The thought makes my chest ache.
If she comes to me, I need to know it's real. Not gratitude. Not some misplaced hero worship because I kept her from marrying a monster.
But Christ, her body makes it impossible to think straight.
The curve of her hip under my palm. The way her breath catches when I touch her. How she pressed against me last night, asking me to keep her.
Keep me then.
Those three words replay in my mind. The way she looked at me. Fierce and certain and so fucking beautiful I couldn't breathe.
I trace my fingers along her shoulder, feather-light. She sighs, turning her face into my chest. Her lips brush my skin, and my whole body goes rigid.
"Lorenzo?" Her voice comes out husky with sleep.
"Go back to sleep."
She lifts her head, blinking up at me. Her hair falls around her face in waves, and I have to fist my free hand in the sheets to keep from tangling my fingers in it.
"How long have you been awake?"
"A while."
She studies my face, those honey eyes seeing too much. "You're thinking too hard."
"Someone has to."
"About what?"
About how badly I want to spread your legs and taste you until you scream. About marking every inch of your skin so everyone knows you're mine. About keeping you in this bed for days.
"About how we proceed from here."
She props herself on an elbow, the movement pulling her shirt tight across her breasts. "We proceed however we want. Isn't that the point?"
If only it were that simple.
The dining room feels like a funeral parlor. Six plates, six people, and enough silence to choke on.
I push eggs around my plate, watching my family avoid eye contact. We haven't eaten together in days. Not since Rafaella dropped her bomb about Giuseppe's second family. About the secret I kept for over a decade.
Sophia sits beside me, her thigh barely brushing mine under the table.
Pietro's fork scrapes against porcelain.
Bruno wheels himself closer to the table, his movements jerky with barely contained rage. He hasn't spoken to me since calling me out for protecting myself instead of the family.
Nora watches Pietro with concern, her hand resting near his on the table. Vittoria stares at her untouched coffee like it holds answers to questions she's afraid to ask.
"The past days have been difficult." Pietro's voice cuts through the silence.
Everyone stops pretending to eat.
Pietro sets down his fork, his jaw working as he chooses his words. "I've been thinking." His dark eyes find mine across the table. "About secrets. About family. About what we owe each other."
My chest tightens. Here it comes.
"I can't forgive you easily, Lorenzo." Each word lands like a punch. "You kept this from us for twelve years. Twelve fucking years of lies."
