"You're on your own out there without protection. Every vulture in this city circling, waiting to tear you apart for what you inherited. That's the only reason we're getting married. To keep you breathing."
The words shouldn't hurt. This was always an arrangement, a business deal disguised as romance. But after last night, after everything we've shared...
The only reason.
To keep me breathing.
Not because he wants me. Not because these past nights meant something. Just another person who needs protection, like any civilian caught in crossfire.
God, I'm so stupid.
All those moments I thought meant something. The way his control cracked when he touched me. The desperate way he said my name. The possessive grip of his hands like he couldn't bear to let go. I thought... I actually thought he wanted me. Not just my body, not just the convenience of our arrangement, butme.
My chest feels hollow, carved out. Every kiss, every touch. Playing the role. Making sure Francesco's niece stays breathing long enough to neutralize the threat.
I'm so pathetic. Twenty years old and still believing in fairy tales. Thinking the dangerous man who saved me might actually care beyond duty and obligation. Marina warned me about this. About confusing gratitude with love, protection with desire.
All this time, I thought I was becoming something more to him. Thought maybe, despite everything, we were building something real beneath the arrangement.
The only reason.
Those three words have destroyed every foolish hope I'd let myself nurture.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Lorenzo
My hips ache with every breath, a dull throb where they extracted the marrow. The doctor said it would fade in a few days, but right now each movement sends sharp reminders through my bones. I pour myself whiskey despite the medication warnings, needing something to cut through more than just physical pain.
Sophia's door remains closed down the hall. She went straight there when we got back, didn't say a word during the entire drive. Dante kept glancing at us in the rearview mirror, sensing the tension but smart enough to stay silent.
I fucked up.
The words replay in my head.The only reason.Christ, I might as well have slapped her. Saw the exact moment those words hit, watched something die in her eyes. Like a light switching off.
I drain the whiskey and pour another.
Usually, I think before I speak. Calculate every word, measure impact, control the narrative. It's what makes me goodat negotiations, at keeping Pietro from starting wars every other week. But with Sophia, that control keeps slipping. She gets under my skin in ways that terrify me, makes me react instead of thinking first.
The truth sits heavy in my chest, harder to swallow than the whiskey. I don't want Francesco's empire. Don't need his territories or his connections. If Sophia walked away from all of it tomorrow, burned every ledger and dissolved every alliance, I wouldn't care.
But she can't walk away. That's what she doesn't understand.
She's twenty years old. Twenty. Still believes in good outcomes, in escape routes, in the possibility of normal life after all this. Doesn't understand that Francesco's death painted a target on her back that will never fade. Every family in Chicago sees her as either an opportunity or a threat. The Russians want her for what Francesco promised. The Corellis want her for leverage. Even our allies would use her if given the chance.
I press my palm against my ribs, feeling the ache deepen.
The real truth, the one I can't say out loud, is simpler and more complicated. If none of this had happened I wouldn't be putting a ring on her finger this fast. She's too young. Not just in years but in experience, in understanding what this life really costs.
She deserves time to figure out who she is without grief crushing her, without fear driving every decision. Time to decide if she actually wants me or if it's just circumstances pushing us together. Time to realize she could do so much better than a man who's killed more people than he can count, who lies as easily as breathing, who spent twelve years frozen because one woman taught him love was weakness.
But we don't have time.
The wedding has to happen because without it, she's vulnerable. Every day she stays unmarried is another daysomeone could take her, hurt her, force her into something worse than what we have. At least with me, she gets choices. Gets to keep her spirit intact even if her freedom is limited.
I can't explain this without admitting things I'm not ready to say. Can't tell her that watching her sleep next to me feels like redemption I don't deserve. Can't admit that every time she says my name, something in my chest cracks open a little more. Can't reveal that the thought of her with anyone else makes me want to paint Chicago red.
So instead, I hurt her. Push her away with harsh truths that aren't really truths at all. Make her think she's just an obligation when she's become everything I'm terrified of losing.
