CHAPTER TWENTY
Sophia
My fists hurt. The impact shudders up my arm, a welcome shock that does nothing to numb the ache in my chest. A hollow space where relief should be.
I'm furious.
Because all day, Lorenzo has looked right through me. He treats me like a ghost. The silence from him is louder than any gunshot. So I hit the bag. Again. For him. For me. For this whole goddamn mess. My form is sloppy, all rage and no technique. The bag swings, and my next punch misses, sending me stumbling.
"You hit like you're angry."
I spin toward the voice. Nico leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. His gaze drops from my face to my split knuckles, then back up. A flicker of understanding crosses his features before they settle into neutral assessment.
"I am." Another punch, harder this time. The impact rattles up my arm.
"At the bag or my brother?"
"Both." My knuckles sting against the worn leather. "Everything."
He pushes off the doorframe, moving closer with that controlled precision all the Sartori brothers share. "Your form's terrible."
"Thanks for the feedback."
"You're going to break your hand. Straighten your body" he says and shows me what he means. "Power from your core."
I follow his instruction, throwing another punch. Better this time.
"Good. Again."
I punch.
"Better." Nico steps back. "You learn fast."
"Motivated student."
"Or just angry." He tilts his head, studying me. "He's being an idiot, you know."
"Who?"
"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you." Nico moves to hold the bag steady. "Lorenzo thinks distance keeps people safe. He's wrong."
I throw another punch, putting my weight behind it. "Maybe he's right."
"He's not." The certainty in Nico's voice makes me pause. "Trust me on that."
Before I can respond, the door opens. Lorenzo fills the entrance, dressed for training in dark athletic wear that emphasizes every line of muscle. His gaze moves from me to Nico, and his mouth tightens.
"We have a session scheduled." His tone is all business, a cold distance that makes my teeth grind.
Nico looks between us. "Right. I'll leave you to it."
He passes Lorenzo without another word, but the look they exchange speaks volumes. Then we're alone, and the air grows heavy, pressing in on me.
"Knives today." Lorenzo moves to the weapons cabinet, pulls out two practice blades. "Review what you learned last time."
The professionalism stings worse than any insult.
I take the offered blade, testing its weight. "Fine."
