"No wire." He states it like a fact, not an apology. "But that doesn't mean I trust you."
"I wouldn't expect you to." The honesty surprises us both. "Trust is earned, not given. Especially in your world."
"My world." He lets out a sound that might be a laugh if it held any humor. "You mean your world too, Torrino."
The way he says my last name feels like an accusation, a reminder of the blood that runs through my veins. Blood that makes me his enemy, no matter what information I bring to his door.
Lorenzo reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out something that looks like it belongs in a museum. The phone is thick, black plastic with actual buttons. He holds it out to me.
"If you need anything, text me. My number's already programmed in."
I take the ancient device, turning it over in my hands. The weight surprises me. It's heavier than my smartphone.
"There weren't always smartphones existing in this world, kiddo." Lorenzo's voice carries the hint of amusement.
My spine stiffens. That word—kiddo—ignites something hot and angry in my chest.
"I'm not a kid." The words come out sharper than intended.
He smirks. Actually smirks. Like I've said something amusing instead of stating a fact.
"I know how phones were before." I grip the device tighter, its edges digging into my palm. "I just never held one."
The smirk doesn't leave his face, and it makes my blood boil.
"I'm twenty years old." My chin lifts, meeting his gaze directly. "I graduated college early. I speak three languages. I managed my mother's medical care for two years while she was dying. I'm not some helpless little girl."
"You're twenty." He says it like that proves his point. "In my world, that makes you a kid."
The dismissal in his tone cuts deeper than it should. I want to throw the phone at his head. I want to scream that I've seen more death in the past month than most people see in a lifetime. That I held my mother's hand while she took her last breath. That I know exactly what Daniil will do to me if this plan fails.
Instead, I stand there, clutching the old phone like a lifeline, while Lorenzo Sartori looks at me like I'm a child playing dress-up in an adult's world.
"Your world." I echo his earlier words, but the fight drains out of me. "Right."
He moves toward the door, and panic flares in my chest. He's leaving me here, locked in this room like a prisoner. Like a child sent to her room for misbehaving.
"Lorenzo—"
"Get some sleep." He doesn't turn around. "We'll talk in the morning."
The door closes with a soft click, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock turning.
I stare at the locked door, then down at the phone in my hands.
My fingers trace the raised buttons. No touchscreen, no apps, no internet. Just calls and texts, assuming I can figure out how to work it.
The room feels colder now that he's gone, the elegant prison closing in around me. I sink onto the edge of the bed, still holding the phone.
Twenty years old, and everyone still sees a child.
But children don't betray their families. Children don't trade information for protection. Children don't choose between marriage to a monster and throwing themselves on the mercy of their family's enemies.
I've made adult choices with adult consequences.
Lorenzo
The adjoining room smells like dust and old leather. I close the door behind me, pressing my back against it for a moment. Through the wall, I hear the faint creak of bedsprings.
