“I don’t understand.”
Lorenzo leaned back against the couch slowly, dragging a hand through his dark hair. For once, he looked tired. Not physically.
Emotionally.
“My world is dangerous,” he said carefully. “It’s built on power and fear and men who solve problems with violence before words.” His eyes held mine steadily. “The less you know about it, the safer you are.”
I frowned immediately, his jaw tightening in response. “If something happens, if people ask questions, if there are investigations?—”
“I don’t care about investigations, Lorenzo.” His expression sharpened slightly at my interruption, but I continued anyway. “I care that you’re shutting me out.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
The words settled heavily between us.
He looked away first. That alone told me more than anything else tonight. Because Lorenzo almost never took his eyes off me.
“I grew up watching women in my family survive by pretending not to know things,” I said quietly. “Pretending not to ask questions. Pretending not to notice blood on expensive suits.” I shook my head slowly. “I don’t want that kind of marriage.”
“I don’t know how to give you both honesty and safety,” he admitted, voice raw.
I shifted closer until our knees touched. “I understand that, but you don’t get to decide for me what I can handle.”
His eyes lifted back to mine slowly. Dark. Intense. Torn in a way I hadn’t seen before.
“You say that now,” he murmured. “But you didn’t grow up in this world, Zara. You don’t understand what men like my father are capable of.”
“Then help me understand.”
Silence.
Long enough that I thought he might shut down completely again.
Then he exhaled quietly and leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees.
“My great-grandfather built the Falcone empire through organized crime,” he said carefully. “Smuggling. Gambling. Protection rackets. By the time my father inherited it, he was power-hungry, wanted to branch out, take over more.” His mouth twisted slightly. “As he earned more profit and gained more power, that expectation turned to me. I’m not proud of the things I’ve done, Zara.”
I listened carefully, heart beating harder now.
“I spent most of my life trying to distance myself from that side of things,” he continued. “The restaurants, the bars, the legitimate businesses—they were supposed to be my way out.”
“And your father?”
“He believes power only survives through fear.”
The statement landed heavily.
“And you?”
Lorenzo looked at me for a long moment before answering.
“I think I want more than a life that requires the worst out of me.”
Something in my chest softened painfully at that.
Because suddenly I could see it more clearly—the constant tension inside him. The man raised in violence is trying desperately not to become it completely.
“You’re different from him,” I said quietly.
