Lorenzo
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, keeping my eyes locked on the road ahead. Four minutes. Four fucking minutes until we reach the Benedetti warehouse and I have to face Francesco Torrino while pretending I didn't pin his niece to a wall like some animal in heat.
Dante sits beside me, silent. He knows better than to speak when I'm like this. In the rearview mirror, I catch glimpses of Sophia in the backseat. She's wearing that oversized sweater now, drowning in black wool, but I can still see the curve of her neck, the way she bites her lower lip.
Christ.
I shift in my seat, adjusting myself. Hard again. Still thinking about those tight jeans, the strip of lace underneath, the way her breath hitched when I caged her against that wall.
"Lorenzo." Dante's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You good?"
"Fine."
I'm not fine. I'm losing my goddamn mind over a girl who thinks this is all some game. She has no idea what she's playing with. No concept of what men like me do to girls like her.
Three minutes now. The warehouse district spreads out ahead, all concrete and shadows. Perfect place for a meeting. Perfect place for an ambush too.
I check the mirror again. Sophia's watching me. She doesn't look away when I catch her staring. Just tilts her chin up slightly, defiant even now.
Reckless little thing.
She thinks she knows what she wants. Thinks because she chose me for this arrangement that she has some kind of power.But she's just a kid playing in a world that eats innocence for breakfast.
Except she didn't look innocent that moment. Didn't look like it when she was half-naked in that room.
"Two blocks out," Dante says, checking his phone. "Nico's team is in position."
I nod, forcing myself to focus. Francesco will have men there. The Benedettis will have men there. Everyone will be armed, everyone will be watching for the first sign of betrayal.
And I'll walk in there with Sophia on my arm, announcing to the entire Chicago underworld that she's mine now. That I'm claiming Francesco's niece as my future wife.
The same bloodline that nearly destroyed everything years ago.
My jaw clenches. Sophia isn't Luna. She came to me for protection, not to gather intelligence. She's running from Francesco, not working for him.
But fuck if my cock cares about the danger when all I can think about is spreading her legs and?—
"Lorenzo." Sophia's voice from the backseat, soft but clear. "Lorenzo what?—"
"Don't speak unless I tell you to when we're inside." I meet her eyes in the mirror again.
"I know. You already said?—"
"Then stop talking."
She falls silent, but I see the flash of hurt in her eyes. Good. Better she thinks I'm cold than knows the truth—that I'm one wrong move away from pulling this car over and showing her exactly what she's been teasing.
One minute out. The Benedetti warehouse looms ahead, all brick and broken windows. I slow the SUV, scanning for threats, for Francesco's men, for any sign this is going wrong before it starts.
"Remember," I tell Sophia without looking back, "you stay next to me. You don't wander. You don't make eye contact with anyone but me or Francesco. And if shooting starts?—"
"I drop to the ground and crawl to cover," she finishes. "I remember the plan."
Good.
I pull into the warehouse lot, counting cars. Francesco's black sedan. Two Benedetti vehicles. Everyone's here.
Time to play the part.
