I take a chance and reach for her hand, grazing her fingers with mine. The brief contact sends electricity up my arm. "I don't expect forgiveness. But my leaving wasn’t by choice.”
She pulls her hand back. “Everyone has choices, Luca. And some bridges can't be rebuilt once they're burned.”
I shrug, not wanting to reveal how much her words annoy… hurt me. "Watch me try anyway."
The moment fractures as Pyotr reappears, inserting himself between us like a human barrier.
His stance is protective, shoulders squared, chin raised.
The universal body language of a man defending what's his. In this case, his sister.
"I thought I told you to go ahead," Katerina says, irritation threading through her voice.
"And leave you alone with him? Not happening." Pyotr's eyes never leave mine, assessing me like I'm a bomb that might detonate. I suppose he’s not wrong. It’s one of the reasons I was sent away.
"The car's waiting.”
"I can handle myself, Pyotr."
"I'm sure you can." His gaze remains locked on me. "But Enzo is waiting."
Enzo?
Katerina's posture tenses. "You're right," she concedes. "We should go."
Pyotr steps fully into my space now, close enough that I catch the scent of expensive cologne and barely contained hostility.
We used to drink together, hunt together, laugh at the same jokes. Now he looks at me like I'm something scraped off his shoe.
His voice drops, meant for my ears alone. "Interesting timing, coming back only after the Don is dead."
"Careful, Pyotr." My warning is velvet-wrapped steel.
"No, you be careful." His finger jabs the air inches from my chest. "What exactly are you after? The family business? Allesandro’s rightful position? You always thought you were so much smarter."
I am.
“But you’re just an impulsive dick.”
I resist the urge to grab his finger and break it.
“Stay away from my sister.” Contempt drips from every syllable. It’s taking every bit of restraint I can muster not to kill him right here and now for his disrespect.
"Pyotr," Katerina calls sharply. "We're leaving."
The look he gives me contains years of accumulated resentment before he turns to join his sister, placing a protective hand on her lower back as they walk away.
My hands curl into fists as rage bubbles up.
The kind that used to get me into trouble before I learned to harness it, to make it work for me instead of against me.
Who the fuck is Enzo?
The name rattles around my skull.
Something about the way Katerina reacted, that instant shift from anger to urgency, tells me this Enzo matters. Matters deeply.
A lover? A husband? The thought sends my rage toward an inferno.
