They're all there when I enter—Pietro behind his massive desk that's been moved to the living room for this, Nico leaningagainst the wall with his arms crossed, and Lorenzo standing by the window.
Lorenzo looks up when I enter. His expression gives nothing away, but he gestures to a chair near the desk.
"Sit."
I do, tucking my hands under my thighs to hide their trembling.
"I'm calling Francesco now," Lorenzo says, pulling out his phone. "You don't speak. No matter what he says."
I nod.
Lorenzo's thumb hovers over the screen for a heartbeat. Then he hits call and puts it on speaker.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
"Lorenzo Sartori." Francesco's voice fills the room, smooth as aged whiskey and twice as poisonous. "How unexpected. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Sophia is with me."
Silence.
Complete, suffocating silence that stretches so long I wonder if the call dropped.
When Francesco speaks again, his voice has lost its polish. "Is that so?"
"It is."
"Wasn't it enough that you took Luna from me?" The words drip venom. "Now you steal my niece?"
My breath catches. Luna? Francesco thinks Lorenzo killed Luna?
Lorenzo's jaw tightens, but his voice stays level. "I didn't kill Luna."
"Spare me your lies, Sartori. We both know what happened to her after?—"
"I didn't kill her," Lorenzo repeats, each word precise as a blade. "But that's not why I'm calling."
I bite my tongue to keep from speaking. Francesco never mentioned believing Lorenzo killed Luna. Not once in all his ranting about the Sartoris. He called them thieves, murderers, threats to our family—but never specifically blamed them for Luna's death.
Why hide that?
"Then enlighten me," Francesco says. "Why are you calling? To gloat? To make demands?"
"We need to meet."
Another pause. I can picture Francesco in his office, probably gripping his phone hard enough to crack it.
"You have something that belongs to me."
"She came to me," Lorenzo says simply. "Of her own free will."
"She's confused. Grieving. You're taking advantage?—"
"We meet tomorrow night. Neutral ground."
