A week after the wedding, Lorenzo found Elena in the garden, tending to a patch of roses. It was unusual—most women married into the Mafia world preferred luxury and excess, not quiet moments of solitude.
"You're not what I expected," Lorenzo said, startling her.
She looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. "And what did you expect?"
"Someone more…naïve."
Elena smiled, a hint of mischief in her expression. "Appearances can be deceiving, Mr. De Luca."
"It's Lorenzo."
"Alright, Lorenzo," she said, holding his gaze. "You should try smiling more. It suits you."
For the first time in years, Lorenzo felt his hardened exterior crack.