"The Russians are using you." I cut through his words like they're tissue paper. "We both know why you wanted Daniil. Protection. Territory. A foothold in the drug trade you've been locked out of."
His jaw works, but I don't give him the chance to speak.
"You think Daniil gives a damn about expanding your territory? The moment he marries Sophia, he owns you. The Torrino family becomes a subsidiary of the Bratva. Your men start taking orders from Russians. Your routes, your connections—everything you've built becomes theirs."
Francesco's men shift uneasily. They know I'm right. They've seen what happens to families that partner with the Russians. There's no partnership, only absorption.
"With me, you get something different." I keep my voice conversational, like we're discussing restaurant supplies instead of his niece's future. "A marriage between our families means legitimate expansion. The Sartoris control the north side, you have the south. Together, we push out the smaller families. The Corellis. The Benedettis."
Marco Benedetti stiffens at that, but he's smart enough to stay quiet.
"You keep your independence," I continue. "Your men stay yours. Your territory remains under Torrino control. All you have to do is accept that Sophia chose me."
"Chose?" Francesco spits blood onto the concrete. "You think I'm stupid? You think I believe she?—"
"I think you're smart enough to recognize a better deal when it's standing in front of you." My voice drops, each word precise. "The Russians will bleed you dry. They'll use Sophia, probably kill her within a year like Daniil did his last two women, and then they'll take everything you have anyway."
The warehouse air feels thick, heavy with the weight of truth. Francesco's breathing is still ragged, but his eyes are calculating now. He's doing the math.
"Daniil won't accept this," he says finally.
"Daniil's acceptance isn't required." I straighten my jacket. "He's not family. He's not even Italian. He has no claim here except what you give him."
Francesco looks at Sophia for the first time since I grabbed him. Something flickers across his face—regret maybe, or just calculation.
"You really think you can protect her from him?" he asks me.
"I don't think." The words come out flat, final. "I know."
Silence stretches between us. Francesco's men watch him, waiting for orders. The Benedettis are already edging toward the door, wanting no part of whatever comes next.
"You have forty-eight hours to make your choice," I tell him. "Accept the engagement. Publicly. Make it clear to everyone—especially the Russians—that this is a family matter, a love match. Or refuse and deal with the consequences."
Francesco's face twists. "You're giving me an ultimatum?"
"I'm giving you an opportunity." I turn my back on him.
"When you've made the smart choice, you can contact us through the usual channels."
I reach for Sophia's hand without looking, and her fingers immediately find mine. This time they're warm, steady.
"We're done here," I say to Dante, who keeps his gun trained on Francesco's men as we move toward the door.
Sophia
The SUV door slams behind us, and Lorenzo's hand stays locked around mine again. Not gentle. Not careful. Like if he lets go, I'll disappear.
Dante follows us through the restaurant's back entrance, but Lorenzo doesn't acknowledge him. Doesn't acknowledge anyone. The kitchen staff freeze as we pass, their eyes tracking our joined hands.
His office door comes into view. Lorenzo pushes it open, pulls me inside, and kicks it shut behind us. The sound echoes in the sudden quiet.
Only then does he stop moving.
He stands there, back against the door, chest rising and falling like he's been running. His jaw works, that muscle jumping the way it does when he's fighting for control.
"Are you okay?" The words slip out before I can stop them.
His eyes snap to mine. For a second, something raw flashes across his face. Then it's gone, replaced by that careful mask he wears.
