Chapter 7 7

• "Don’t lie to me." Lorrenzo’s voice was low, grating, each word dragging like steel across stone. "I know what desire looks like. And you Raffaele you want her."
• My cousin didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The guilty flush rising on his face spoke volumes.
• "If I ever see you look at her like that again... if I hear you’ve been alone with her, if you so much as brush her hand " Lorrenzo stepped closer, voice a ghost of something lethal, "I’ll end you. Slowly."
• Raffaele sneered. "You’re not Outfit. No one would say a word if I took her. Broke her in for you." His eyes glittered, vicious. "Hell, I could even film it. Let you watch the moment she stops fighting."
• Oh God. Shut up, Raffaele. Couldn’t he see the murder in Lorrenzo’s eyes?
• He didn’t even have time to blink.
• Lorrenzo’s body slammed into him. One violent motion and Raffaele was on the floor, face pressed into the rug, Lorrenzo’s knee digging into his back. The sick crunch of his arm twisting behind him made my stomach turn.
• "You disgusting piece of shit," Lorrenzo growled, one hand locking Raffaele’s wrist, the other pulling a blade from beneath his vest. The steel glinted under the chandelier’s warm light, beautiful and terrifying.
• I staggered. My knees buckled. I grabbed the wall for support and whispered to Alessia, "Leave. Go now."
• She didn’t move.
• Don’t watch, Isabella. Just… look away.
• But I couldn’t. My eyes were wide, frozen in place. I searched for Father, desperate for his intervention.
• He just stood there.
• Expression tight. Silent.
• Waiting.
• Lorrenzo looked up, met Father's gaze. He didn’t have jurisdiction here. Not over Outfit men. Not over Raffaele. This was Father’s house.
• Father gave a single, cold nod.
• And that was it.
• The blade came down.
• Raffaele’s scream split the air as the knife sawed through flesh and bone, severing his pinky finger. Blood sprayed the floor like spilled wine. The sound of it hitting the tile wet, final snapped something inside me.
• Alessia screamed. Then vomited. All over the marble steps.
• The lounge went silent.
• Then
• The door slammed open, revealing Father’s thunderous expression. Behind him, Maria and Romero, guns already drawn, tense as wires.
• Their eyes landed on us on me and Alessia and they lowered their weapons.
• Alessia didn’t cry. She never did. But her face was pale, and she sagged against me like a broken doll.
• I held her up. I had to.
• "Of course," Father snarled, stepping into the passage. His gaze turned to Alessia, burning. "I should’ve known it was you dragging your sister into trouble again."
• He yanked her from my arms and backhanded her. Hard.
• "Stop!" I surged forward.
• He raised his hand again, this time for me.
• But Lorrenzo was faster.
• He caught Father's wrist midair his other hand still red with Raffaele’s blood, the knife dripping like it mourned the violence it had committed.
• Everyone in the room stilled.
• Umberto’s hand went to his knife. Father’s hovered over his gun.
• Macro, Maria, and Romero raised their weapons again, fingers poised.
• Raffaele whimpered on the ground, cradling his ruined hand.
• "I meant no disrespect," Lorrenzo said calmly, unbothered by the blood, the chaos, the guns. "But Isabella is no longer yours to punish. You gave her to me."
• His voice was ice. No, colder than ice emptier. Possessive.
• Father looked at me. At the ring on my finger.
• He relented with a nod.
• Lorrenzo released his wrist.
• Weapons remained drawn, but the tension eased. Slightly.
• "Then," Father said, with a mock-polite gesture toward me, "would you like the honor of disciplining your fiancée yourself?"
• Lorrenzo’s eyes never left mine.
• "She didn’t disobey me."
• "But she lives under my roof until the wedding." Father’s voice twisted into something dark. "And since I can’t raise a hand to her..." He turned to Alessia.
• And struck her again.
• She stumbled, but didn’t fall. I ran to catch her.
• "For every sin you commit, Isabella, your sister will bear the punishment."
• I held Alessia close as the room fell into another kind of silence.
• Not one of tension.
• But of terror.
• And beneath it all, the echo of Raffaele’s scream still rang in my bones.