"Grief changes people." I keep my voice neutral, but inside, I'm already planning. Tomorrow. Nexus.Her.
The game starts again.
And this time, I'm playing to win.
CHAPTER FIVE
Vittoria
The smell of fresh espresso and frittata pulls me downstairs before my alarm even goes off.
I pad into the kitchen wearing an oversized hoodie and leggings, my hair piled in a messy bun that screamsI gave up on adulting before it started. The morning light streams through the windows, casting golden rectangles across the marble countertops.
Lorenzo stands at the stove, spatula in hand, while Sophia perches on a barstool with her fingers wrapped around a ceramic mug. They look disgustingly domestic. Sickeningly adorable. The kind of couple that makes single people want to throw things.
"Morning, sleepyhead." Sophia grins at me over the rim of her coffee. "Rough night?"
"Debugging a firewall until three a.m." I slide onto the stool next to her and reach for the espresso machine. "The system kept flagging phantom threats. Turns out someone—" I shoot apointed look at Lorenzo "—forgot to update his biometric profile after his last haircut."
Lorenzo doesn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. "My hair grows fast."
"Your hair is going to get you shot by our own security system."
Sophia snorts into her coffee. This is why I love her. Sweet when you need comfort, sharp when you need backup. She doesn't treat me like the fragile princess everyone else sees. When Lorenzo brought her into our lives, I expected another delicate flower who'd wilt under the weight of our family's darkness.
Instead, I got a woman who could match my brothers' intensity and still make me laugh until my stomach hurt.
They've been coming to the compound more often lately. Months have passed since everything with the Torrinos imploded, and slowly—painfully—we're rebuilding something that resembles normal. Or whatever passes for normal in a family where Sunday dinner conversations include territory disputes and money laundering logistics.
Lorenzo flips the frittata. He was the one who knew about our father's secret family. Kept it hidden from all of us for years. The betrayal still stings sometimes, a splinter I can't quite dig out. But watching him now, the way his eyes soften when Sophia laughs, the way he's fighting to earn back our trust one breakfast at a time...
Things are getting better. Not healed. Just better.
"Amanda texted me six times last night," I say, checking my phone. "She wants to know if I've 'met anyone interesting'."
Sophia raises an eyebrow. "Have you?"
Yes. A Russian mobster who kissed me like he was trying to memorize my taste. A man I'm now forced to train because my brother has zero concept of boundaries.
"Nope." I pop the 'p' and gulp my espresso like it's a shot of vodka.
Amanda and I have been friends since kindergarten. Twenty years of sleepovers, bad decisions, and matching friendship bracelets that we definitely still have hidden in jewelry boxes somewhere. She's sunshine and designer handbags, a woman who genuinely believes the biggest problems in life are finding the perfect shade of lipstick and landing a guy with a black AmEx.
She doesn't understand the mafia. Not really. To her, my family's "business" is just a vague concept that explains our security guards and expensive cars. She thinks being hot and having money is what matters. Danger is something that happens to other people, in movies, far away from her bubble.
But God, I love her anyway. Because when Riccardo died, she showed up at my door with ice cream and trashy reality TV and didn't ask a single question. She juststayed. That kind of loyalty doesn't come with a price tag.
The kitchen door swings open, and Pietro strides in. His jaw is set in that particular way that means he's about to deliver news none of us want to hear.
"Morning." He kisses the top of my head before grabbing a plate from Lorenzo. "Everyone sleep well?"
"Define 'well,'" I mutter.
Pietro ignores me and settles at the head of the table. Sophia and I exchange a look. Lorenzo sets down his spatula and crosses his arms.
"Just say it," Lorenzo sighs. "You've got that face."
"What face?"
