Page 109 of Pietro

Lorenzo's restaurant breathes warmth where the Sartori estate feels like a fortress. Soft lighting, exposed brick walls,photographs of Sicily covering every surface. This is his kingdom, separate from the violence.

"Pietro." Lorenzo appears. His eyes find mine, soften. "Nora. Good to see you're alright."

"Thanks to your brother." The words slip out before I can stop them.

Something passes between Pietro and Lorenzo. An entire conversation in a single glance. Lorenzo's shoulders relax slightly, and I realize he's been worried. Not about business or territory, but about his brother.

"Come. My office is quieter."

We follow him through the dining room, past tables set for dinner service. The staff nods respectfully but keeps working. They know better than to stare.

Lorenzo's office sits above the kitchen, accessed by a narrow staircase. It's smaller than Pietro's, warmer. Recipe books crowd the shelves between family photos. A desk covered in invoices and supplier contracts. This is a working office, not a statement of power.

I sink into a leather chair that's seen better days but feels like a hug. Pietro remains standing, positioning himself between me and the door. Always protecting, even here.

"Coffee?" Lorenzo asks, already moving toward an espresso machine in the corner.

"Please." I need something normal, something that isn't guns and betrayal and identity crises.

Lorenzo works the machine and no one speaks while he pulls shots, steams milk. The domestic ritual feels sacred in its simplicity.

"They have his grandson." Pietro says.

"Ah." Lorenzo sets a perfect cappuccino in front of me. The foam art is a leaf, delicate and precise. "That explains it."

I watch them, these brothers who grew up in violence but handle it so differently. Pietro burns hot, ready to destroy. Lorenzo absorbs, processes, seeks balance.

"You're not going to argue?" Pietro accepts his espresso, downs it in one shot.

"Would it change anything?" Lorenzo leans against his desk. "Tony betrayed us. The reason doesn't erase the damage."

"But you understand why."

"I understand everything, fratello." There's sadness in Lorenzo's voice. "That's my curse."

The door opens without a knock. Nico enters like a storm cloud, his eyes immediately finding me.

"Sit down, Nico." Pietro says.

"I'll stand."

I meet Nico's stare directly. "I get it."

"You get nothing."

"I'm Connor O'Sullivan's daughter. Or was. I worked in your building while your shipments got hit. If I were you, I'd want me dead too."

"Anyway." Pietro moves closer to my chair. "Tony is the leak. Has been for three months."

Now Nico does sit, dropping into the chair across from me like his strings got cut. "Tony?"

"Declan Wilson has his grandson."

"Fuck. How did we miss this?" Nico asks.

"We were distracted. Riccardo's death, Bruno's coma, the succession. Perfect time to apply pressure."

I watch Lorenzo during this exchange. His face stays neutral, but his eyes... He wants to say something, offer some solution that makes everyone happy. But there isn't one. Tony betrayed them. A child's life hangs in the balance. Someone has to bleed.