"The doctor said I'm fine to leave." He rolls his shoulder, testing for pain. "Dante's bringing the car around."
"You're supposed to take it easy for the next few days." I move closer, noting the slight tension around his eyes that he's trying to hide. "No heavy lifting, no strenuous activity?—"
"I heard the instructions, Sophia."
But I know him now. Know how he pushes through pain, ignores his body's limits when he thinks something more important needs his attention. He'll be back in the gym tomorrow morning, probably sparring with Nico by evening.
"You won't follow them," I say flatly.
His mouth quirks slightly. "I'll be careful."
"Liar."
The word hangs between us, an echo of all the times I've called him that before. Usually, it makes him smile. Now he just looks tired.
I sit beside him on the bed, our thighs touching. The clinics lights make everything look harsh, cold. Nothing like the warmth we've found together these past days.
"Lorenzo..." I take a breath, gathering courage for what I need to say. "I've been thinking. These past hours while you were in there."
His body tenses slightly, probably expecting bad news. I press on before I lose my nerve.
"About Francesco's legacy. The Torrino empire." My fingers twist in my lap. "I don't want any of it."
He goes completely still.
"After we get married," I continue, staring at my hands instead of his face, "you can have it all. The territories, the businesses, the connections. Whatever the Sartoris want to do with it, I don't care. I just... I can't be her. I can't be the kind of person who runs that world."
The silence stretches so long I finally look up.
"Is that what you think this is about?" His voice is dangerously quiet.
"I know the families expect?—"
"Fuck what they expect." He stands abruptly, putting distance between us. "You think I'm marrying you for Francesco's fucking legacy?"
The venom in his voice makes me flinch. "Lorenzo, I didn't mean?—"
"Every family in Chicago wants what you inherited. The Russians, the Corellis, even the fucking Benedettis despite their polite smiles." He turns to face me, and his eyes are darker than I've ever seen them. "You think you can just hand it over and walk away? You think they'll let you?"
"If I'm married to you?—"
"If you're married to me, you're protected. That's the only reason we're doing this." Each word is sharp, precise, meant to cut. "Not because I want Francesco's territories. Not because Pietro wants to expand. Because without my name, without my family's protection, you're dead within a week."
My chest tightens. "I know that?—"
"Do you?" He moves closer, looming over me. "Because it sounds like you think this is some business acquisition. Like I'm using you to get to what Francesco left behind."
"That's not what I said."
"It's what you implied."
The hurt in his voice, buried under all that anger, makes my stomach drop. I stand, reaching for him, but he steps back.
"Lorenzo, please. I just meant I don't want to become him. I don't want to run drugs or order hits or?—"
"You think I'd ask you to?" Now he sounds genuinely offended. "You think I'd turn you into that?"
"No, I?—"
