I cut in, voice low and edged with warning. “What happens under my roof is none of your damn business.”
The line goes still. Not dead, just simmering. Then Federico speaks, his voice softer now but more dangerous because of it.
“I wonder what Sienna would think of this,” he says quietly.
My jaw tics. “Of what?”
“Of how you’re acting right now.” He doesn’t back down. “You need a male heir, Lorenzo, and we both know it. If Sienna were here, she’d tell you to do what’s best for the Family.”
My grip tightens around the cigar until the wrapper crackles.
“Careful,” I warn, voice low, the kind of low that makes grown men reconsider their life choices.
But he doesn’t take the hint.
“You think I don’t mourn her too? She was like a niece to me. I watched that girl grow up. I watched you love her. And now I’ve watched you bury her.”
My teeth grind together.
“But grief,” he continues, “doesn’t give you license to destroy everything you’ve built. Not the territories. Not the alliances. Not the stability your father died securing. And not your future, either.”
I take a slow sip of scotch, letting the burn center me. The thing is, he’s telling the truth. He was like an uncle to Sienna when she was younger, and I’m sure he does mourn her loss. But not in the same way I mourn her.
“You’re playing with fire, Lorenzo. Keeping that girl under your roof, letting your enemies see your weakness. They’re watching. They’ll think she’s leverage. That they can use her to get to you. Is that what you want?”
I say nothing because anything I say will be used against me. Against Elizabeth…
“Fran has been patient. She’s humiliated, and yet she defends you. She still wants this union. And believe me, my daughter is the only reason I haven’t stepped in sooner.”
He waits a beat, then adds the final blow.
“Don’t make me reconsider our alliance,” Federico warns. “Come to the gala tonight. Walk in with Fran. Show them the truth or the version of it they need to believe.”
The words slice clean under my skin because he’s right. About the optics. About the volatility. About the whisper of weakness the Families will smell if I don’t show.
My jaw clenches.
Elizabeth’s scent still lingers on my skin—something warm and soft and unmistakably hers. The echo of her touch, the imprint of her breath on my neck… all of it clings to me like she’s still wrapped in my arms. I picture her sleeping upstairs, curled in my sheets, unaware that the quiet moment we carved out of the world is already unraveling. That the night we shared, the truth whispered against her lips, is being shoved back into the dark where no one is supposed to see it.
Her peace.
My chaos.
Two different worlds colliding.
“Fine,” I say after a long silence, voice flat as steel. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.” Federico pauses. I can hear him breathing, weighing his next words. “And Lorenzo?”
My patience thins. “What.”
“Don’t embarrass my daughter again.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone in my hand, the pulse in my jaw pounding. Slowly, I crush the cigar into the ashtray. The ember hisses out in an instant, but the bitterness in my mouth stays.
It coats my tongue.
