"I said put it down." I shift my weight, angling myself between them without making it obvious.
"You know what her family did to us." His jaw works, that tell he's had since childhood when his logical brain wars with emotion. "What they're still doing. And you're serving her breakfast?"
At thirty, Nico runs our construction empire. One of the legitimate front that launders millions through development projects across Chicago. He's brilliant with numbers, sees patterns where others see chaos. That same mind now dissects this situation, finding every flaw in my decision.
"Lower the weapon, Nico." I step fully between them now. "That's an order."
"You're not the Don." But his arm drops slightly, the gun now aimed at her chest instead of her head. "Pietro makes these calls, not you."
"Pietro doesn't know she's here."
"Jesus Christ, Lorenzo." The gun finally lowers completely, though he doesn't holster it. "You're harboring Francesco's niece without telling Pietro? Have you lost your fucking mind?"
Nico paces now, a habit from childhood when his brain works too fast for his mouth to keep up. Three steps left, pivot, three steps right.
"She has information," I say.
"Information." Another bitter laugh. "They all have information. That's how they work. Dangle intel, get inside, destroy us from within."
"The shipment?—"
"I don't give a fuck about the shipment." He stops pacing, fixes those intense eyes on me. "You think Francesco doesn'tknow she's here? You think this isn't exactly what they planned?"
Behind me, Sophia's breathing has gone shallow. I can feel her fear radiating like heat.
"Francesco sold her to the Russians," I say. "She's running from an arranged marriage to Daniil Morozov."
That makes Nico pause. His fingers tap against his thigh—one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four—his thinking pattern.
"Convenient story." But doubt creeps into his voice. Even Nico knows Francesco's reputation for using family as currency. "And you believe her?"
"I'm considering the possibility."
"Considering." He shakes his head. "She's a Torrino. They're all snakes."
"You're right." Sophia's voice cuts through the tension, steady despite the gun. "The Torrinos are snakes."
Nico's eyes snap to her as she pushes back from the table and stands. His Glock swings up instantly, trained on her chest.
"I agree with you more than you could possibly believe." She takes a step forward, and I tense, ready to intervene.
"Sit down," Nico commands, but Sophia moves closer to him instead, until the barrel of his gun presses against her sternum.
"What are you doing?" I start forward, but she holds up a hand without looking at me.
"I have nowhere to go." Her chin tilts up, meeting Nico's stare. "You think I want to be here? Begging help from my family's enemies? But Francesco needs to burn, and I brought everything that could help make that happen."
Nico's finger hovers over the trigger guard. "Pretty words from a pretty liar."
"The Torrino crime family dies with Francesco." Sophia's voice drops, something raw bleeding through. "There's no oneleft to continue it. I won't—I'd rather die than become what he is. And Francesco doesn't have children to carry on his legacy."
"He had one," Nico says, his jaw working.
"Luna's dead." The words hit the air like bullets. Sophia's hands clench at her sides. "She died in that car bomb twelve years ago."
Nico's laugh is sharp, cruel. "Dead. Right. But before that, she?—"
"Enough." My voice cuts through whatever revelation Nico was about to spill. Both of them turn to me, Sophia's eyes wide with confusion, Nico's narrowed with frustration.
