Chapter 6 6

• The hallways in the estate always felt like they were holding their breath. Especially at night.
• “Are you insane?” Alessia whispered when I slipped in behind her through the hidden panel in the library wall. The cold stone pressed against our backs as we crouched behind the secret door, just behind the lounge fireplace.
• “I couldn’t sleep,” I muttered. “And I knew you’d be here.”
• Of course she was. Where secrets lived, Alessia lingered.
• She scooted aside so I could press my eye to the second peephole. Smoke swirled in the air beyond, curling around the men like a noose.
• “They’re all gone,” she murmured. “Except Father, Vallaro, and the outsiders. Antonio Alessandro... and him.”
• I didn’t have to ask who him was. My breath caught when I saw him—Lorrenzo. Leaned against the marble hearth like he owned the bones of the house. A glass of scotch in one hand. His eyes too calm. Too still. Like he was waiting for something to bleed.
• Beside him, his younger brother Macro lounged, legs wide apart, smirk carved into his face like a mask he never took off. A predator playing at charm.
• “…She’s not bad to look at,” Macro said, swirling his drink. “Could’ve been worse. At least your fiancée isn’t hideous.”
• Alessia stiffened beside me. I clenched my jaw.
• “She’s a child,” Lorrenzo replied, voice as cold as the glass in his hand.
• The dismissal burned more than the heat of his gaze ever could.
• Macro let out a soft whistle. “Didn’t look like a child to me. That dress. That hair. You saw her, Maria.”
• Maria shifted uncomfortably in her seat, avoiding Lorrenzo’s eyes. “I didn’t look closely.”
• “What about you, Romero?” Macro said, flashing teeth. “You blind or just terrified?”
• Romero’s eyes flicked up and down, fast. No answer. Smart.
• Macro snorted. “Jesus, Lorrenzo. Did you threaten to neuter every man in the Outfit just for looking at her? You’re not even married to the girl.”
• The room went still.
• “She’s mine,” Lorrenzo said.
• Two words. That’s all. And still, I shivered. There was finality in his tone, like a gravestone being lowered into place.
• Macro wasn’t done. “You’ll be in New York. She’ll be here. What then? You gonna haunt every man who breathes near her? Maybe Riccardo can loan you a few eunuchs.”
• “I’ll do what needs to be done,” Lorrenzo said. His eyes flicked to Maria. “Fetch the men assigned to guard Isabella.”
• My name, from his mouth, made my skin crawl.
• Ten minutes passed. Then footsteps.
• Umberto and Raffaele entered. Father trailed behind, his face carved from stone.
• “What’s the meaning of this?” Father demanded.
• Lorrenzo didn’t flinch. “I want a word with the men you’ve chosen to protect what’s mine.”
• What’s mine.
• He didn’t say who. Just what.
• Alessia grabbed my arm, but I shook my head.
• “They are loyal,” Father said flatly. “Raffaele is her cousin. Umberto has guarded this family for decades.”
• “I’ll decide if I trust them,” Lorrenzo said, a scalpel under every word. Father didn’t reply. Just nodded once and stood silent.
• Lorrenzo approached Umberto like a wolf circling an old dog.
• “I hear you’re good with a knife.”
• Father spoke up. “The best.”
• Lorrenzo’s jaw ticked.
• “Not as good as your brother,” Umberto replied, nodding at Macro. “But better than most.”
• “You married?”
• “Twenty-one years.”
• Macro chuckled. “So Isabella must look like a feast after two decades of leftovers.”
• Umberto’s hand twitched toward the holster at his hip. Silence fell like ash.
• “I’ve known Isabella since she was born,” he said tightly. “She is a child. And I’m faithful.”
• Lorrenzo said nothing.
• Macro didn’t. “She won’t be a child for long.”
• “She will always be one to me. And if you insult my wife again,” Umberto said, eyes like steel, “I’ll challenge you in a knife fight. And I’ll kill you.”
• My breath hitched.
• Macro bared his teeth. “You can try.”
• Lorrenzo raised a hand. “Umberto stays.”
• Umberto stepped back, but his eyes never left Macro’s.
• Then Lorrenzo turned to Raffaele.
• The mask dropped.
• He moved closer. Raffaele lifted his chin, but the bravado looked brittle.
• “You’re family,” Father began.
• “I saw how he looked at her,” Lorrenzo interrupted, eyes locked on Raffaele. “Like something sweet he wanted to taste.”
• “That’s not true,” Raffaele stammered.
• Macro laughed. “Juicy peach, right?”
• Raffaele glanced at Father, desperate.
• But no one saved him.
• And through the peephole, I realized something cold and terrifying:
• They weren’t discussing my protection.
• They were drawing lines around a cage.
• And I was already inside it.