“You little shit,” he snaps, voice cracking under the pressure. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
I don’t flinch.
I tilt my head slightly, my eyes never leaving his.
“Thought I’d join this sweet family reunion.”
A low hiss breaks out across the room. Some shift uncomfortably. Others lean forward, watching like men at the edge of a pit, unsure whether it’s about to collapse or erupt.
Lorenzo’s jaw clenches. His nostrils flare.
“I should’ve killed you the second you were born.”
I smile, razor-thin.
“But you didn’t. You fucked me over.”
“I protected you,” he snaps, lying as easily as breathing. “I kept you out of this. I gave you a chance at a normal fucking life.”
“You locked me away from the world, in an abusive household. You left me in the hands of a man who didn’t even know my name.”
His eyes flash. “You should’ve stayed gone.”
I step forward, slow, deliberate.
“You should’ve stayed afraid.”
He barks a laugh, sharp and mean. “I’m not afraid of you.”
And the room erupts in laughter.
Not the kind that relieves tension, the kind that reeks ofmale arrogance and rot. It rolls out of their mouths like smoke, mocking, indulgent. Predatory.
One man leans back in his chair, eyeing the slit in my dress.
“Nice legs for a threat,” he mutters.
Another smirks. “I’d be more afraid if she wasn’t wearing fuck-me heels.”
“Salvatore’s girl turned street bitch,” someone says from the left. “Bet she screams just like her mother.”
They laugh louder.
It’s an orchestra of power unchecked. Men who have never been held accountable. Who believe their names protect them from consequence.
But none of them see what’s about to happen.
Because they think I came here alone.
They think this is the show.
They think I’m the warm-up act.
And I let them.
Because it makes what’s about to happen next taste so much sweeter.
“It’s not me,” I say, my voice like ice cracking on stone. “You should be afraid of.”
