Pietro's expression gives nothing away. He's good, this one. Better than I expected when he first took over from his brother. The weight of leadership has sharpened him.
"The future of our alliance depends on how you handle this," I continue. "Play it right, and both our families grow stronger. Play it wrong..." I let the silence finish the sentence.
Nico's fingers tap against his arm again.
Pietro stands. The meeting is ending.
"We'll discuss your proposal," he says. "You'll be informed of our decision."
Not a yes. Not a no. A maybe that could stretch for weeks while another family gets closer to claiming what's mine.
I rise from the chair. Extend my hand.
Pietro shakes it. Firm grip, direct eye contact. Respect between predators.
"Don't take too long," I say. "Opportunities like this don't wait forever."
I walk out of that office with my spine straight and my face blank. The elevator doors close behind me, and only then do I let my mask slip.
Whoever you are, I think,whoever thinks they can take her from me. You have no idea what's coming.
CHAPTER NINE
Vittoria
Ipause in the dining room's doorway, taking in the scene. Pietro at the head of the table. Nico to his right, tablet already in hand because the man probably sleeps with spreadsheets. Lorenzo across from him, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Bruno in his wheelchair at the far end, jaw set in that permanent scowl he's worn since waking up.
And Mamma. Sitting with her back straight like she's posing for a portrait, pearls already on at eight in the morning.
No Sophia. No Nora. No Kristen. No staff.
Family only.
This is an ambush dressed up as breakfast.
"Buongiorno, tesoro." Mamma's smile is warm, but her eyes scan my outfit—jeans and an oversized sweater—with mild disappointment. "You slept well?"
"Like the dead." I cross to the sideboard and pour myself coffee, taking my time. Let them wait. They've clearly been discussing my future without me, so they can suffer through thirty seconds of silence while I add cream.
"Vittoria." Pietro's voice carries that particular weight. The Don voice. "Sit."
I take the empty chair between Lorenzo and Mamma, wrapping my hands around the warm cup. "I'm guessing this isn't about my security protocols."
"We need to discuss your options," Pietro says.
Options.Cute.
Here's the thing about being born into this family. You don't get to pretend the cage doesn't exist. I figured that out around age twelve, when I realized my trust fund could buy a small country but I couldn't walk to the corner store without a guard. This life comes with private jets and designer wardrobes and the kind of freedom money buys. I've traveled the world with Mamma, shopped in Milan, coded in Parisian cafés with Elio lurking three tables away.
Ilikemy life. The resources. The access. The fact that my "expensive hobby" of building security systems gets funded without question.
What I don't like is this. The traditions. The marriages arranged like business mergers. The expectation that I'll smile and accept whoever they've chosen because that's what Sartori women do.
Not this Sartori woman.
"Before you continue," I say, setting my cup down, "I have conditions."
Bruno snorts. "Conditions. She hasconditions."
