Antonio is with him, the second-in-command. He’s rarely seen in public, preferring to work behind the scenes.
Freya sees them too. Her grip on my arm tightens.
“Easy,” I warn.
“I recognize him,” she whispers.
“Oh, really?”
We navigate the crowd, stopping to shake hands, to accept congratulations on the marriage. Freya plays her part perfectly. She laughs at the right jokes. She nods at the right times. She’s charming, poised, untouchable.
Except her eyes never leave Lorenzo, and I notice that Lorenzo’s eyes never leave her. There’s a hunger there. A calculation.
I feel a surge of protective instinct that I haven’t felt in years. Not for myself, but for her.
“You’re staring at my wife, Don Lorenzo,” I say as we finally come face-to-face.
Lorenzo smiles. It’s a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s hard not to look,” he says, his voice accented and thick. “She is… exquisite.”
“She’s mine.”
“So the rumors say.” He takes a sip of his wine. “A marriage of convenience, or love?”
“Does it matter?”
“To some.”
He glances at Freya. “I knew a Smith once. Ayaan. A spirited young man.”
Freya flinches. I feel it.
“He made mistakes,” Lorenzo continues. “Mistakes that cost him dearly.”
“He disappeared,” I say, keeping my voice flat.
“Disappeared,” Lorenzo agrees. “Or was… relocated.”
Freya steps forward slightly. “What do you know about it?” she asks, her voice steady despite the tension.
Lorenzo looks at her, amused.
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“It concerns me if you know where he is.”
I squeeze her arm. A warning. Stop.
She ignores it. “Ayaan didn’t just vanish,” she says. “He was transferred for external handling.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrow slightly. A flicker of something—surprise, perhaps—crosses his face. “You’ve been doing your homework,” he says.
“I have sources.”
“Yet, here you are playing house with the man who signed the order.”
“I’m playing the long game,” she counters.
Lorenzo laughs. A short, dry sound. “A dangerous game, little girl. Dangerous games get people killed.”