Chapter 167: Who Needs Sleep When You Have Mafia Problems?

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The study had unofficially turned into our recovery room, though calling it that felt a bit generous given how much bourbon Lorenzo had poured and the fact that I was sprawled across his massive desk like a very tired rug.

Lorenzo was lounging in his big leather chair, his jacket tossed over the back and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

And believe me when I say that I tried my absolute best... not to gawk at that silver of exposed skin like a horny idiot.

But I failed as usual.

Anyways... as for me, I had staked my claim on his desk, stretching my legs out and clutching my glass as I took a careful sip of bourbon.

I had learned my lessons earlier. Apparently, Lorenzo’s go-to bourbon packed the punch of industrial cleaner, and I really didn’t want to embarrass myself by choking in front of my husband again.

"Do you think the chef will quit?" I asked, taking a glance at the ceiling.

Lorenzo looked at me over his glass. "Why would he quit?"

"Because his dinner was interrupted by a murder attempt, a bunch of armed men, and your brother claiming you killed his wife. I doubt he was expecting that when he spent all afternoon perfecting his sauce."

A slight smile flickered on Lorenzo’s lips. "The chef has been with my family for eight years. He’s seen worse."

I raised my eyebrows. "Worse than that?"

"Matteo once set the kitchen on fire."

I gaped at him.

Lorenzo chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. It was a small sound, but I found myself focusing on him for a moment.

After spending most of the evening seeing him with a cold and unreadable face, hearing him laugh eased the heaviness in the study a bit.

After that, our chat meandered around Matteo’s questionable childhood choices, the chef’s ruined dinner, and Emil’s impressive ability to sleep through the chaos.

The little guy barely stirred during all the ruckus, and not even the yelling could keep him awake for long.

"He’s such a calm child," I noted. "With the family he was born into, I expected him to wake up every morning asking for a security briefing of the day."

"Emil takes after Elizabeth in that way."

The mention of her name shifted the atmosphere. I lowered my glass, watching as Lorenzo stared down at his bourbon.

He seemed more at ease since we left the dining room, but there was still something unsettling behind his eyes, something that had come with him into the study and refused to disappear.

There was one question I had been holding back since Dante’s accusation, and if I didn’t ask it now, I knew I’d be up all night thinking about it.

"Why were you the last person to see Elizabeth alive?"

Lorenzo met my gaze. For a moment, we fell silent. I thought he might tense up or get defensive, but instead, he set his glass on the desk and pondered my question.

"She had found something," he finally said. "Something she thought was important enough to discuss with me privately."

"What was it?"

"I’m not sure. She said she had information that was concerning people close to the family, but wouldn’t go into details over the phone. She wanted me to visit her that evening and insisted I not involve Dante until we’d talked."

"Why not?"

"She wouldn’t say. At the time, I thought she was just being careful because she didn’t know who might be eavesdropping. Elizabeth was always cautious about these things, especially after the threats against our family increased."

Lorenzo paused, his eyes drifting towards the dark windows.

"I went to see her that night, and we talked for a while. She was scared, though she tried to hide it. I promised her I’d look into what she’d found, leaving with the belief that we’d talk again once I had more information. I never imagined it would be the last time I saw her."

His voice stayed steady, but I noticed how his fingers briefly tightened around his glass.

"I never thought Dante would accuse me of killing her," he added, "let alone point a gun at you and Emil because of it."

I listened without interruption, letting him finish before I turned on my side and rested my head against my arm.

"Maybe she was scared because she sensed something was off," I said slowly. "And maybe she thought involving Dante would put him and Emil in even more danger. If she trusted you with whatever she found instead of telling her own husband, maybe she was trying to protect them."

Lorenzo regarded me for a long moment.

"I’ve thought about that possibility."

"She might have believed you could investigate without drawing attention, especially if she suspected someone close to Dante was involved. Whatever she found, she seemingly thought it was serious enough that discussing it with her husband could lead to trouble."

"Which shows someone was aware of what she was looking into."

"Or someone knew she had spoken to you."

His expression grew contemplative.

I sat up a bit, setting my glass down. "Think about it, Lorenzo. Elizabeth’s death, the attack in Paris, the attempt to frame you. They don’t feel like separate incidents anymore."

Lorenzo leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he connected the dots.

"Volpe," he murmured.

That name hung in the air like an unwelcome presence.

"Do you think Volpe is behind all this? Even Elizabeth?" I asked.

"I think he’s connected, but I still can’t tell if it’s a real name, an alias, or someone using an identity through others. Whoever it is has been smart enough to leave almost no trace back to them."

"And they somehow convinced Dante that you killed his wife."

"Or gave him enough info for him to believe it on his own."

"Which is somehow worse."

Lorenzo nodded. "I plan to confront him properly in the morning. Maybe he’ll finally clear up who he’s been meeting and why he was in Paris, instead of twisting every question into another accusation."