“I haven’t taken anything personally for years.”
“Liar.” He grins, but there’s a blade underneath. “Everyone takes something personally. That’s what makes us human.”
At the sink, Rosa’s granddaughter Maria dries plates with the practiced efficiency of someone who has done it a thousand times, rolling her eyes at Nico without looking up. The bickering, the food, Rosa moving between them all like she’s herding cats she loves.
I push back from the counter. “I should get to work.”
“You should finish your food,” Rosa says, not looking up from the stove.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re a terrible liar, cher.” Now she looks at me, dark eyes sharp and knowing. “But I won’t force you. Kitchen’s always open. You remember that.”
I nod. My mother used to say that.Kitchen’s always open.Before the pills. Before she stopped noticing whether anyone came home at all.
I’m halfway out when I clock him. Not a sound. Not a movement. Just his presence behind me, and I know who it is before I turn around.
Lorenzo Santoro stands in the doorway, watching me.
“You’re up.” Not a greeting. An observation. A data point collected.
“Observant.” I keep my voice flat. “Do you practice that, or does it come naturally?”
His expression doesn’t change. “We need to talk.”
“We’re talking now.”
“Not here.”
He turns and walks away, expecting me to follow. The arrogance of it burns through my exhaustion. For a moment I consider staying right where I am. Making him wait. Reminding him I’m not a dog he can summon.
But I need what he can give me more than I need to make a point.
Rosa catches my eye as I pass. Her expression says something I don’t have the bandwidth to decode.
Lorenzo leads me through the house without speaking. Past a formal dining room. Past a living area with furniture that costs more than most cars. Past closed rooms, their secrets kept. I track everything. Exits, windows, blind spots. Old habits.
He stops outside a door at the end of the hall and turns to face me.
“Your room is in the center wing. You can access the kitchen, the main floor common areas, and the east garden. Nowhere else.”
I stare at him. “You’re giving me rules?”
“Boundaries.” His voice is flat. “The armory is off-limits. The west wing is off-limits. Dante’s study requires permission. You don’t leave the grounds without an escort.”
“An escort.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I’m not a prisoner. We made a deal.”
“You’re a security risk until proven otherwise.”
“I’m the reason you have a chance at the Benedettis at all.”
“Which is why you’re still breathing.” He takes a step closer. The space between us shrinks, and I become aware of how muchlarger he is. How much stronger. “You made a deal. That bought you a seat at the table. It didn’t buy you my trust.”
“I don’t want your trust.” I force myself to hold his gaze. “I want your muscle. I want your resources. I want you to help me get my sister back. That’s the deal.”
“That’s the deal,” he agrees. “But you’ll follow my rules while you’re here.”
“Or what?”
