Sienna POV
The monster's smile was gone now. Good. I wanted his ugly, real face out in the open.
Lorenzo gave no sign he had heard the explosive accusation.
The color of his eyes seemed to darken, shifting to the murky, volatile grey of churning storm water. Mama’s eyes looked like the sky before a summer storm. His just looked like a dirty puddle.
He stepped closer, his considerable frame eclipsing the sun and casting a long, cold shadow over me.
"Did Valentina orchestrate this display?" he demanded, the question edged with suspicion.
I tightened my grip on the thick stack of trust documents, holding them securely behind my back.
"My mother knows nothing of this," I stated. My voice didn’t shake, but my knees wanted to.
"She would never have permitted me to step into the crosshairs if she knew my purpose."
At my defiance, Lorenzo's handsome features seemed to freeze, becoming a mask of cold stone. Like the gargoyles on the old cathedral.
His gaze passed over me as if I were a piece of refuse to be scraped from the sole of his shoe.
"You ran away," he accused, his voice cracking like a whip, "and caused a contemptible scene that brings disrespect to the Family."
I held his gaze without flinching. A monster in my face was still better than a slow death in my own home.
"I ran away to save my mother from a monster," I admitted.
A ripple of derisive laughter passed through the gathered Syndicate wives. They laughed like hyenas, happy to see someone else being torn apart.
They pointed their manicured fingers at me, their whispers a venomous commentary on my lack of manners.
Ignoring them, Lorenzo crouched, bringing his face level with mine.
His voice dropped to a silken whisper, a tone meant only for me and the nearest guards. His breath smelled like coffee and lies.
"Camilla is the sister of Dominic, a fallen Soldier," he claimed, his eyes narrowing.
"I am bound by a blood oath to see to her welfare."
I stared into the Capo's lying, storm-water eyes. He was so good at this. But I’d seen this movie before. I knew the ending.
"How many months pregnant is Camilla?" I asked, my voice ringing with crystalline clarity.
Lorenzo did not hesitate.
"She is four months along," he answered.
"That is fascinating," I replied, feeling the trap snap shut on him, "considering Soldier Dominic was killed in a cartel shootout precisely two months ago."
The laughter from the wives was cut off as if by a guillotine.
The silence that followed was a physical weight, a pressure on the eardrums that comes before a storm.
In that quiet, the ugly truth from my past life surfaced.
Camilla had loudly claimed the child was Dominic's orphaned blood.
But when the baby was born, it bore the same distinct birthmark on its neck as Lorenzo.
Lorenzo's sharp features seemed to stiffen, a mask of shock taking hold. I did that. I made a Capo look like a stupid, caught rat.
I could see the precise moment he understood he had walked into a trap laid by a six-year-old.
Behind him, Enforcer Ricci hesitated, his stoic expression faltering.
Leaning in, he spoke in a low tone, confirming the timeline of Dominic's death to the surrounding guards.
Lorenzo's gaze snapped back to my face.
His large hands balled into tight, white-knuckled fists. I thought he might hit me. I wanted him to try. If he hit me now, the whole world would see.
"Who taught you to spin such dangerous fictions?" he demanded, his voice strained with a rage he could barely contain.
I lifted my chin, meeting his fury with a calm I did not feel, and answered, "My father, Carlo. I read the secret journals he left behind."
Lorenzo's face went slack for a fraction of a heartbeat, the mask cracking just enough to reveal the terror beneath. Secret journals. The words hung between us like a live grenade. I watched his mind race, frantically cataloguing every document he had ever signed, every backroom deal, every drop of blood he had spilled beside my father—and he realized, with dawning horror, that he had no idea what Carlo might have written down before he died.
