Lorenzo crosses to the table and takes the chair directly across from me. Our eyes meet for half a second before he looks away, focusing on Pietro instead.
"The wedding needs to happen within the week," Pietro says, folding his hands on the table.
Giulia bustles in with platters of food—eggs, bacon, fresh bread, fruit. She sets everything down.
"A week?" I manage to say. "That's... fast."
"Fast is what keeps you alive," Pietro says bluntly. "Once you're officially a Sartori, the protection is ironclad. Until then, you're vulnerable."
Marina reaches for the coffee pot, her movements careful and deliberate. "So Sophia marries Lorenzo, and what? Everyone just backs off?"
"They back off or they declare war on the entire Sartori family," Pietro says. "Most aren't stupid enough to try that."
"Most," I repeat, the word tasting bitter.
"Daniil might be that stupid," Nico says. "Or that confident. The Russians have been pushing boundaries for months."
Lorenzo's hand curls into a fist on the table. "Daniil comes near her, he's dead."
"Which is why we need the wedding done quickly," Pietro continues, ignoring Lorenzo's outburst. "Saturday. Five days from now."
Five days. My head spins. Five days to become Sophia Sartori, to bind myself to this family and their world permanently. I glance at Lorenzo, but he's staring at his untouched coffee like it holds the secrets of the universe.
"That's barely enough time to even get a dress," Vittoria says.
"We'll manage," Pietro says. "Small ceremony. Family only. The reception can be larger. We'll need to make a statement to the other families."
"A statement," I echo. "Like 'hands off, she's ours now'?"
Pietro's smile is sharp. "Exactly like that."
Giulia returns with more food, setting a plate of pastries in the center of the table. The normalcy of breakfast clashes with the conversation about using my wedding as a territorial marker.
Lorenzo
I knock on Sophia's door after two hours of pacing my room like a caged animal. The sound of laughter filters through the wood.
The door opens, and Marina stands there with raised eyebrows. Behind her, Sophia sits cross-legged on the bed, agenuine smile lighting up her face. The smile dies the second she sees me.
The transformation hits like a punch to the gut. One second she's radiant, the next she's looking at me like I'm something she stepped in.
Marina glances between us. "Well, this looks fun." She grabs her phone from the nightstand. "I'm going to find someone to fight with until you two are finished. Maybe that Nico guy. He seems like he needs someone to knock him down a peg."
"Marina—" Sophia starts, but her friend is already heading for the door.
"Nope. Not getting in the middle of whatever this is." Marina pauses beside me. "But if you make her cry again, I'll find a way to hurt you. Mafia or not."
She leaves, pulling the door shut behind her with a decisive click.
Sophia stays on the bed, arms crossed, jaw set. The honey-brown eyes that usually look at me with warmth are cold as winter.
"I need a word," I say.
"Of course you do." Her voice drips sarcasm. "You showed up, didn't you?" She tilts her head. "What is it this time, Lorenzo? You want to fuck me again for appearances? Make sure I'm properly convinced of our relationship for the wedding?"
Red floods my vision. My hands curl into fists at my sides, and I have to consciously stop myself from punching the wall. "What?"
"You heard me." She slides off the bed, standing to face me despite the height difference. "Isn't that what this is? You need me to play the loving fiancée, so you?—"
