He melts back into the crowd, but I know he's not done. He'll work the room, planting doubts, building his narrative. But for now, we've won this round.
"I need to find Pietro," I tell Sophia, spotting my brother across the room with some of the other families. "Stay close to Vittoria."
She nods, understanding that Francesco might try again when I'm not there.
I find Pietro near the bar, surrounded by the Benedetti brothers and two Corelli cousins. They scatter when I approach.
"Walk with me," Pietro says, leading me toward the terrace doors. The November air bites through my suit jacket, but at least out here we can speak freely.
"Everything's working for now," he says, lighting a cigarette. "Managed to change the next three shipment schedules without raising flags. Francesco's crew will hit empty warehouses while our product moves through alternate routes."
Smart. Let them waste resources chasing ghosts.
"Nico found something interesting," Pietro continues, exhaling smoke into the cold night. "Francesco's been spreading cash around the precinct. Doubled what we pay to some of our cops, tripled it for others. Simple move, but effective."
"Makes us look like fools," I say, understanding immediately. We pride ourselves on loyalty, on relationships built over decades. Francesco just walked in with a checkbook and bought what we thought we owned.
"Exactly." Pietro flicks ash over the railing. "Can't react though. Not yet. We move now, everyone sees it coming. We wait, let them think they've won, then we hit them when no one expects it."
Classic Pietro. All violence and delayed gratification. Sometimes it works.
"How are you doing?" he asks suddenly, studying me with those dark eyes that miss nothing.
"Been better. But I'll face whatever comes. Eventually."
Eventually.Because right now I can barely manage myself.
My hands shake slightly as I light my own cigarette. Pietro notices, of course he does.
"You know," he says, "This thing with Sophia. Whatever it really is just don't let it consume you. It's your life Lorenzo. It's like you always do whatever the hell others want you to do. You deserve more than that. "
The words hit harder than they should. When did I stop believing I deserved anything beyond penance?
"Francesco's working the room," I say, deflecting. "Planting seeds about coercion, about me taking advantage."
Pietro snorts. "Let him. Anyone with eyes can see how that girl looks at you. Either she's the best actress in Chicago or?—"
"Or what?"
He gives me a look that says I'm an idiot. "Or it's real, brother. And I'm starting to believe that it is for both sides."
Before I can respond, the terrace door opens. Vittoria pokes her head out, expression tight.
"You need to get back inside," she says urgently. "Now."
Pietro and I exchange glances, immediately on alert.
"What happened?" I ask.
"It's Sophia." Vittoria's voice carries worry. "Daniil Morozov just walked in."
Sophia
I can't breathe.
The moment Daniil Morozov walks through those ballroom doors, my lungs forget how to work. He's exactly as I've seen him in photos. Tall, broad, with dead eyes that scan the room like a predator cataloging prey. His blond hair is slicked back. His look hides what he really is.
A monster.
