A kitchen where I can cook for her every morning. A bed that's ours alone, not in a compound full of family and memories of death.
But not yet. Not until I know every threat is eliminated.
The contradiction tears at me. I want to lock Sophia in a tower where nothing can touch her. Want to surround her with guards, bulletproof glass, every protection money can buy. But I also want to see her smile when she has lunch with Marina. Want to watch her eyes light up when she talks about the books she's reading. Want her to have the normal life she deserves.
I pour myself a whiskey, the burn doing nothing to ease the knot in my chest. The restaurant reports can wait another hour. Hell, they can wait forever. Nothing in those numbers matters if I lose her.
But I can't go back to the compound yet. If I do, I'll take her to bed and won't surface for days. The business needs attention. The family needs their consigliere functioning, not lost in his wife's body.
I sit back at the desk, forcing myself to review the vendor contracts.
A knock at my office door pulls me from the vendor contracts. George, one of my waiters, stands in the doorway with sweat beading on his forehead.
"Mr. Sartori, I'm sorry, I tried to tell her you weren't—" His voice cracks. "She insisted, and I couldn't?—"
"Who?" I start to ask, but George stumbles backward as someone pushes past him.
Luna Torrino walks into my office like she owns it.
The world tilts. My hand moves to my gun before conscious thought catches up.
I'm on my feet, Glock aimed at her face. "George, get out."
The waiter doesn't need to be told twice. I hear him practically running down the hallway, probably already calculating how much notice he needs to give before quitting.
"Hello, Lorenzo." Luna's voice carries that same musical quality that once made me stupid. "It's good to see you."
I study her face, searching for regret, guilt, any sign that betraying me and getting four of my men killed weighs on her conscience. Nothing. Her expression holds the same calculating coldness it did the night she burned those letters. The night she proved every warning about her was true.
"What the hell do you want?" My finger rests on the trigger guard. "How do you think you're leaving here alive?"
She laughs. Actually laughs, like I've told a particularly clever joke. "You can't kill me. You won't."
"Want to bet?"
Luna moves toward my desk with that grace she perfected before she could drive. I'm around it in two strides, slamming her against the wall hard enough to knock a frame off its hook. The barrel of my gun presses under her jaw.
"Where the hell have you been?" My voice comes out raw, twelve years of rage compressed into five words. "Who helped you fake your death?"
Luna doesn't flinch at the gun against her temple. "Does it matter? Sicily, France, back to Sicily. "
I press the barrel harder against her skin. "Why come back now? Why walk into my fucking office like you have any right to breathe the same air as me?"
"Because you deserve the truth." Her voice drops, something almost human flickering in her expression. "This is my chance to do something... less evil to you."
"Less evil?" I laugh, the sound sharp enough to cut. "You destroyed everything. You made me believe—" I stop myself. She doesn't get to know what she did to me. "Explain. Now."
"I need to see Bruno."
The non sequitur makes me blink. "What?"
"Bruno. Your brother. I need to speak with him, and you need to be there when I do."
"You're not getting anywhere near my family."
"Lorenzo. Bruno holds a secret that can either destroy your life completely, or just... hurt a little less. You need to hear it from both of us."
I move the gun from her temple to under her chin, forcing her head back. My body cages hers against the wall. "The only thing that's going to bring Bruno joy right now is putting a bullet in your skull. One way or another, you being dead will make him happy."
