“Dinner’s over,” he says quietly.
And somehow, that simple statement feels like the end of something and the beginning of something much more dangerous. Sienna doesn’t seem bothered by it. She stands, smoothing her skirt.
“Come on, Birdie. We can organize my closet.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “What you mean isIcan organize it.”
“Tomato, tomato,” she quips, already halfway out the door.
I follow, feeling Lorenzo’s gaze burn between my shoulder blades. It takes everything in me not to look back. The air in that dining room feels too heavy and intimate, like if I stay another second I’ll suffocate on the silence.
We round the corner toward the stairs and run straight into Francesca. Her arms are crossed, posture perfect, eyes glinting with amusement that doesn’t reach her smile.
“Are the children off to play for the night?” she asks, her voice light and cutting at once. “I told Lorenzo that I wanted to speak to him. Alone.”
Sienna doesn’t even hesitate. “Sure you did. More like he told you to leave and you’re going to beg to stay.”
Francesca’s gaze slides to me, sharp and assessing before going back to Sienna.
“Don’t be shocked if you hear moans coming from your father’s room later tonight,” she says, lowering her voice like she’s sharing a secret instead of throwing a dagger. “We get very vocal when we have sex.”
I freeze, the words hitting harder than I expect.
Sienna only laughs. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard a woman moaning from his room. Or the last, if I were to guess. Come on, Birdie.”
She brushes past Francesca like she’s immune, but I can’t move for a second. Francesca’s eyes find mine again, lingering just long enough to make sure I understand the message behind the cruelty.
When I finally turn to follow Sienna, my pulse is pounding in my ears.
I tell myself it’s anger.
That it’s disgust.
But deep down, I know that’s only half true.
Because the image she planted in my head—the one I don’t want to think about—won’t go away. The one where Lorenzo and Francesca are having sex. The thought shouldn’t bother me, dammit. But it does.
Sienna closes the door with a loud sigh and flops onto her bed. “God, I hope he wakes up and realizes that woman is a monster.”
“Has he ever been engaged before?” I ask, sitting at the edge of the bed.
That makes her pause.
“No.” Then she snorts softly. “Stupid traditions. You’d think they’d be okay with an heir being a female. I’d make an excellent mafia boss.”
I laugh, the sound easing some of the tension still coiled inside me. “You definitely would.”
She grins at that, eyes bright. “Damn right I would.”
I cross the room and grab one of the glossy shopping bags from earlier, pulling out folded tissue paper and clothes with designer labels that still don’t feel real. Sienna had no trouble spending her father’s money. I swear she made a sport of it. I, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the guilt and only got things I would need. Sneakers, jeans, undergarments, shirts, and a coat. I wanted to get more, but I’m glad I didn’t. Especially after Francesca’s dig.
“Why do you think he chose her?” I ask after a moment, my voice quieter now.
“Frannie?” Sienna scoffs. “Well, she’s his type, for one. I’m sure she comes from a family with connections, too. That’s usually how these things go.”
His type.
The words settle in my chest like lead. I try to laugh it off, but the sound comes out thin. “Right. Tall, dark, and terrifyingly confident.”
