Page 255 of Lorenzo

They're not ignorant. They know I haven't been celibate all these years.

But knowing and witnessing are two very different things.

However, they are the ones who encouraged me to go to Donna’s that first night.

That has to mean something.

Eventually, the babies fall asleep and are moved upstairs. Conversation fades, and the mood sobers.

Because while the socializing part of the evening is over, we’re not nearly done.

Chapter Thirty Two

Donna

The strategy meeting in Mario’s study lasts long enough that when Mario finally closes the folder in front of him, I have reached the point where I never want to hear Marcello Greco’s name again.

Unfortunately, I doubt I’m going to get my wish anytime soon.

We have gone over every single inch of this plan for what feels like forever. In true Conti fashion, everybody spoke, but unlike conversation at dinner, nobody spoke over each other. Everyone offered their own objections, spotting weak points, and arguing over contingencies whenever one of them thought somebody else had overlooked something.

It has been thorough.

Exhaustingly thorough.

And I appreciate every second of it.

Nobody has treated me as though I need to be protected from the details because I’m the one taking the risk. Nobody has nodded politely at my suggestions and then waited for the men to decide what happens. When I pushed back, they listened. When I pointed out a problem, we worked through it. When I refused a precaution because I thought it would make the whole thing too obvious, Lorenzo scowled at me, argued his case, I argued mine, and eventually, we came to a compromise.

Just as we agreed.

But all is finally said and done, and we have a solid plan.

Mario leans back in his chair and looks around the crowded room. “Everyone understands where we stand?”

A chorus of agreement follows from different directions.

“Good. Then we leave it there tonight.”

Nobody immediately moves.

Apparently even a Conti meeting has a decompression period.

Tomasso stretches his legs out in front of him while Matteo checks something on his phone. Diego reaches for the coffee that is likely cold by now. The face he makes when he sips it confirms that.

Lorenzo, sitting beside me, shifts his hand onto my knee and gives it a light squeeze.

I glance at him.

He was quieter during the final part of the meeting, which I know does not mean he has suddenly become comfortable with any of this. If anything, the more concrete the plan became, the more I could practically feel his unease beside me.

But he never tried to take over.

That matters.

I cover his hand briefly with mine.

His eyes meet mine.