A week later, Lorenzo was drinking his tenth shot of scotch. The cold liquid trickled down his throat, but it still couldn't ease the burning in his chest he had felt ever since he met La Morte.
It was 5am on a Monday morning. He shouldn't even be drinking.
His eyes flicked to the chain he had torn off La Morte's neck, the one in which his brother's date of…death was engraved on.
For a week he had tried to find La Morte, tried to understand why she would have the ring. The significance of the day to her. Was she responsible for his brother's death?
Lorenzo slammed the glass cup on the desk, running his hand through his dark hair.
She was very skilled at hiding herself, he had to give her that.
Which begged the next question: how did she know he was Zayn?
Nobody knew he was Zayn. Absolutely nobody. His entire journey as Zayn traced back to the day his older brother, Giovanni, was found dead in a plane crash just north of the Egyptian plains.
Lorenzo was a mere teenager, about to celebrate his 20th birthday in a month.
He didn't. Instead, he poured all his energy into ensuring no one could kill him nor hurt anyone he cared about. He had trained relentlessly and like a mad man, practiced with all sorts of weapons, until he became who he was.
Zayn.
No one had ever been able to figure it out. So how did she?
What did she know about him? Was she planning to oust him?
So many questions, so few answers.
Lorenzo let out a long groan, grabbing his towel and heading to the bathroom.
As he stripped, he caught his reflection in the mirror. Dark circles. Bloodshot eyes. La Morte was winning, and she wasn't even here.
"Damn it, Enzo."
~
"You call this a presentation?"
Lorenzo snapped at the trembling brunette standing in front of him. Lorraine, or Bethanne? He couldn't remember her name. Only that she was incompetent and needed to be fired.
"This is supposed to be a quarterly financial analysis for our shareholders," he continued, his voice cold as he gestured at the projection screen. "Instead, you've given me pie charts with no data sources, projections that don't account for market volatility, and—" He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "—is that Comic Sans?"
"Sir, I—" she stammered, her fingers fumbling with the remote.
"Save it." Lorenzo pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Valentina, get in here."
The door opened within seconds. Valentina Rossi strode in, tablet in hand, her expression fighting hard to remain neutral despite the sharp look in her dark eyes. She was perfect for the job, stunning, and had made it abundantly clear she despised him ever since he had turned down her dinner invitation six months ago.
"Yes, Mr. De Luca?" Her tone was crisp.
"Ms..." He glanced at the brunette's nameplate. "Ms. Hartley is terminated, effective immediately. Have HR process her exit paperwork and ensure security escorts her out within the hour."
The woman's face went pale. "Please, Mr. De Luca, I just need—"
"Valentina." He didn't even look up.
"This way, Ms. Hartley," Valentina said smoothly, her heels clicking as she gestured toward the door. There might have been the faintest hint of satisfaction in her voice, not for the woman being fired, but for watching Lorenzo be exactly the bastard she believed him to be.
Well, he didn't care.
Lorenzo had learned to not care about a lot of things.
He turned back to his computer, already pulling up the next file when Valentina's voice came through the intercom again.
"Mr. De Luca, your cousin is here to see you."
Lorenzo's fingers paused over the keyboard. He sat up straighter, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "Oh? Send him right in."
The door swung open, and Marco De Luca strode in with that same confidence he had always had. His father's younger brother's son, the only family member Lorenzo actually tolerated.
"Enzo!" Marco's grin was infectious as he crossed the office.
Lorenzo stood, meeting him halfway. They embraced, clapping each other on the back in that familiar way.
"Man, it's great to see you," Lorenzo said, and he meant it. He considered Marco the younger brother he never had, and would do almost anything for him. "When did you get back from Milan?"
"Last night. Figured I would come straight to—" Marco stepped aside, gesturing behind him. "Oh, and I brought someone you should meet."
Lorenzo's gaze shifted past his cousin.
His heart stopped.
She stood just inside the doorway, dressed in an elegant black pencil skirt and cream blouse that hugged her frame perfectly. Long black curls cascaded over her shoulders, and she held a leather portfolio against her chest with an impressive poise. Her features were striking, sharp cheekbones, full lips, and a set of light coloured hazel eyes.
Beautiful didn't begin to cover it.
Lorenzo felt something he hadn't felt in years. A pull. A gravity that made his carefully constructed walls crack just slightly. He couldn't look away.
He had met a lot of beautiful women in his life, but this one easily topped them all.
"Who is this?" He rasped, still momentarily stunned.
She stepped forward, extending a hand. The corners of her lips stretched in a professional smile.
"Cassandra Bertellini, Mr. De Luca," she said, her voice soft. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."