Chapter 3
Lorenzo
T he leather chair creaks softly as I lean back, the scent of polished wood enveloping me like a second skin.
My office is pristine—every inch reflects my need for control.
A half-empty humidor sits in the corner, its cedar-lined walls housing the only indulgence I allow myself—hand-rolled Cohibas from Havana.
The gleam of the glass desk catches the flickering overhead light, illuminating the carefully organized paperwork and framed photographs, each item precisely positioned, a testament to my meticulous mind.
I glance down at my tablet, at the file with everything pertaining to the woman from the Carroway Café. It came in only minutes ago, but I was alerted straight away.
Piper Harrington.
Though I’ve known her name since an hour after I left the café, courtesy of my many connections, it’s not until now I’ve received her life story.
She lives alone in the ground-floor unit of a building her uncle Teddy owns. Amongst other things, he’s a real estate investor, black sheep, and, apart from her, the only member of the wretched Harrington lineage worth a damn.
She’s in her final year for her Master’s in Political Communications and Public Policy at Georgetown. As far as I can tell, she has no job and no debt. No obvious vices, either. There’s no boyfriend, and only two exes linger in the margins.
Hmm, wait, there’s also a TA she ghosted after only two drinks.
It seems he didn’t get the hint, and she had to call the campus police to get rid of him while she studied at American University.
I make a note to check if he’s still teaching because if he is, I’ll have his fucking job for making her feel uncomfortable.
I’ve memorized the sound of her deadbolt turning. I know how long she lingers by the window before pulling the curtain. She thinks she’s safe behind her little routine.
My lips curl into a faint smirk as I read through her résumé, absorbing the words. “I want to be in the room where real decisions are made, and I want to make a difference.”
I can’t decide if it’s na?ve or enticing. It’s two-faced; could be both or neither. I chuckle softly, the sound low and dark. With every word I read, I feel it creeping in—something dark, something possessive.
The file is long and intrusive. I have her measurements, calorie intake, health, strengths, weaknesses, and everything in-between.
I shift in my seat, the pressure in my trousers a slow, steady throb. She doesn’t even know what she does to me. Getting to know her in such an honest and raw way is like foreplay. And I’m painfully hard.
The bottom drawer in the desk beckons me, and I oblige. Pulling out the lace panties I stole from her apartment when I had my team install security cameras in every room after she left for school yesterday.
Even though they’re clean, I bring them to my face, inhaling deeply.
It’s at times like these, I wish I could be near her. Hide in her apartment, but at six-foot-four, I’m not exactly built to curl up in a closet. I’m also not sure standing outside her window would be overlooked for long.
Clutching the panties in my hand, my eyes drift back to the puzzle on my desk. It’s almost complete; only one piece is missing. I roll it between my fingers, pressing the edge against my palm.
I think about Piper in the flesh—wonder how her skin smells, and how soft it’ll feel against my fingers. I let out a slow breath.
Soon.
Just a few more steps. Just a few more moves.
Soon.
She has no idea what I have in store for her future— our future.
I open my email thread with Lauren Chase, the woman Piper has an internship interview with tomorrow.
From her file, I know how important this interview is.
But it won’t be the lifeline she’s hoping for.
It’ll be a giant fiasco. At my… request, Lauren will turn Piper away, bringing my toy one step closer to me.
She doesn’t know what she stirred. Doesn’t know she was owned the second I felt my cock twitch behind a ten-thousand-dollar suit. That she never stood a chance the moment I wanted her.
I’ve made presidents. I’ve dismantled administrations. There isn’t a powerful man in this city who doesn’t flinch when my name is whispered in the dark. I don’t hold office—I hold reins. They don’t come to me for votes. No, they come to me when they need the power they can’t touch without bleeding.
Unlike my cousins, I don’t collect debts or favors. I collect the things I can toy with; leverage, power, alliances… and now—her. She’s the first thing I’ve ever wanted for myself—not for leverage, not for legacy. For me. And she doesn’t even know my name… yet.
My phone buzzes, and a familiar name flashes on the screen: Remus Russo. I answer, keeping my tone casual, but the weight of our shared understanding hangs heavy in the air.
“Remus,” I say as a way of greeting my cousin.
“Lorenzo,” he mirrors. “How’s the empire-building going? Is the last political candidate ready?” he asks, voice low, steady.
Closing my eyes, I try to come up with something—anything—useful from my meeting with the candidate Remus wanted me to meet with yesterday.
“Too average,” I reply brusquely. “There was nothing memorable about him, and his ideas were too far-fetched.”
“I see—”
Interrupting Remus, I carry on. “Plus, the skeletons in his closets aren’t good.
His penchant for chasing the secretary without bothering to be discreet is too cliché.
Not to mention he seems to have an issue with consent, and according to his two ex-wives, he lets his fist do the talking once he’s had a bit too much to drink. ”
That’s the thing with power, it’s not about who holds the title; it’s about who pulls the strings. People think elections are about democracy—about the will of the people. That’s adorable.
The will of the people is nothing more than a carefully orchestrated illusion, one I design with precision. I remove the weak and uplift the strong, and I do it without ever stepping into the spotlight.
Politics is a chessboard, and I am the hand that moves the pieces. The right candidate, the right scandal at the right time, the right whispers in the ears of the right people—these things matter more than votes. Public perception is a weapon, and I wield it with absolute control.
I don’t work with just anyone. Only those who deserve to win. The ones with the will to command, to shape the world as it should be. The rest? They’re dead weight, taking up space where real power should exist. And I remove dead weight with ruthless efficiency.
“Do you have someone else in mind?” Remus sighs. From his tone, I know he expected this. Though the Russo Don isn’t happy about it, he respects my input enough not to argue the matter. “You know that we need a new senator this year, Lorenzo.”
Nodding, I pull the two people who impressed me up on my tablet, and email their info to Remus. “I’ve sent you the info on the two I’d pick,” I reply. “Both have the right image to win people over without too much effort.”
My cousin doesn’t waste any time in giving me his opinion, which we both know isn’t the final word. When it comes to our family, his word is law. But when it comes to making or breaking politicians, he trusts me implicitly.
Som e say I play God. Maybe I do. Maybe that’s the point. The truth is, some people aren’t built for power. They’re weak, corruptible in ways that don’t serve the bigger picture. It takes a practiced eye to spot which scandals are liabilities rather than assets.
In short, if a candidate’s failure can’t be used strategically, I cut them out. Disgrace, scandal, financial ruin—sometimes, they get the chance to disappear quietly. Other times, they become cautionary tales. A plane crash. A suicide. An accident no one questions.
The world needs leaders who can bend it to their will. And I decide who those leaders are. I don’t care about political parties. I don’t care about party lines. I care about making sure the machine runs as it should. And when a cog starts malfunctioning? I remove it.
No one remembers the names of those who almost won.
But everyone remembers the ones I put in power.
Because once I choose someone to lead, there is no alternative.
No opponent is strong enough. No scandal big enough.
No downfall is inevitable enough. If I decide someone will rise, they will.
If I decide they’ll fall, there’s no way back up.
That’s what I do. I don’t just shape the future; I own it.
“You seem distracted,” Remus observes. “Is this a bad time?”
Yes, it’s the worst fucking time. Instead of saying that, I look at the incomplete puzzle and say, “I’m just tying up some strings.”
“Word is you’re getting distracted by a woman,” Remus mutters. “Someone new to play with?”
I chuckle, slow and quiet even as heat stirs in my chest. “Piper Harrington is so much more than a plaything. She’s mine.”
“Harrington,” Remus says, tasting the word. “She’s the woman you had Matteo gather intel on?”
“The one and only,” I reply.
I can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “Is that why you’re so distracted?”
“Partly,” I admit. There’s no point in lying.
He inhales sharply. “Look, I don’t care what you do in your spare time. But I can’t afford for you to get too… obsessed. I need you sharp, Lorenzo.”
“Obsessed?” I scoff, leaning back. “Control isn’t obsession. Control is ownership.”
A part of me isn’t so sure what I’m saying is true. For the past three days, nine hours, and thirty-seven minutes I’ve pulled every string, used every connection to learn everything there is to learn about Piper.
I even know how old she was when she lost her first tooth, when she got her period, what ice cream her nanny bought when she broke her arm by falling off her pony. There’s nothing I don’t know about her.
Is that control? Or obsession? Maybe the two aren’t mutually exclusive.
“Just make sure she doesn’t become a liability.” Remus’ tone makes it cle ar it’s an order, and… it sounds almost like a threat. A thinly veiled or else.
A flare of defiance sparks in my chest, sharp and fleeting. But I swallow it down. He’s family. He’s the Don. I bend—but only because I choose to. So I tamper down the need to growl at him, to tell him to mind his own fucking business.
I clench my jaw so hard my teeth hurt. “Liabilities don’t exist in my world.” I cup my chin and tilt my head back. “But if you’re worried, cousin, tell Rafe and Matteo to do their job when the time comes for Piper’s interview.”
I hang up, then let the quiet settle.
Before I can put my phone down, it vibrates in my hand.
It’s Cyrus. We’ve known each other since birth—our fathers in the same syndicate, our childhoods sewn together in smoke-filled rooms and iron discipline.
Now, he’s my right hand. My shadow. The only man outside my family that I trust implicitly.
Cy: Senator Jacobs’ fixer has been playing both sides. Just thought you’d like to know.
Of course he is. That’s the thing about men who rely on others to clean up their scandals—they always think they can play both sides until one eats them alive.
Me: Let me guess. He called Senator Jacobs too…
Cy: Bingo. Want me to drop a little fire on his doorstep?
I smile coldly as I give him the go ahead.
As I place my phone back on the desk, I return my attention to the puzzle, the last piece still between my fingers. I’ve carried this last piece in my jacket pocket all day. Let it warm against my skin. She deserves more than cold cardboard. I place it down, aligning it with precision.
And just like that, the future Mrs. Piper Russo is looking back at me, smiling.
“I’ll make sure you’re ready for me,” I say, and I relish the chill of anticipation working its way down my spine.
Standing up, I pull at the cuffs on my shirt before stretching to my full height. One of the worst parts of what I do is all the time I spend sitting. I walk over to the small table filled with alcohol, and let my fingers run along the neck of my favorite whiskey.
After pouring a glass, I return to the puzzle, my eyes settling on the image of Piper—perfect, smiling, trapped in a thousand tiny pieces. A thing I built, shaped, decided.
Grabbing my phone, I send an email to my team. I’ve lined up five interviews, each one disingenuous, each one arranged to fail.
Despite the hour, my assistant, Maria, emails me back right away. She confirms that the interviews will happen one week apart, making the timing even sweeter for when I give Piper an internship in one of my companies.
My little toy needs this to be ripe for my picking.
I reply to Maria with a final instruction; have the black envelope I left on her desk delivered to Piper’s apartment tomorrow morning. Maria’s always in before sunrise, she’ll have it done before Piper even opens her eyes.
The thought of my toy getting a toy—specifically, a puzzle piece—is addictive.
Soon, Piper won’t just exist in pieces on my desk. She’ll be in front of me, eager and hopeful. My pulse stays even, but something shifts—an ache, a hunger.
After this, she’ll be in my world. And by the time she realizes she’s trapped, she won’t even want to leave.