"The Sartoris are the obvious suspects." Pietro's eyes bore into mine. "We're the ones with motive. The ones he'd look to first."
I take a slow sip of whiskey, letting the burn ground me. Francesco's smarter than I gave him credit for. By claiming she's been kidnapped, he protects his reputation—he didn't lose her, someone took her. It also gives him justification for whatever retaliation he's planning.
"We could return her," Nico suggests. "Say we found her wandering, brought her home safe?—"
"No." The word comes out harder than intended.
Pietro's eyebrow raises. "Getting attached to the Torrino girl, brother?"
"I'm being practical. She goes back, she's married to Daniil within hours. Then we have Russians with family ties to the Torrinos. That's worse than our current situation."
"So what do you suggest?" Pietro drums his fingers on the table, a sign his patience is wearing thin. "We can't keep her hidden forever. Francesco will tear the city apart looking for her."
I set down my glass, decision crystallizing. "I have an idea."
Everyone turns to me.
"It's risky." I pause, knowing once I say this, there's no taking it back. "But I've been thinking about it since this morning."
"Spit it out," Pietro demands.
"We make her untouchable. Publicly. In a way that Francesco can't counter without losing face."
Vittoria tilts her head. "How?"
I open my mouth to answer Pietro when a voice cuts through the room.
"Hello."
I turn, and the world disappears.
Fuck. Me.
The dress she's wearing wraps around her body like it was painted on. The deep V neckline shows just enough skin to make me want to lick every inch of it.
She's not wearing makeup, doesn't need it. Her lips are naturally pink and when she bites the lower one nervously, I have to grip the edge of the table to keep from standing up.
She's cast a fucking spell on me.
My brain short-circuits. All the words I know—Italian, English, every language I've ever learned—vanish. I'm sitting here like an idiot, staring at her while my family watches.
The silence stretches too long. Someone clears their throat and I force myself to blink, to remember how to breathe.
When I manage to look at Nico, his expression tells me everything. He sees it. Sees what she's doing to me, how completely she's knocked me off balance. His eyes narrow slightly, that calculating look that means he's filing this information away for later.
Get it together, Lorenzo. She's twenty years old. She's Francesco's niece. She's?—
"You look beautiful," Vittoria says warmly, breaking the tension. "That dress is perfect on you."
Sophia's cheeks flush pink. "Thank you. I hope it's okay that I borrowed it."
"Of course! Red is definitely your color."
Sophia glances around the table, taking in our interrupted conversation. Her eyes meet mine for a split second before darting away. "Should I... do you want me to leave? You were talking, and I don't want to disturb?—"
"Nonsense." Nora's voice is firm but kind. "You must sit with us. We're having dinner, and you must have too since you're staying here for now."
Sophia moves toward the table, and of course—of course—she chooses the seat directly across from me, sliding in next toVittoria. The overhead light catches the subtle shimmer on her collarbones, and I realize she's put on some kind of lotion that makes her skin glow.
