Blood and Sorrow

Chapter 2: The Crack

Sofia

I feel Lorenzo's breath before I see him. He slides in beside me, his body a menacing bulwark between Luca and me.

"Conti. I didn't know you enjoyed parties. Or perhaps you're on duty?"

"Just a drink, Rossi. And a conversation."

"The conversation is over. Come, Sofia."

Lorenzo's hand closes around my elbow, a vise. He pulls me away without a backward glance. I risk one last look. Luca watches me leave, his expression unreadable.

In the car driving us back, the silence is heavier than lead. Lorenzo stares at the road, his jaw clenched.

"I don't want you speaking to him again. He's a dangerous man."

The irony of the phrase leaves me speechless. I watch the city blur past, a streak of smeared lights. I think of Luca's gaze. His words.

It must be exhausting.

For the first time in years, someone saw me. Truly saw me. And that simple thought is both the most terrifying and the most exciting I've had in an eternity.

The car turns into the driveway of our home, a fortress of marble and shadow. My prison. But tonight, for the first time, a tiny crack has just appeared in the wall.

---

The mansion seemed to have absorbed the silence of the night. Our footsteps are muffled by the thick Persian rugs, and the only sound is the rustle of my evening gown, a whisper that seems deafening in the deathly calm that has settled between us. Lorenzo hasn't spoken a word since the car. His anger is a palpable entity, a coldness emanating from him, chilling the vast corridors.

He pushes open the door to our room, a heavy oak panel, and steps aside to let me pass. The gesture is courteous, but his gaze is a field of ruins.

"You had a very lively conversation with that prosecutor."

His voice is soft, too soft. It's the calm before the explosion. I stand in the center of the room, feeling fragile, exposed, like a pinned insect.

"He came to talk to me. I wasn't going to be rude."

"Politeness?" he scoffs darkly, unbuttoning his collar. "You think he's after politeness, Sofia? He's looking for a weakness. And you offered him one, shining like a beacon."

He draws closer, slowly, circling me. His scent invades me, suffocates me.

"He looked at you the way you look at a coveted object. And you... you blushed."

"I didn't blush, Lorenzo."

"Don't lie to me!" he suddenly thunders.

The crystal vase on the dresser trembles. I flinch, my heart pounding against my ribs. In one stride, he's on me. His fingers close around my arms, not hard enough to leave marks, but enough for me to feel the message: he could.

"You belong to me. Every breath, every beat of your heart, every smile. Especially your smiles. They belong to me. Did I make myself unclear?"

His face is so close to mine. I see the veins in his eyes, the barely contained rage. And beneath that rage, a fear. That's the most disconcerting part. The fear of losing his most precious possession.

"No, Lorenzo. You made yourself perfectly clear."

My voice is a breath. I lower my eyes, a calculated submission. The only language he truly understands. His grip relaxes. He runs a hand through my hair, an almost tender gesture that chills my blood.

"Never forget who I am, Sofia. Never forget what I'm capable of to protect you. Even from yourself."

He finally turns away, pouring himself a glass of whiskey which he downs in one gulp. I stay there, trembling, my arms bruised by his phantom embrace. Tonight, I cannot find sleep. I lie next to him, listening to his steady breathing, and I see Luca Conti's gaze again. A gaze that didn't possess me. It questioned me.

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