Chapter 44 Lorenzo
S ince the girls decided to have brunch, we figured, why not do the same? I know, it’s completely out of character for us. We’re not exactly the brunch type. I’m running a bit late because I’ve spent all morning on the phone with Diego, trying to decide whether we need to push the restaurant opening back another month. Thankfully, it looks like we’re on track, which honestly feels like a miracle at this point.
As I walk into the restaurant, I spot the guys sitting at a table. Their conversation seems serious—low voices, tense shoulders. They notice me approaching and immediately straighten in their seats, frowns etched into their faces.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, sliding into a chair.
“You good?” Matteo asks, his tone careful.
I grab a menu, flipping through it casually. “Why wouldn’t I be? Sorry I’m late. I’ve been on the phone with the contractor all morning.” I roll my eyes. “Good news is, I don’t have to push back the opening again. Thank fuck. I was starting to worry. ”
Damian reaches across the table and snatches the menu from my hands. “You been online today?”
I shake my head, confused. “No, my phone’s been blowing up, but like I said, I’ve been busy—” I stop mid-sentence, catching the look on their faces. Both of them are watching me expectantly, Matteo with a grimace, Damian faking a cough. “What’s going on?”
I pull out my phone, scrolling through the endless notifications. One message catches my attention.
Amos
Care to explain this? *link attached*
I frown, clicking on the link. “Oh, Sophia’s article is out? It’s not supposed to be out until next month.” A grin spreads across my face. “This is a nice surprise.”
Matteo tilts his head, eyebrows drawn together. “So you’ve read it?”
I shake my head. “She wanted me to give it a once-over before it went out, but I told her she didn’t need my approval. I trust her.”
“You might wanna read it now.” Damian’s voice is rough as he leans in.
The tension in the air is thick, and I’m starting to get the feeling that something’s off, so I open the article and start reading.
Lorenzo Mancini: The Ultimate Player?
By Sophia Evans
When the name Lorenzo Mancini is mentioned, it comes with tales of power, charm, and—above all—ruthless ambition. This Chicagoland billionaire has climbed to the top by being relentless, but as they say, sometimes you can climb so high that you forget what’s beneath you. Known for his string of conquests in both sex and business, Mancini treats life like a game he’s already won. And everyone else? They’re just pawns for his advantage.
As one of the youngest vice presidents of Vortex—the infamous, invite-only billionaire club—Mancini has shown a talent for winning, but he’s also garnered whispers of being careless, even cruel, in his decisions. Sources within the industry paint a picture of a man who is “tactless” and “unscrupulous,” willing to bulldoze anyone in his path to stay on top. And he doesn’t just accept that image; he thrives on it. Mancini wears his heartlessness like a badge, and people keep falling for the charm, unaware of how quickly he’ll move on when they’re no longer useful.
His “success” in the restaurant business doesn’t change much. Sure, he knows what he’s doing, but let’s not pretend there’s any deep passion behind it. It’s just another way for him to look good, keep people interested, and keep his name in lights. What you see is what you get—a man who’s only loyal to himself.
His avoidance of the media isn’t just strategy—it’s survival. He knows that if anyone looks too closely, the whole polished act might unravel. Behind the tailored suits and smug smile is a man whose only real accomplishment is manipulating everyone around him. And maybe that’s all he ever wanted.
Lorenzo Mancini isn’t just playing the game; he is the game—a man defined by power plays and shallow connections, and when it all falls apart, he’ll have no one left but himself.
The eerie calm that settles over me feels deadening. Like my body is slowly shutting down, one sense at a time. I never got it before—how movies and books make betrayal seem so dramatic, over the top. But now, sitting here, my heart clenching and hurting, I understand it all too well.
My neck burns as heat creeps up it, the reality of it all sinking in. And my heart—it’s breaking. Literally breaking. I didn’t know that was even possible, to feel something inside you shatter like that.
I shake my head in disbelief. “No. No way.” I drop my phone on the table, scrubbing my hands over my face, trying to shake off the growing panic.
“Maybe there’s an explanation,” Matteo points out, trying to be the voice of reason.
“Yeah,” Damian adds, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it, it’s almost unsettling. Just as he’s about to say more, his phone rings. He picks it up, his tone shifting. “Hey, Darling, I can’t really talk…” He pauses, listening closely and looking at me as he shakes his head, giving me a knowing look.
“What the fuck is going on?” I mutter to myself, the words barely leaving my lips as I try to make sense of it all.
Damian hangs up, his eyes meeting mine with a resigned look. “Aria said Sophia left brunch, completely losing it. I think you should talk to her. There has to be an explanation.”
Matteo frowns. “This makes no sense.”
“She couldn’t have written this,” I say, but it’s more to myself than anyone else. I’m trying to convince myself. Trying to hold on to something.
But wouldn’t she? That article wasn’t exactly wrong. You thrive in that sort of chaos. You’ve used your charm in both business and sexual conquests. You’ve had every chance to walk away from this world you claim to despise so much, yet you haven’t. She’s not wrong.
But I told her. I told her I was tired. I shared all of my secrets with her. So why would she still write something like this?
Because it’s the truth. You’ve been lying to yourself this whole time. It’s time to wake up and face reality .
I shake my head, trying to shut off my sadistic fucking brain. I’m trying to breathe through the tightening in my chest. In and out. But it’s no use. The insecurities are crawling their way up, threatening to pull me under. It’s so easy to let them. To let them drown me. To accept love— real love—was never in the cards for me. To accept that Sophia, like everyone else I thought I could trust, took advantage of me.
Fuck.
“I need to get out of here.” I push back from the table, already half-standing.
Matteo’s voice stops me for a moment. “And what are you going to do? You’re in no state to talk to her right now.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” I snap, storming out of the restaurant.
The walk back to the hotel is a blur. My mind is a mess, too loud and too hurt to think straight. Anger starts to simmer beneath the surface, barely held in check. But I need to confront her—I have to. Even if it destroys me.
When I reach the hotel, I take a deep breath before opening the door, hoping it will steady me. But the second I step inside, the charged air between us stirs everything back up. The anger, the hurt, the betrayal—it crashes over me all at once, suffocating.
Sophia looks up, standing abruptly. “Lorenzo?—”
I raise my hand, cutting her off. “Save it,” I seethe, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. “Why’d you do it, Sophia?”
“You think I did this? Seriously?” She frowns, confused.
I make the colossal mistake of looking at her. Her eyes, those hauntingly beautiful blue eyes I’ve come to love, are glossy with unshed tears. But the sadness in them claws at what’s left of my heart—and not in a good way.
I ignore her question, too focused on my self-destructing anger. “Was it really necessary to write something like that?” I snort a humorless laugh. “I mean, I knew you were good, but even for you it’s a little too far, don’t you think?”
I’m not thinking straight. Anger, shame, and self-preservation are trying to take over, and it’s easier for me to let it. To destroy. After all, that’s all I know how to do, right? I’m ruthless. Careless. I don’t care about anyone. Might as well live to the fucking reputation.
“Lorenzo, I didn’t write that article. You know I wouldn’t.” Her voice cracks, barely above a whisper.
“It sure doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.” I wave my phone in the air, pointing to the screen. “Your name is right here, clear as day.”
“I don’t know what happened, but I will get to the bottom of this. Just… Can you please trust me?”
I pace the room, dragging a hand through my hair, avoiding her gaze like it burns me. I can’t look at her anymore. It physically hurts. “I thought I could trust you. I thought…” My voice falters, threatening to break. I thought you loved me . But I can’t say it. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Sophia.”
She steps back, her breath catching like my words slapped her. Words—they’re the most dangerous weapon when wielded right. And I’m losing control, letting them tear through her, through us .
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? After everything, you don’t trust me?” Her voice trembles, disbelief coloring her expression.
I shake my head, my voice tight with anger. “I did trust you, and look at where it got me?—”
“I didn’t write it!” she yells, frustration seeping into her tone.
“And I don’t fucking believe you!” I roar back, my own voice harsh and unyielding.
“Wow.” Her laugh is sharp, almost bitter, and there’s a hint of breathlessness in it. “So… That’s it, then?”
“Yup.” It’s all I can manage, my voice tight as I struggle to keep the knot in my throat from breaking free.
She takes another step back, her face twisting with hurt, a fierce glint flashing in her eyes. “Out of all the people in the world, I thought you’d be the last one to hurt me.”
“Back at you,” I spit.
I can’t control the words that keep coming out of my stupid mouth. The insecurities, the doubt—they’re too loud, drowning out every rational thought. The words I need to say, the ones that could stop this, are trapped, stuck in my throat.
And maybe I don’t want them to come out. Maybe it’s easier to let go, even when I feel like I’m holding the shattered pieces of my heart in my hands, bleeding from the jagged edges. Even though, deep down, a part of me knows if I stopped for one second, if I could let the rational side of my mind catch up—I’d maybe be able to see the truth. But I can’t. It’s easier believing people think the worst of me, because that way, I never give them a chance to see the real me.
A fuck-up. A good-for-nothing no one has ever loved, and who can’t love, even when he thought he could .
“Honestly, fuck you, Lorenzo,” she says, her voice quiet but full of venom.
I flinch, but the anger surges, burning hotter, pushing me past the point of reason. I snort, cruel and bitter. “You already did. Multiple times.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, sharp as a knife, and I know they’ll hurt. I want them to hurt. Because I’m sadistic in a self-destructing kind of way.
A sharp, angry laugh comes out of her as tears start to stream down her face. “God, I’m so fucking stupid. I thought you were different,” she says, her voice gaining strength. “But you’re just like everyone else, aren’t you? So quick to believe the worst, so quick to throw me away. Another man with empty fucking promises.” She lets out a sharp breath. “After all, you wanted to look after me. Take care of me for once, right?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “That’s a whole lot of an elaborate lie for a quick fuck ,” she spits.
I flinch at her words, each one of them slicing whatever’s left of me, slamming into me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless. Instead of fighting back or swallowing my pride and trying to find a solution, I stay silent, letting the weight of my insecurities crush whatever’s left of us.
The silence between us is deafening. I still refuse to look at her, because if I do, I will crumble. I will beg for her to stay, and she doesn’t deserve this. She deserves a better man. A man who can properly love her. A man who can protect her from the worst. I want to be that man. God, do I want to.
But how can I protect her from myself?
I can’t believe I let myself believe I was capable of loving someone. I will always think the worst of people. It’s in my nature. It’s how I was raised. And this… This is how it’s supposed to be.
My eyes find hers, and her gaze is like arrows shooting straight into my heart. Not missing a single shot. She nods knowingly, and without a word, she starts frantically gathering her things. Every movement, every item she throws into her suitcase, chips away at the fragile pieces of my resolve.
But I stand still. I don’t dare move. I don’t even breathe.
This is it. This is what you wanted.
So why do I feel like I’m slowly dying? Like I’m watching the whole summer we spent together unfold before my eyes? Every laugh. Every touch. Every kiss. All of it flashing in front of me like some kind of cruel reminder of what’s slipping through my fingers, like fine, cold sand.
She turns away, her back stiff as she walks toward the door. I can feel it—the finality in her steps, the way her shoulders shake slightly, as if she’s barely holding it together.
“Sophia, wait…” The words are out before I can stop them, but she doesn’t turn around.
Her hand is on the doorknob when she speaks. “No.” Her voice is sharp, unrelenting. “We’re done.”
She steps out of the room, leaving me in the suffocating silence, the weight of reality crashing down on me—I just let the best thing that’s ever happened to me slip away.