Tobias looked down at me.
“The kind of woman who comes up unannounced usually has a gun or a subpoena,” he said. “Which one are you?”
“Neither,” I answered. “Just very bad timing and worse judgment.”
His expression didn’t change.
“That’s unfortunate. Mr. Moretti prefers dangerous women. They’re more predictable.”
Before I could decide whether that was a joke, a voice sounded from inside the elevator.
“Let her up.”
Lorenzo Moretti stood at the back of the private lift, one hand in his pocket, dark gaze fixed on me with unsettling calm.
Tobias stepped aside immediately.
The elevator doors closed behind me with a soft metallic hush.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The elevator climbed smoothly upward while my pulse tried to claw its way out of my throat. Up close, Lorenzo was worse somehow—sharper, colder, more deliberate. Men like Ethan filled rooms by demanding attention. Lorenzo filled them by making silence feel dangerous.
“You came to my hotel after hours,” he said finally. “Without an appointment.”
“I work here.”
“That isn’t the defense you think it is.”
Heat crawled up my neck. The wine confidence that had carried me into the lobby was beginning to evaporate.
“I need a favor.”
His eyes shifted to me then, fully attentive.
Most people didn’t understand how intimidating true attention could be.
The elevator opened directly into a private penthouse level that looked less like a suite and more like the headquarters of someone who quietly owned governments. Dark wood. Floor-to-ceiling windows. The Seattle skyline glittering beyond rain-streaked glass.
Lorenzo walked inside without looking back.
I followed because apparently survival instincts had abandoned me.
Tobias stayed near the elevator doors like an armed statue.
Lorenzo loosened the cuffs of his charcoal shirt and crossed toward the windows.
“Well?” he asked.
I folded my arms tightly. “My ex-fiancé is marrying my sister.”
One eyebrow lifted slightly.
“That sounds unpleasant.”
“That’s not the problem.”
“No?”
“The problem is my family expects me to sit through an engagement dinner while everyone pretends I wasn’t the woman he cheated on.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
So I kept talking, because humiliation had momentum once it started rolling.
“I need someone to come with me.”
His gaze settled on my face.
“You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend.”
When he said it aloud, the idea sounded clinically insane.
“Yes.”
Silence.
Rain tapped softly against the glass.
Then Tobias made a noise behind me that might have been a laugh trying not to exist.
I turned. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You thought it aggressively.”
Lorenzo’s mouth almost moved.
Almost.
“Why me?” he asked.
Because Ethan would hate you.
Because my mother would panic.
Because everyone in Seattle with money whispered your name carefully.
Because standing next to you felt like standing next to a thunderstorm and I wanted, for one selfish evening, to stop being the weakest person in the room.
Instead I said, “You’re intimidating.”
That earned me the faintest trace of amusement.
“A useful quality.”
“I just need one dinner.”
“You assume I attend family vendettas as a hobby?”
“No,” I admitted. “I assume powerful men enjoy leverage.”
The room went still.
Tobias looked at me like he was waiting to see whether I survived the next ten seconds.
Lorenzo studied me with unreadable focus.
Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
It wasn’t warm.
It was worse.
It was interested.
“And what leverage,” he asked softly, “do you think you have over me, Miss Hayes?”
I swallowed.
“None.”
“Correct.”
He walked past me toward the bar cart, poured himself a drink, then looked over his shoulder.
“But honesty is rare.”
I stared at him.
“That’s a yes?”
“It’s conditional.”
Of course it was.
“You will tell me everything.”
“I just did.”
“No,” Lorenzo said calmly. “You told me the polite version.”
The problem with composed men was that they noticed cracks.
And suddenly I was tired.
Tired of dignity.
Tired of pretending betrayal was survivable if you wore enough mascara and answered emails on time.
So I told him.
Not elegantly.
Not gracefully.
I told him about finding Ethan in my apartment with Chloe. About my mother insisting we “move forward.” About the wedding dress still hidden in the back of my closet because I couldn’t bear to open the garment bag long enough to throw it away.
Lorenzo listened without interrupting.
When I finished, the penthouse felt very quiet.
Then he asked, “And your sister?”
“What about her?”
“Do you hate her?”
The answer should have been easy.
Instead it lodged in my chest like broken glass.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
For the first time since I’d arrived, Lorenzo’s expression softened slightly.
Not pity.
Something more dangerous.
Understanding.
He set down his glass.
“When is the dinner?”
“Thursday.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
My breath caught.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You’re not going to ask for anything?”
“I already did.”
“The truth?”
His gaze held mine.
“Yes.”
—
Thursday arrived like an execution date.
By six o’clock, I had changed outfits four times and considered fleeing the country twice.
My apartment looked like anxiety had detonated inside it.
When the buzzer rang at exactly seven-thirty, I nearly dropped my mascara wand.
I opened the door.
And forgot how breathing worked.
Lorenzo stood in the hallway in a black suit and dark overcoat, rain glistening faintly on the shoulders. Behind him, a sleek black car idled at the curb.
He looked devastatingly composed.
I looked like a woman one emotional inconvenience away from arson.
His eyes moved over me once.
“You’re nervous.”
“You’re observant.”
“You’re wearing shoes you can’t run in.”
I glanced down at my heels. “I didn’t think sprinting would become relevant.”
“With your family?” he asked mildly. “Optimistic.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
The sound surprised both of us.
Something unreadable flickered across his face before he offered his arm.
“Shall we?”
—
Bellini’s glowed gold against the wet Seattle streets.
Through the windows, I could already see my family seated at the long table.
My stomach tightened.
Lorenzo noticed.
Without a word, he placed one hand lightly against the small of my back.
Steadying.
Possessive enough to be convincing.
The maître d’s face changed the second he recognized Lorenzo Moretti.
People moved differently around him. Faster. Careful.
The dining room quieted as we walked in.
Then came the moment.
My mother looked up first.
The color drained from her face.
Chloe froze with her wineglass halfway to her lips.
Ethan turned slowly—
—and went perfectly still.
I almost enjoyed it.
Almost.
Lorenzo stopped beside my chair.
“Apologies,” he said smoothly. “Traffic.”
The man spoke like traffic personally apologized to him.
Nobody answered.
I sat carefully before my knees betrayed me.
Lorenzo took the seat beside mine as if he belonged there.
My mother recovered first.
“Scarlet,” she said tightly, “you didn’t mention you were bringing someone.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Her eyes shifted toward Lorenzo.
Recognition dawned slowly.
Then alarm.
Everyone in Seattle knew the Moretti name.
Nobody discussed why.
Lorenzo inclined his head politely. “Mrs. Hayes.”
“Mr. Moretti,” she said.
Ethan looked like he’d swallowed acid.
Good.
Chloe stared at me helplessly.
“You’re really together?” she asked quietly.
Lorenzo answered before I could.
“Yes.”
One word.
Certain. Effortless.
Terrifyingly believable.
The waiter arrived then, grateful for any excuse to interrupt the tension thickening around the table.
Dinner unfolded like a hostage negotiation.
My father barely spoke.
My mother drank too much wine while pretending she wasn’t rattled.
Chloe kept sneaking guilty glances at me.
And Ethan—
Ethan watched Lorenzo constantly.
Measuring him.
Men recognized danger in other men instinctively.
“So,” Ethan said eventually, forcing a smile, “how did you two meet?”
“At the hotel,” Lorenzo replied.
“Scarlet never mentioned you.”
“Scarlet is discreet.”
Something in the way he said my name made heat creep into my face.
Ethan noticed.
His jaw tightened.
“Right,” he said. “And what exactly do you do, Mr. Moretti?”
The table went subtly still.
Ah.
There it was.
The challenge.
Lorenzo dabbed his napkin once against his mouth.
“Hospitality,” he said.
Tobias, standing near the entrance like an omen in a suit, coughed suspiciously into his hand.
Ethan smirked faintly. “That sounds vague.”
“It’s intentional.”
Silence.
Then my father unexpectedly spoke.
“The Moretti Grand hosted the governor’s fundraiser last spring.”
My mother shot him a look that clearly translated to why are you participating in this conversation.
Lorenzo nodded politely. “We try to support the city.”
Ethan leaned back in his chair.
“And Scarlet likes that world?”
The implication slithered beneath the words.
That I didn’t belong.
That Lorenzo couldn’t possibly take me seriously.
Before I could respond, Lorenzo turned toward him.
“Scarlet handles pressure better than most executives I’ve met,” he said evenly. “Including several who mistake arrogance for competence.”
Ethan’s smile vanished.
I stared at Lorenzo.
He hadn’t defended me politely.
He’d evaluated me.
And somehow that felt far more intimate.
The rest of dinner passed under suffocating tension.
Then dessert arrived.
Tiramisu.
Of course it did.
My mother folded her hands together delicately.
“Well,” she announced, “since we’re all here, Ethan and Chloe have something exciting to share.”
Chloe looked nervous.
Ethan looked smug again.
“We’ve set the wedding date,” he said.
A strange numbness settled over me.
“June,” Chloe whispered.
My wedding month.
Of course.
I reached for my wineglass before my expression betrayed me.
Lorenzo’s hand closed gently around my wrist beneath the table.
Not restraining.
Grounding.
His thumb brushed once against my pulse.
Tiny.
Almost nothing.
My heartbeat stumbled anyway.
Ethan saw it.
And something ugly flashed across his face.
“You know,” he said casually, “I always wondered when Scarlet would finally move on.”
My mother stiffened slightly.
“Ethan,” Chloe murmured.
“No, it’s fine,” he continued, eyes fixed on me. “I’m happy for her.”
Liar.
Then he smiled directly at Lorenzo.
“Though I admit, your timing’s impressive.”
The room chilled.
Lorenzo’s expression never changed.
“Meaning?”
Ethan shrugged. “Scarlet spent years wanting marriage. Strange she suddenly ends up with Seattle’s most elusive bachelor right before our engagement dinner.”
There it was.
The accusation.
Fake.
Desperate.
Pathetic.
I opened my mouth.
Lorenzo beat me to it.
“You seem unusually interested in my relationship,” he said softly.
Ethan leaned forward. “Just curious.”
“No,” Lorenzo replied. “You’re territorial.”
The table went dead silent.
Even the nearby diners were pretending not to listen now.
Ethan laughed once. Hard.
“I think you’re overestimating the situation.”
“Am I?”
Lorenzo’s gaze pinned him effortlessly.
“You betrayed her,” he continued calmly. “You mistook her restraint for weakness. Now you’re uncomfortable because another man values what you discarded.”
Ethan’s face darkened.
Chloe looked horrified.
My mother whispered sharply, “This is inappropriate.”
Lorenzo finally turned toward her.
“With respect, Mrs. Hayes,” he said, “what’s inappropriate is inviting your daughter to celebrate her own humiliation.”
My breath caught.
Nobody had ever said it aloud before.
Not like that.
Not directly.
My mother went pale with outrage.
“You know nothing about this family.”
“No,” Lorenzo agreed. “I know enough.”
The tension snapped completely.
Ethan shoved back his chair.
“You think you can walk in here and judge me?”
Lorenzo remained seated.
Which somehow felt more threatening.
“I don’t need to judge you,” he said. “Your actions already did.”
For one reckless second, I thought Ethan might actually swing at him.
Tobias moved instantly from the doorway.
Not aggressively.
Efficiently.
Like violence was simply another logistical issue he knew how to solve.
Ethan saw him coming and thought better of whatever stupidity had entered his head.
Good instinct.
Chloe stood abruptly. “Stop it!”
Her voice cracked.
Everyone froze.
Tears filled her eyes as she looked at me.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
The words landed too late to matter.
But the pain in her face was real.
That was the worst part.
If she’d been cruel, I could’ve hated her cleanly.
Instead she looked broken.
“I loved him,” she whispered.
I laughed softly before I could stop myself.
The sound hurt coming out.
“So did I.”
Silence spread across the table like spilled ink.
Chloe began crying quietly.
My mother reached for her immediately.
Of course she did.
Instinctive protection.
Automatic.
I watched it happen with strange detachment.
And suddenly I understood something terrifying:
I wasn’t angry anymore.
Not really.
Anger required hope underneath it.
Hope that people might become better.
Mine never would.
Lorenzo rose smoothly beside me.
“We should go.”
I nodded.
Nobody tried to stop us.
But as we turned toward the exit, Ethan spoke again.
“Careful, Scarlet.”
I looked back.
His expression had shifted into something colder now.
Resentful.
“You don’t know who you’re involved with.”
A hush fell over the room.
Lorenzo paused beside me.
Then, slowly, he looked over his shoulder.
The temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.
“No,” Lorenzo said quietly. “She doesn’t.”
And for the first time that night—
I believed there was truth beneath the performance.
—
The car ride back was silent.
Rain blurred the city lights into rivers of gold across the windows.
I stared out at Seattle while my thoughts tangled themselves into knots.
Finally I exhaled shakily.
“Well,” I muttered. “That was psychologically catastrophic.”
To my surprise, Lorenzo laughed.
A low, brief sound.
Real.
“It could have gone worse.”
“How?”
“Someone might have thrown a chair.”
I looked at him. “You say that like it’s happened before.”
“It has.”
“Should I ask?”
“No.”
Another silence settled between us.
But this one felt different.
Softer somehow.
The car stopped outside my apartment building.
I turned toward him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“No,” I said quietly. “Really.”
His gaze held mine in the dim light.
“You deserved better than tonight.”
The sincerity in his voice hit harder than sympathy would have.
I looked down at my hands.
“I used to think if I handled everything gracefully enough, eventually someone would choose me first.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
“I know that sounds pathetic.”
“It sounds trained.”
I looked up sharply.
His expression remained unreadable as he continued.
“People become what they’re rewarded for. Your family rewarded sacrifice.”
The accuracy of it stole my breath.
“How do you know that?”
For the first time all evening, something shadowed his face.
“Because mine rewarded violence.”
The words settled heavily in the car.
Before I could respond, his phone buzzed.
Everything about him changed instantly.
The warmth vanished.
His eyes hardened into something lethal.
He answered in Italian.
Fast. Cold.
Dangerous.
I didn’t understand the words, but I understood tone.
Tobias glanced sharply into the rearview mirror.
Lorenzo listened for several seconds.
Then he said one sentence that made even Tobias go still.
“No one touches her.”
The call ended.
A terrible feeling slid down my spine.
“Lorenzo?”
He looked at me.
And for the first time since I’d met him, I saw genuine fury beneath his composure.
“What happened?”
He was quiet too long.
Then:
“Someone broke into your apartment.”
Ice flooded my veins.
“What?”
“Tobias.”
Without another word, the car accelerated violently back into traffic.
My pulse thundered.
“Who would—”
But even as I asked, I knew.
Ethan’s warning echoed in my head.
You don’t know who you’re involved with.
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“Did you tell anyone about me?” he asked.
“No.”
“Did anyone follow you recently?”
“I don’t know!”
The city blurred past outside.
Sirens wailed somewhere distant.
Fear sharpened every nerve in my body.
“What’s happening?”
Lorenzo looked at me then.
Not like a man pretending anymore.
Like a man making calculations.
And whatever he saw must have convinced him.
Because he finally told me the truth.
“My family,” he said quietly, “has enemies.”
The understatement nearly made me laugh hysterically.
“Enemies?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of enemies break into apartments?”
“The kind who send messages.”
Cold terror crawled through me.
The car turned hard onto my street.
Blue police lights flashed ahead.
My building stood dark against the rain.
One apartment window shattered.
Mine.
My breath stopped.
Two police officers stood near the entrance taking statements from frightened tenants.
But that wasn’t what made my blood run cold.
It was the symbol spray-painted across my apartment door in dripping black paint.
A crown.
Split down the middle.
Lorenzo went utterly still beside me.
And for the first time since meeting him—
he looked afraid.
Not for himself.
For me.
Then Tobias swore quietly under his breath and reached inside his jacket.
Because across the street, half-hidden beneath a flickering streetlamp—
a man in a dark coat was watching our car.
Smiling.
And in his hand was a photograph of me.
…
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