The door clicks shut behind us.
"Are you okay?" His voice is softer now, without the edge he carries around his family.
I want to lie. Want to tell him I'm fine, that Pietro's threats don't scare me, that being forever marked as an outsider doesn't hurt. But the words that come out are different.
"I'll handle it."
It's not really an answer, but it's the truth. I've handled my mother's death, Francesco's betrayal, Daniil's threat. I'll handle this too.
Lorenzo steps closer, his hand coming up to cup my face. "Sophia?—"
"I'll handle it," I repeat, firmer this time. "I know what they think of me. I know what I am to them. A tool. A means to an end. I'll get the ledger, I'll play the part, I'll?—"
He kisses me.
His lips move against mine with a tenderness that makes my chest ache, makes my knees weak, makes me forget about Pietro's threats and Bruno's cruelty.
I melt into him, my hands gripping his shirt. For this moment, I'm not the outsider. I'm not the Torrino girl with a price on her head. I'm just Sophia, and he's just Lorenzo, and maybe that's enough.
When he pulls back, his thumb strokes my cheek. "Go get dressed."
I blink, still dizzy from the kiss. "What?"
"We're going shopping." He steps back, creating distance between us that feels wrong. "You need things."
"I have Vittoria's clothes?—"
"You've been wearing Vittoria's clothes for days." His voice shifts back to business, but his eyes stay soft. "You need your own things. Dresses for the engagement party. Clothes that fit properly."
"Okay." I move toward the door. "I'll go change."
"Sophia."
I turn back.
"Wear something comfortable. We'll be out for a while."
I nod and leave his room, my lips still tingling from his kiss.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lorenzo
The shopping center stretches before us, all designer storefronts. Sophia's hand feels small, her fingers interlaced with mine like they belong there. I hate how right it feels.
Dante trails twenty feet behind us, pretending to check his phone. Two more of my men work the upper level, another pair covering the exits. After Francesco's stunt with the photographers, I'm not taking chances.
"People keep staring," Sophia says quietly, pressing closer to my side.
"Let them."
A woman in heels stops mid-stride when she sees me, her eyes widening before she quickly looks away. Her companion whispers something, and they both glance back.
"They know you," Sophia observes. "But when I looked you up online years ago, there was almost nothing. Just your name on some restaurant licenses."
Years ago.She looked me up years ago.
"How come you're invisible online but everyone here recognizes you?"
