Page 119 of The Toy Collector

Her eyes catch on the velvet drapes, the obsidian flatware, the way the staff move like shadows. “Why does everyone either look scared or like they want to fuck you?” she asks, sounding annoyed at the last part.

“Does that bother you?” I counter, amused.

Before she can answer, the sommelier approaches. Instead of carrying a wine list, he presents a bottle of wine I’ve had waiting for this exact moment—a Brunello di Montalcino, laid down the year Piper was born.

After filling our glasses, he leaves with a murmured, “Enjoy.”

I raise my glass. “To knowing.” Her glass meets mine with a delicate ring that echoes between us. “To seeing.”

The wine tastes of dark cherries and the slow burn of patience. I set my glass down, carefully, deliberately, like a man setting a timer on a bomb he has no intention of running from.

“You said you wanted to know everything.” My voice remains steady as a surgeon’s hand. “Are you ready for the truth, Toy?”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Bring it on, Lorenzo.”

“I didn’t rise to power, Piper. I built it. Inherited it. Expanded it.” Pausing, I take a deep breath. “The Russo family doesn’t claim territory; we create it.”

She lets out a nervous laugh. “You make it sound like you’re the mafia.” She tilts her head, thinking. “Wait… is that what you are? Your family, I mean.”

“That’s what they call us when they want to simplify what can’t be simplified.” I lean forward. “What we are is infrastructure. We’re the shadow behind every government, the whisper behind every policy. Every empire you admire? We put it there.”

I take a large sip of the wine.

“More specifically, I put it there. Before me, it was my dad, and before him…” Trailing off, I swirl my hand in the air. “You get the picture.”

She rests her fingers lightly against the glass, but her eyes never leave mine. Calculating. Unafraid. “So you reallyarea kingmaker.”

I chuckle. “I’m not justakingmaker, Toy. I’mthekingmaker.”

She whispers the word, and I watch her mouth form the word, memorizing the shape of it on her lips. I expected resistance. At least a sliver of fear. But she’s not shrinking—she’s studying me like I’m a thesis she intends to defend.

“Every senator who’s risen in the last decade has done so because I allowed it. Every presidential candidate approved by both parties has my fingerprints on their selection.”

She takes a slow sip of wine. “So the meetings you allowed me to listen to… I mean…” She pauses, and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Was that to help me? Or were you feeding me breadcrumbs about who you really are?”

“Both,” I admit. I reach across the table, taking her hand. “Every move I’ve made since the day I saw you has been calculated, Piper. Every door that closed, every opportunity that vanished—that was me clearing your path.”

“Hang on.” She holds her hand up, halting me. “You blacklisted me, didn’t you?” she asks, her eyes narrowed and her tone accusatory.

“I redirected you. To me,” I explain with a shrug. This is something I refuse to apologize for. And still, my chest tightens. It’s not guilt—Russo blood doesn’t do guilt—but from the fucking miracle that she’s still sitting across from me.

Thewaiter appears with our meal—Ossobuco for me, sea bass for her. Neither of us ordered. Her eyes follow the waiter as he retreats, understanding dawning.

“How far does it go?” she asks, cutting into her fish. “Your control.”

“If I pull my backing, governments fall.” The words are simple, factual. “And they know it.”

“And you’ve been doing this since…”

“Since I was eighteen.” I watch her calculate again. “Though I sat in the room from the time I could understand what was being said.”

She takes another bite, thinking. “Is this why you insisted on the blindfold in the beginning?” Another bite. “And, look, I know you say I never asked about your name, which is true. But you still could have told me and you didn’t. I want to know why.”

“Names are masks.” I set my fork down carefully. “I only ever planned to take mine off for one person.”

Something flickers in her eyes; awareness. “Me.”

“You.” The single syllable carries the weight of years. “I told you I would never lie to you.”

---