The Mafia Fool Buried Them

ra

r-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse, cas

y spine held so erect that not an inch of i

ypted text to Lorenzo, bluntly telling him

the front door unloc

er, their shoulders brushing in

fresh espresso, playfully bickering over who had f

at they had spent the entire night togethe

nzo checked his encrypted phone to read my text

en, then looked up at

zo did not come home to sleep in your bed?" sh

t even ask if I was hurt from my terrible fall last night," she com

on the counter, tho

my gaze shifting to Lorenzo. "And you purchased them with the sa

ooked at the fresh, purple bruisi

r you screamed," I told Mia, stripping away her delu

ups on the table, the dark l

ely, claiming Mia was concussed from the fall and

and swore on his honor as a Made

g him the betrothal was over and he

unerring precision, twisting the fine wool into a set of panicked, ugly wrinkles as she begged him to kneel beside her and apologize. But Lorenzo refused. To bend a k

er had to kneel for anyone, then

ded, his tone turning vicious. "You should trust your f

ng thread of m

over them in the ce

register that carried more menace than a shout. "And if you do not leave my sigh

ng the victim act entirely,

ling him that I was just being dramatic and

I needed them rattled, off-balance, too busy managing my supposed emotional breakdown to notice the trap closing around them. They had just given me exactly what I wanted: they had walked into my home, flaunted their betrayal, and confirm