Pietro raises a hand and Nico falls silent.
"You're asking for our protection based on information youmightbe able to get us," Pietro says. "That's a significant risk for a very uncertain reward."
Lorenzo
I keep my position behind Sophia's chair, hands clasped behind my back. Pietro's testing her, pushing to see if she'll break or beg. It's his way. Establish dominance first, decide later. As Don, it's his call to make.
But if he pushes much further, I'll step in. Protection isn't something we debate when someone asks for it. Not in our family. Not when she's sitting here shaking like a leaf but still holding her chin up.
"I understand the risk," Sophia says, and her voice steadies. "I'm not stupid, Mr. Sartori. I know exactly what I'm worth to you."
Pietro's eyebrow rises slightly. Good. She's got his attention.
"I'm Francesco Torrino's niece. That makes me either an asset or a liability. Maybe both." She takes a breath, and I watch her shoulders square. "You could kill me right now. One bullet, problem solved. No more risk of Francesco using me against you."
Vittoria shifts by the fireplace. Even she's listening now.
"Or you could send me back," Sophia continues. "Let Francesco marry me off to Daniil. Let them think you never knew I came here." Her voice drops. "But we both know what happens to me then."
"Enlighten me," Pietro says, though his tone has lost some of its edge.
Sophia's hands stop twisting in her lap. "Daniil Morozov doesn't want a wife. He wants a toy. Something to break." She meets Pietro's eyes directly. "His last girlfriend—they found pieces of her in three different dumpsters. The one before that lasted two months before she 'fell' off a balcony."
The room goes still. Even Nico stops fidgeting against his wall.
"I'm twenty years old," Sophia says. "I've never hurt anyone. Never stolen anything until I took that USB. I helped my mother die with dignity while Francesco counted the days until he could sell me." Her voice cracks but she doesn't stop. "So yes, I'm asking you to risk protecting me. Because the alternative is dyingslowly, piece by piece, and I'd rather you put a bullet in my head right now than send me to that."
Christ. The girl knows how to paint a picture.
Pietro leans back in his chair, fingers drumming once. Nora touches his shoulder again. She knows better than all of us what running for your life is like.
"You're very young," Pietro says finally.
"Old enough to know dead is dead," Sophia replies. "The only question is how much I suffer first."
"You could run. Leave Chicago."
She shakes her head. "With what money? What identity? Francesco has connections everywhere. The Russians even more. I'd last maybe a week before they found me."
"So you came to us."
"I came to Lorenzo." She glances back at me for just a second. "He saved me once when I was eight. I hoped..." She trails off, then straightens. "That maybe saving people is what the Sartoris do, even when those people are Torrinos."
Dangerous territory. But she's smart about it, making it about our family's honor rather than begging for pity.
Pietro stands, and everyone in the room tenses. He walks closer, stopping just in front of Sophia's chair. She has to crane her neck to look up at him, but she does it without flinching.
"You think we're the better monsters," he says.
"I think you're monsters who keep your word," she says. "If you promise protection, you'll give it. If you decide to kill me, it'll be quick. Either way, you won't lie to me about it."
My brother studies her for a long moment. I can see him weighing options, calculating risks.
"For now, you stay here," he says. His voice carries the weight of temporary judgment. "But I promise you nothing. Understand? No guarantees. No protection deals. Nothing."
Sophia nods, her throat working as she swallows.
"If your information proves useful, then we'll talk again." Pietro's eyes narrow. "But until then, you're just a guest. A guest who doesn't leave the compound. Who doesn't contact anyone. Who does exactly what she's told."
