The door closes with a soft click, leaving me alone with my racing heart.
I touch the spot on my arm where his eyes lingered, where water still clings to my skin.
Some of the clothes Vittoria left sprawled across my bed. My fingers trail over silks and cashmeres, searching for something that fits what I need tonight.
Not armor. Not protection. Something else entirely.
I hold up a black dress, completely appropriate for a family dinner. It would make me disappear into the background, become invisible. Safe.
I toss it aside.
My hands find a deep red wrap dress instead. The fabric flows like liquid through my fingers, soft as sin. When I hold it against myself in the mirror, I know this is it. The wrap style emphasizing my waist while the V-neck shows just enough cleavage to be interesting without being obvious.
I've spent years hiding my body. Loose sweaters during high school when boys started noticing. Baggy scrubs while caring forMom, when my curves felt like a betrayal. How could my body thrive while hers withered away?
But tonight? Tonight I want Lorenzo to notice. Want him to look at me and see a woman, not some helpless girl.
The dress slides over my skin like it was made for me. Vittoria and I must be exactly the same size because it fits perfectly. The wrap ties accentuate my waist, making my hips look fuller, my breasts more prominent. The hemline hits mid-thigh, showing legs I've always been secretly proud of.
I turn sideways, examining my profile. My body isn't model-thin, never has been. I have my mother's hips, my grandmother's chest. Curves that no amount of college stress or grief could diminish. Usually, I dress to minimize them, to blend in, to avoid attention.
Not tonight.
If Francesco finds me tomorrow, if the Russians come for me, if Pietro decides I'm too much trouble, at least I'll have this. One dinner where Lorenzo Sartori looks at me and sees what he's missing. Where that iron control of his cracks, even just a little.
I find heeled sandals in Vittoria's collection, strappy things that add three inches and make my legs look longer. My hair has dried in waves from the shower, and I leave it loose, wild. I don't have any lip gloss or mascara but I'm okay with that. I don't like putting products on my face either way.
Maybe I'm fooling myself. Maybe this dress is stupid, desperate. Maybe I'll walk downstairs and he won't even notice.
But maybe not.
I check the mirror one last time. The dress clings in all the right places, the color making my skin glow. I look... sexy.
I head for the door. I'm not hiding anymore. Not from Pietro's anger or Nico's suspicion or Lorenzo's walls.
Let them look. Let them see exactly who Sophia Torrino is.
Lorenzo
I check my watch. Three minutes late.
She's doing it on purpose. Has to be. No one takes twenty-three minutes to put on a dress.
"Where's your little Torrino princess?" Pietro asks from the head of the table, voice dripping with disdain. "Change her mind about gracing us with her presence?"
"She'll be here."
I don't care if she shows up. Makes no difference to me if she eats upstairs or down here. I'm not thinking about water droplets on her skin or how that silk robe barely covered her thighs. Definitely not remembering the way she looked at me, like she wanted?—
"Francesco's making moves." Pietro cuts through my thoughts. "Word on the street is his niece has been kidnapped."
My fingers tighten around my whiskey glass. "When?"
"Started spreading the story this afternoon. Poor uncle, devastated about his missing niece. Offering rewards for information." Pietro's laugh is cold. "Even filed a police report."
Vittoria leans forward. "That's bad, Lorenzo. If he's going public?—"
"He's setting the narrative," Nico finishes. "Making us the villains before we can make a move."
