"Lorenzo left for Sicily," she'd whispered, before I could ask. "He wanted to take me, but things there are... complicated."
Complicated. Such a polite word for whatever mess requires a private jet—because of course the Sartoris have a private jet—and both Lorenzo and Dante disappearing before dawn.
Sophia's worry was so raw, so human, that I'd offered the only thing I could: my daughter's company. Lily has that effect on people. She makes everything feel lighter, simpler. Less like the world is ending.
I butter a piece of toast I don't want and take a bite I don't taste.
Pietro reads something on his tablet, occasionally swiping left. Nora sips her tea, watching me with kind eyes that make my skin itch. And Nico...
I haven't looked at him since I walked in. Not once. My eyes trace the edge of the table, the pattern in the marble. Anywhere but him.
The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable. Only the distant sound of the movie playing in the living room breaks it up.
"When can I go back to my apartment?"
The words come out before I can stop them, directed at no one and everyone.
Pietro glances up from his tablet.
But it's Nico who answers.
"Once everything is settled, I'll inform you."
His voice is flat. Clinical. Like he's reading from a contract instead of discussing my life.
I make the mistake of looking at him.
God, I shouldn't have done that.
Those eyes pin me in place, intense and unreadable. Frustration flickers behind them and that makes my pulse skip and my stomach drop simultaneously. He looks at me like he care.
Like I matter.
I hate it. I hate him.
My traitorous body disagrees. The moment our eyes meet, heat spreads across my cheeks. My fingers tighten around the coffee mug. Every cell in my body screams to keep looking, to trace the hard line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands rest on the table like they're waiting for something.
Don't, I tell myself. Look away. He's a monster who showed you exactly what he is.
But looking away physically hurts. My eyes strain against the pull, like magnets fighting to connect. I want to look at everydetail of his face, understand what's happening behind that cold mask, figure out why someone so cruel can make me feel so?—
No.
I force my gaze down to my plate.
"Fine."
One word. That's all I give him. Not the I hate you burning on my tongue. Not the how dare you clawing at my throat. Not the thousand questions about why he's doing any of this, why he told Pietro he'd pay off my debt, why he put me in the room next to his.
Just... fine.
I feel him watching me. The weight of his attention presses against my skin like a physical thing, heavy and warm and entirely unwelcome.
You don't get to look at me like that, I want to scream. You don't get to describe my daughter being hurt and then act like you care what happens to us.
"I'm taking Lily out today."
"Not happening."
