“What do you want?” I force the words out through clenched teeth.
“I want what’s always been mine. Your territory. Your businesses. Your empire.” Lorenzo’s smile is cold. “I want you to sign everything over to me. And then I want you to disappear. Take your wife, leave the country, and never come back.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I kill everyone you care about, starting with Sophia.”
Sophia’s grip tightens, the pain the only visible sign of her fear.
This is my fault. I brought her into this world, made her a target, and now Lorenzo is using her against me just like he planned.
“You’re a coward,” I spit. “Hiding behind women and children. Using my sister’s rape to manipulate me. You’re not fit to lead anything.”
“And yet, here I am, holding all the cards.” Lorenzo chuckles in satisfaction. “You have until midnight to make your decision. Sign over everything…or watch everyone you love die. It’s really quite simple.”
He turns to leave, his men backing toward the door with their weapons still raised.
I want to stop him, want to end this now, but Sophia’s hand tightens on mine.
She’s right. If I act now, we all die.
Lorenzo pauses at the door, looking back at me with something that might be regret on anyone else.
On him, it just looks like satisfaction.
“I made you into a killer, nephew,” he says softly. “I shaped you, molded you, turned you into the perfect weapon. And now I’m going to unmake you.”
19
SOPHIA
I press my face against the grimy window of Father Miguel’s modest home, watching the street below for any sign of Lorenzo’s men.
Melinda is hiding at a different safe house, one where she can get more medical care.
While I hate being apart from her, we know that Lorenzo wants us more.
My hands shake as I grip the windowsill, and I force myself to breathe slowly, to identify the faint layers of incense lingering in the room.
“We can’t stay here long,” Mikhail says behind me, his voice rough with exhaustion. “Lorenzo has eyes everywhere.”
I turn to look at him.
He’s sitting at the small kitchen table, his blonde hair disheveled, dark circles under his green eyes.
He looks more human than I’ve ever seen him, stripped of his expensive suits and cold confidence.
Just a man running for his life.
Our life.
“My father trusted Father Miguel,” I say, moving away from the window. “He won’t betray us.”
Mikhail’s jaw tightens. “Your father trusted a lot of people who ended up dead.”
The words sting, but I can’t argue with them.
Not after everything we’ve learned about Lorenzo’s web of lies and manipulation.
