My breath stumbles out of me. “Lorenzo?”
His eyes flick to mine. No warmth. No softness. No recognition of the girl who loved him.
Just hatred wrapped in ice.
I take a small step forward. “Where have you—?”
He lifts a hand.
Just a single, silent gesture.
My words die immediately.
He walks past me, slow and deliberate, every step echoing with power and danger. He sits at the empty place setting, smoothing the tablecloth with gloved fingers as if he’s straightening a throne.
His presence fills the room. All-consuming.
My father swallows hard and my mother grips her napkin so tightly that it tears.
“Let’s begin.” Lorenzo’s voice slices through the air.
My chest tightens. “Begin what?”
He doesn’t look at me when he answers. “Your parents have been . . . very busy.”
My father clears his throat, attempting something like authority. “The company has suffered recent—”
Lorenzo slams his palm down on the table.
Everyone jumps.
“Do not speak,” he growls, eyes pinning my father like a knife on display. “I told you to let me handle this.”
My mother trembles.
I stare at them. What the hell is going on? “Dad?”
Lorenzo leans back in his chair, eyes glittering darkly. “Your parents”—he gestures lazily toward them—“have lost everything.”
My father opens his mouth, but Lorenzo slowly turns his head, and the look he gives him is enough to silence a hurricane.
My father deflates in his seat.
Lorenzo continues, tone almost bored. “Your wealth. Gone. Your investments. Drained. Your factories. Sabotaged. Your offshore accounts. Frozen.”
My mother’s lips part in a soundless gasp.
My father’s face reddens with humiliation. “Because of Vict—”
Lorenzo lifts a hand sharply.
“Say her name,” he snaps, “and I will personally string you up by your intestines and turn you into my own art project.”
My body locks. I’m not the only one scared. I peer over where my father has gone rigid, and my mother makes a choked noise, reaching for his arm.
Words are hard to find, but when I do, I stutter. “Wh-what is happening?”
Lorenzo finally looks at me.
