico guy. He seems like he needs someone to knock him down a peg."
"Marina—" Sophia starts, but her friend is already heading for the door.
"Nope. Not getting in the middle of whatever this is." Marina pauses beside me. "But if you make her cry again, I'll find a way to hurt you. Mafia or not."
She leaves, pulling the door shut behind her with a decisive click.
Sophia stays on the bed, arms crossed, jaw set. The honey-brown eyes that usually look at me with warmth are cold as winter.
"I need a word," I say.
"Of course you do." Her voice drips sarcasm. "You showed up, didn't you?" She tilts her head. "What is it this time, Lorenzo? You want to fuck me again for appearances? Make sure I'm properly convinced of our relationship for the wedding?"
Red floods my vision. My hands curl into fists at my sides, and I have to consciously stop myself from punching the wall. "What?"
"You heard me." She slides off the bed, standing to face me despite the height difference. "Isn't that what this is? You need me to play the loving fiancée, so you—"
"Stop." The word comes out as a growl. "You think that's why I touched you? For show?"
"You made it pretty clear yesterday." Her chin lifts in that defiant way that usually makes me want to kiss her. Right now, it makes me want to shake sense into her. "Protection is the only reason we're getting married, remember? Your exact words."
I take a step forward, and she holds her ground. "That's not—"
"Not what? Not what you meant? Then what did you mean, Lorenzo? Because you've been pretty clear. I'm an obligation. A problem to solve. And if fucking me helps sell the story, then—"
"Enough." I close the distance between us, backing her against the edge of the bed. "You want to know why I said that? Why I pushed you away?"
Her breath catches, but she doesn't back down. "Enlighten me."
"Because I'm trying to protect you from me." The words tear out of me. "Not from Daniil or the Russians or any other threat out there. From me, Sophia."
She blinks, confusion flickering across her features. "That doesn't even make sense."
"Doesn't it? You think I don't know what I am? What I do to people? I corrupt everything I touch."
"You're not—"
"I am." My hand comes up to cup her face before I can stop myself. She doesn't pull away, but she doesn't lean into it either. "You deserve better Sophia. Not marrying a man who's killed more people than you've probably met."
Her eyes search mine. "You think I don't know who you are?"
"I know exactly who you are," she says, her voice starting to shake.
"You're the man who gave me sanctuary when my own family sold me.
Who arranged for Marina to visit because you knew I was drowning in loneliness.
You're the man who held me while I cried about my mother.
Who taught me to defend myself. Who looks at me like I'm precious even when you're trying to push me away.
" Her voice rises with each word. "You think you're some monster?
You think you corrupt things? You saved me, Lorenzo. Over and over again."
Each word cuts deeper than any knife could. I try to turn away, but she grabs my arm.
"No. You don't get to walk away from this." Tears stream down her face now, but her grip stays firm. "You want to know what I see when I look at you? I see a man who carries everyone else's pain."
"Stop." The word comes out strangled.
"I see someone who thinks he doesn't deserve love because one woman betrayed him. Who punishes himself every single day for something that wasn't his fault." She releases my arm only to press both hands against my chest. "You're not a monster, Lorenzo. You're just broken. Like me."
My chest constricts. Everything in me wants to believe her words, but I know better. I know what darkness lives inside me. What I'm capable of.
"You don't understand what you're asking for," I manage.
"Then tell me." She shoves at my chest, barely moving me. "Stop deciding for me. Stop pushing me away to protect me. Tell me what I'm asking for since you seem to know better than me."
The last thread of my control snaps. I grab her wrists, pinning them between us. "You want to know what you're asking for? Fine. You're asking for a man who'll never let you go. Who'll kill anyone who looks at you wrong. Who thinks about you every second of every day until it drives him insane."
Her breath hitches, but she doesn't pull away.
"You're asking for someone who wants to lock you in this room and never let you leave.
Who gets violent just thinking about another man touching you.
Who's so fucking obsessed with you that he can't think straight anymore.
" My grip tightens on her wrists. "That's what you're asking for, Sophia.
A man who'll consume you. Own you. Ruin you for anyone else. "
"Good," she whispers.
The word breaks something in me. "Good?"
"Yes, good. Because I don't want anyone else. I want you. The real you. Not this noble martyr act you're putting on." She tries to free her wrists, but I hold them firm. "I want the man who loses control when I touch him. Who looks at me like he wants to devour me. Who—"
"Fuck it."
I crash my mouth against hers, swallowing whatever she was about to say. This isn't gentle. It's possession, pure and simple. My hands release her wrists only to tangle in her hair, angling her head exactly where I want it.
She makes a sound between a gasp and a moan, her hands fisting in my shirt. When she tries to speak against my lips, I bite down on her lower lip, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make my point.
Her body melts against mine, and I walk her backward until her legs hit the bed. But I don't push her down. Not yet. First, I need her to understand exactly what she's getting herself into.
I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, my hands still tangled in her hair. "Last fucking chance to run."