Page 35 of Obsidian Devotion

Matteo throws a pillow at him. "You're a disgrace to the family name."

"On the contrary," Angelo retorts, dodging the pillow. "I'm upholding our finest traditions of hedonism and selective commitment."

Olivia rolls her eyes. "Ignore him, Sofia. He's just bitter because his latest conquest dumped him for a yacht captain in Monaco."

"She did not dump me," Angelo protests, uncorking the champagne with a loud pop. "We mutually agreed to pursue other opportunities." He pours glasses for everyone except me, then raises his in a toast. "To my future niece—may she have her mother's lethal aim and her father's black card?"

The room erupts in laughter, and even Lorenzo cracks a genuine smile. These moments still feel surreal—sitting among the mostfeared crime family in New York, sharing jokes and ultrasound photos as if we're just any ordinary family.

Later, when the siblings disperse to freshen up for dinner, Lorenzo leads me to the terrace overlooking the sea.

"I've been thinking about Michael lately," he whispers, his eyes on the horizon.

I take his hand, saying nothing. This is rare—Lorenzo volunteering information about his murdered best friend. The best friend that I didn’t even know existed till that day.

"He was more than my friend—he was my brother in everything but blood," Lorenzo continues, his voice low. "When I saw his dead body... Chopped up like that, it broke something in me."

I tighten my grip on his hand, feeling the tension in his body. The rage still simmering beneath the surface.

"Michael and me were all the rage at sixteen. We were racing motorcycles through the back streets of the city; staying up all night talking about our dreams; covering for each other when one of us got into trouble." He shakes his head. "The weight of his absence hits me all over again sometime."

The pain in his voice is raw, unfiltered. This is Lorenzo without his armor—the man beneath the monster.

"We used to work out at this old gym downtown," he continues. "Every morning at five. He'd always show up with these terrible protein shakes he made himself. Tasted like dirt, but I drank them anyway."

I lean my head against his shoulder, offering what comfort I can.

"We smoked our first cigarettes together behind his father's boathouse. Got so sick we swore we'd never do it again." A ghost of a smile touches his lips at the memory. "We were back there the next day."

"What else?" I ask softly, hungry for these glimpses of the boy who became the man I love.

Lorenzo turns to face me, his eyes distant with memory. "We used to go to this little spot by the lake. We'd talk about what we wanted from life. He always said he wanted something different from what our families had planned. He wanted love—real love."

He gently turns me to face him fully. "He would have liked you."

"How can you be sure?" I ask, searching his eyes.

"Because he always said I deserved someone who would challenge me. Someone brave." He brushes a strand of hair from my face. "Someone who would make me better than I am."

My throat tightens. "Do I? Make you better?"

He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. “You make me want to become the best version of myself.”

“I found something today,” Lorenzo says later, after dinner. He leads me to his study, a room of rich mahogany and leather that smells perpetually of his cologne and old books.

From his desk drawer, he withdraws a small velvet box. My heart stutters.

“Lorenzo…”

“It’s not a ring,” he says, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Though I’m intrigued by your reaction. I thought you wanted to wait to get married after giving birth?”

I roll my eyes, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. “Just open it, smartass.”

Inside the box lies a delicate gold charm, with a tiny bell identical to the one on my bracelet.

“I thought perhaps our daughter might like her own someday,” Lorenzo says quietly.

My throat tightens with emotion. “You’re a sentimental fool beneath all that ruthlessness, Lorenzo Bellanti.”

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