fragile truce

chapter 2 | Lorenzo

Lorenzo

Lorenzo slammed the door to his study shut, the echo reverberating down the cold marble halls of the De Luca estate. He leaned against the edge of his desk, his hands gripping its polished surface as he exhaled slowly.

Viviana.

Her name was a thorn lodged in his chest, impossible to ignore and even harder to remove. Seeing her again had been inevitable—he'd known that the second his father proposed the truce. But knowing it hadn't prepared him for the impact of her presence.

She hadn't changed. Not in the ways that mattered. She still walked into a room like she owned it, her confidence sharp enough to cut. She still carried that spark in her eyes—the one that had once captivated him and now felt like a dare he couldn't afford to accept.

And she still hated him. That much was clear.

Her words replayed in his mind, each one laced with venom. "Don't, for a second, think that i will ever forget what you did to me"

He straightened, pushing the thought aside. Her hatred didn't matter. It couldn't. They had a job to do, and he'd be damned if he let personal history get in the way of this truce.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He glanced up as his younger brother, Matteo, strolled in, his easy grin contrasting sharply with Lorenzo's scowl.

"Well?" Matteo asked, leaning casually against the doorframe. "How'd it go with the Russo princess?"

Lorenzo shot him a withering look. "Don't call her that."

Matteo raised his hands in mock surrender. "Touchy, aren't we?"

"She's as difficult as ever," Lorenzo muttered, moving to pour himself a drink. The amber liquid swirled in his glass as he spoke, his voice tight. "Thinks she's here to win some power struggle. She doesn't understand this isn't about her."

Matteo's grin widened. "And you're the picture of calm and reason, I'm sure."

Lorenzo ignored him, taking a long sip of his whiskey. "This arrangement is a means to an end. Nothing more."

Matteo tilted his head, studying his brother with a knowing look. "Funny. I could've sworn I saw her name on the list of people you once cared about. Right next to 'never talk about her again.'"

"Drop it, Matteo," Lorenzo snapped, his voice low but dangerous.

His brother raised an eyebrow but didn't push further. Instead, he shrugged. "Fine. But you'd better keep that temper in check. The gala's tomorrow, and the whole city will be watching. If you two can't act like you're on the same side, this truce will crumble before it even starts."

Lorenzo clenched his jaw, staring into the amber depths of his drink. Matteo was right, of course. The gala was their first public test—a chance to show the world, and their enemies, that the De Lucas and Russos were finally united.

And it required him to stand beside Viviana. To pretend.

The thought made his chest tighten, not with longing but with frustration. Frustration that she still had this effect on him, even after all these years. Frustration that she couldn't see the truth, even if he'd made sure she never would.