Page 30 of Obsidian Devotion

My hand trembles as I unlock the deadbolt and pull the door open.

My breath catches in my throat.

Lorenzo fills the doorframe, his powerful frame somehow larger in my narrow hallway.

His usually loose dark hair is slicked back in a severe man bun that exposes the sharp angles of his face and reveals his eyes—green as poison, burning with cold fury. The elegant lines of his leather jacket can't disguise the tension radiating from his body.

In his hand, he holds a single strand of copper-red hair.

"Found this in the basement," he says, voice terrifyingly soft. "Right where Gabriel was being held before he mysteriously escaped."

My mind races, searching for an explanation, an excuse, anything. "I'm not the only redhead who works at the club," I counter, but my voice wavers, betraying me.

"True." He steps inside, uninvited, closing the door behind him with a decisive click. "But you're the only one with this."

His hand shoots out like a viper strike, grabbing my wrist where my bracelet dangles—the bell charm I never take off, a gift from Luciano on my sixteenth birthday.

"I heard this the night I was drugged," he continues, thumb pressing against my racing pulse. "Told myself I was imagining things. That you couldn't possibly have betrayed me."

The look in his eyes shatters something inside me—not just anger or suspicion, but genuine hurt. As if I've wounded him in some fundamental way.

He backs me against the wall, his presence consuming the oxygen in the room. "Did you deliberately approach my family?" he demands, voice rising. "Was all of this—us—just a way to get close enough to destroy us?"

I try to slip away, to create space between us, but he cages me in with his arms, palms flat against the wall on either side of my head.

"Lorenzo, please," I whisper, searching his face for any softness, any remnant of the man who held me so tenderly just days ago. "You don't understand—"

"Then make me understand!" His voice cracks like thunder in the small apartment. "Tell me why the woman I was falling for just released the man who tried to destroy my family!"

Then something in me breaks. The weight of too many lies collapses.

"Yes!" I shout, tears spilling hot down my cheeks. "Yes, it was deliberate. And do you know why?"

Lorenzo stares at me, waiting, jaw clenched tight enough to snap.

"Luciano Bianchi," I say, and watch recognition flicker in his eyes. "He was my brother."

Lorenzo's brow furrows, confusion replacing anger for a moment. "What brother? I don't—"

"Luciano Bianchi," I repeat, my voice breaking on the name I've held inside for so long. "The man you tortured and killed in that basement. The only person I had left in this world." My hand finds the photo in my pocket, the one I've carried every day since his death. I thrust it toward Lorenzo. "You took him from me, so I vowed to destroy everything you love."

Lorenzo stares at the photo, his face draining of color. "I've never—I don't recognize this name." He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, loosening strands from the tight bun. "This man... I know this face, but I didn't kill him."

"Liar!" I spit, but something in his expression makes me pause.

"The last time I saw this man, he was alive." Lorenzo's voice is quiet now, almost pleading. "He walked into a deal that was happening at the club. I was drunk. I barely paid attention to him. I remember someone escorting him out, but he was alive, Sofia. I swear to you."

The room seems to tilt beneath my feet. Carlos's voice echoes in my head, showing me the video, telling me who was responsible. A wave of nausea hits me suddenly, violently.

I barely make it to the trash can by the kitchen when I double over and hurl all of my stomach's contents. I’m not prone to nausea; this must be from the new life growing inside me.

When I straighten, Lorenzo is watching me suspiciously.

"Lorenzo, there’s something else—We didn’t use protection," I whisper.

Understanding dawns in his eyes. His eyes—those fierce green eyes that have looked at me with desire, with tenderness, with rage—now glisten with moisture. For the first time since I've known him, I see tears forming, turning those emerald irises glassy.

"Sofia. Are you pregnant?"

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