CHAPTER TWELVE
LORENZO
Thank God Enrico wasn’t here. The last thing I needed was to sit across from that slimy bastard and pretend I didn’t want to put a bullet between his eyes.
Instead, dinner was surprisingly normal. Almost enjoyable.
Luca was deep into some tragic retelling of a date gone horribly wrong, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and a wounded expression like he was reliving war trauma.
“I swear to God, this woman hated me,” Luca groaned, stabbing at his food. “She spent the entire night making fun of my shoes. My shoes, Lorenzo. What kind of psychopath judges a man based on his footwear?”
I leaned back in my chair, smirking. “Considering you wear those overpriced, limited-edition sneakers like a sixteen-year-old influencer, I’d say she had a point.”
Kayla snorted into her drink.
Luca shot me a glare. “You wouldn’t understand. You have the emotional depth of a brick wall if you even have a heart.”
I gestured vaguely. “I manage just fine.”
“You don’t even have a love life. So why the fuck are you laughing at me?”
I arched a brow. “And you do?”
Luca pointed his fork at me. “We’re the same, you know that, right? Both emotionally stunted, allergic to commitment, and so deep in our shit that we’d probably need to schedule therapy sessions.”
I smirked. “I don’t need therapy. At least I’m getting married.”
The second the words left my mouth, my gaze flickered to Maria, expecting her to shoot back some sharp remark—some ice-cold retort to remind me that this wasn’t real and whatever was between us was nothing but a transaction.
But she didn’t.
She wasn’t even looking at me. Her eyes were locked on Matteo.
Something in her posture shifted. Her usual cool, effortless grace stiffened, and I followed her line of sight.
Matteo hadn’t touched his food.
His little shoulders were hunched, and his face was blank. Too blank.
Maria leaned in slightly, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Matteo, what’s wrong?”
The kid barely moved.
Maria tried again. “Do you not like the food? Do you want something else?”
Matteo shook his head. “I’m fine.”
He wasn’t. Even I could tell that.
I knew that look. I’d seen it in the mirror too many times as a kid—when you learned early not to show too much, and it was easier to say nothing than to let someone see the storm brewing underneath.
An odd tightness coiled in my chest. It was ridiculous, really. I barely knew the kid. But something about him—the way he carried himself, the way he tried so hard to look unaffected—felt too damn familiar.
Maria gave me a quick, worried glance, and before I even thought about it, I reached over, plucking a fry from my plate and setting it on his.
“Eat,” I said, keeping my voice light. “It is good to make you a strong boy.”
His little fingers hesitated before picking up the fry. He didn’t say anything, but I caught the small flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes before he finally took a bite.
It wasn’t much. But it was something. And for some reason, that mattered more to me than it should have.
Kayla, never one for subtlety, cleared her throat. “So, about that school event,” she started like she was trying to fill the growing silence. “Matteo’s school is hosting a parents-and-students sporting event tomorrow. They just gave us notice since he joined mid-session, but it’s kind of a big deal.”
Maria immediately perked up, her focus snapping to Matteo. “Matteo, is that why you aren’t eating? Of course, I will be there.”
Matteo’s head lifted just slightly, eyes gazing toward her. “You promise?”
She placed a hand over her heart. “On my life.”
Something in his tiny shoulders loosened, just a fraction, but it was enough.
I stayed quiet, watching the way Maria immediately turned all her attention to Matteo and how she noticed things the second they were off. Her voice softened for him, patient and steady. He looked at her like she was the only person in the world who made him feel safe.
It was unsettling.
Not because it was strange—but because it reminded me of something different.
My mother.
She used to look at me the same way.
She used to reach for me with the same kind of certainty, like no matter what hell we were living through, she would be there.
I could hear her voice, clear as day. Love is the only thing that makes all of this worth it, Lorenzo. No matter how hard you try to shut it out, it will find you.
I scoffed internally. Yeah? Well, Mamma, is this the kind of love you were talking about?
I didn’t know.
But watching Maria with Matteo, I thought that maybe love wasn’t just some tragic weakness waiting to be exploited.
It was the only thing keeping people like us from falling apart.
Matteo finally picked up his fork, pushing his food around and at least pretending to eat. Maria let out a quiet breath, one that probably only I noticed.
But again, he dropped the fork, and a scowl appeared on his face again.
Something was off.
Even after Maria promised Matteo she’d be at his school event, he still looked troubled.
Maria caught on, too. Her sharp gaze locked onto him like a heat-seeking missile. “Matteo, is there something else?”
The boy hesitated, small hands gripping his fork tighter.
Then, finally, he looked up and asked, “Is it true my grandfather was a bad man?”
The question caught all of us by surprise. There was silence like the angel of death had just passed.
No one moved.
Even Luca—who usually had something stupid to say—just sat there, fork frozen mid-air.
I glanced around the table. Maria’s face was devoid of expression, but I could practically feel the storm brewing inside her. Kayla shifted in her seat. Luca blinked like he was buffering. Matteo just looked between us, waiting.
Maria was the first to break. “Who told you that?”
Matteo hesitated. “My teacher, Mr Halverson. He said my grandfather was a bad man who died. And that it was good that he died because he did a lot of bad things. And he was evil.”
Maria inhaled sharply.
I’d seen her angry before, but this was different. This wasn’t the quick-tempered, sharp-tongued Maria I was used to. This was a mother hearing that some stranger had fed her child poison.
And Maria never let poison go unanswered.
Her voice was soft, but I could hear the steel beneath it. “That’s not true, Matteo. Your grandfather was a good man. You shouldn’t believe him.”
Matteo studied her, processing. Then, like the good son he was, he nodded. “Okay, Mama.”
Kayla reached over, patting his head. “Come on, bud. Let’s get you ready for bed.”
Matteo pushed his chair back, mumbling goodnight to everyone before following Kayla up the stairs.
The second he was out of earshot, Maria pushed back from the table and stood.
“That school is done for,” she cursed out.
Luca groaned. “Here we go.”
Maria turned to him, fury sparking in her dark eyes. “Don’t ‘here we go’ me. A teacher, Luca. A grown man told my son that his grandfather deserved to die. I don’t care what the town thinks of us. I do care that a supposed educator is planting garbage in my child’s head.”
She was pacing now, hands clenched, practically vibrating with rage.
I leaned back, watching with something bordering on admiration and caution. I was cautious not to say anything that would make her transfer that aggression meant for Mr. Halve—Half-baked idiot something, but damn, she looked hot when she was furious.
Luca, clearly valuing his life, raised his hands in surrender. “Look, I get it. But you knew this would happen eventually. People talk.”
Maria whipped around, eyes flashing. “Talking is one thing. But bringing a kid into it? That’s crossing the line.”
I nodded. “She’s right.”
Luca sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, in typical Luca fashion, he made the mistake of opening his mouth again.
“But let’s be real. The teacher wasn’t wrong. Our father was evil.”
The room went dead silent, and this time, the angel of death really passed because we could all see Luca’s life flash before his eyes.
Maria slowly turned her head toward him.
Luca realized—too late—that he might’ve just signed his own death certificate.
“Idiot,” Maria muttered before storming off.
I barely held in a laugh.
Luca groaned, dropping his head onto the table. “Why do I talk?”
I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “No clue. But she's not wrong.”
“About?”
“You being an idiot.”
Luca flipped me off.
I smirked and grabbed my drink, taking a slow sip.
But my mind was already shifting gears.
After dinner, when I was getting ready to leave, I turned to Luca. “Speaking of your evil father…”
Luca made a face. “Really? Right before bed? You are allowed to make jokes about it, and I am not?”
I ignored him and continued, “Did you guys clean up the business after he died?”
Luca shrugged. “Yeah. Enrico handled everything. We shut down all the dirty stuff. No more drugs, no more smuggling. Just clubs, hotels, and casinos now.”
I kept my face neutral, but my mind was working fast. Luca didn’t know.
He had no idea that his dear uncle was using the family business as a front for his own operations.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
I clapped him on the back. “Good to know.”
Luca squinted at me. “Why do you sound weird?”
“That’s just my face.”
“You have a lying face.”
I grinned. “And you have an idiot face.”
“Still mad about Maria calling me an idiot because you care so much?” He teased me.
“Not mad. Just agreeing with her.”
Luca groaned. “I hate you.”
I laughed and headed for the door. But as I stepped out into the cool night air, my amusement faded.
Enrico was dirtier than I thought.
And Luca? He was blind to it.
That was a problem. He was going to ruin them and whatever was left of their property while simultaneously ruining my business because I don’t want to act knowing it might affect their business—the one they think is all clean.
This is a huge problem, and I had no idea how to fix it.