“Now.”
Lorenzo smiles. It is not a pleasant expression. “You seem awfully demanding for a man who just lost his bride.”
My stomach knots.
“Lorenzo,” I say sharply.
He ignores me.
Over the speaker, Dante goes quiet in that dangerous way men do when they’re one breath from violence. “You took her from my wedding.”
“And yet,” Lorenzo says mildly, “she’s still speaking. That counts for something, does it not?”
“Stop it,” I snap. “Both of you.”
Dante’s voice softens instantly when he answers me. “Birdie, listen to me. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes.”
“Has he touched you?”
The question lands like a match dropped in gasoline. Lorenzo’s expression changes by less than an inch, but it’s enough. Hisjaw hardens. His eyes go cold and lethal and I can feel the heat of him from across the desk.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly.
“Fine,” Dante repeats, and there’s so much anger packed into that one word it barely sounds human. “You don’t sound fine.”
Lorenzo pushes off the desk. “Careful, Russo.”
“No,” Dante says. “You be careful.”
A muscle jumps in Lorenzo’s cheek.
Dante keeps going, and now every word is clipped, deliberate. “I have men looking for her already.”
Oh God. I look at Lorenzo, but he doesn’t blink.
Dante’s voice comes through the speaker like a blade. “By tomorrow morning, I’ll have more. By tomorrow night, I’ll have enough to tear through every one of your properties if I have to.”
“Dante—”
“No,” he says, cutting me off. “He needs to hear this.”
Lorenzo’s face empties out in the most terrifying way. Not anger anymore. Something much worse. Calculation.
“I’m listening,” he says.
“Good.” Dante’s breathing is steady now, which somehow makes it more frightening. “Because here’s what happens next. You let her go, and this ends. You keep her, and there will be bloodshed.”
I stop breathing. On the other side of the desk, Lorenzo goes absolutely still.
Dante continues, voice low and merciless. “Not a scuffle. Not a warning shot. Bloodshed. Yours. Your men’s. Anyone stupid enough to stand between me and Birdie walks into a war.”
“Dante, stop.”
But he doesn’t.
“I am already gathering men,” he says. “Men who owe me. Men who don’t care whose name is over the gate when they kickit in. So you have one chance to be smart, Conti. One. Let her go before I come get her.”
