The De Luca girl had fire in her veins. I'd expected it, planned for it, but still, watching her eyes blaze with hatred as I burned her precious diary had stirred something primal within me.
Something I hadn't felt in years.
Maybe ever.
I poured myself three fingers of scotch, swirling the amber liquid before downing it in one burning gulp. The study felt empty now without April's crackling fury. Without her half-naked body trembling before me, not just with fear, but with unwanted desire. She could deny it all she wanted, but I'd seen the truth in her dilated pupils, felt it in the shiver that ran through her when I touched her skin.
The same tension that had made my own body tighten in response.
"Control" I muttered to the empty room. Control was everything. I'd built an empire on it, control of my emotions, my business, my enemies.
My desires.
April De Luca would not be my weakness. She would be my triumph. Marco's beloved daughter, finally in my possession after years of patient planning.
My phone vibrated, Dante's name flashing on the screen.
"Report," I answered.
"She's here." His voice was carefully neutral. "In the lobby. Insisting on seeing you."
A wave of cold fury washed over me. "I told you to keep her away."
"She's threatening to make a scene. Says she'll go to the press about Salvatore Belmonte if you don't speak with her."
Fuck. My sister always did know exactly where to press to draw blood.
"Send her to the Lake View Terrace. And Dante?" I paused, making sure my meaning was crystal clear. "Make sure she's searched thoroughly. No phones, no recording devices. Nothing."
"Understood."
I ended the call, staring out the window at the fading daylight. Sofia's appearance complicated things.
She was unpredictable, vindictive, and smart enough to be dangerous, especially now, with April under my roof.
After straightening my tie and schooling my features into impassivity, I made my way to the terrace.
There was no point delaying the inevitable.
Sofia stood at the railing, her back to me, dark hair spilling over the shoulders of an expensive white blazer.
Always the opposite, if I wore black, she wore white. If I chose silence, she chose noise.
Two halves of the same broken coin, facing eternally away from each other.
"The prodigal brother appears," she said without turning. "I was beginning to think you'd keep me waiting until midnight."
"I considered not coming at all." I moved to stand beside her, maintaining a careful distance. "You were explicitly uninvited from my home, Sofia."
Now she turned, her face, so similar to mine it was like looking in a warped mirror, hardened with dislike. "Uninvited? Is that what we're calling a restraining order these days?"
"You threatened my head of security with a scalpel the last time you were here."
"He deserved worse." She smiled coldly. "How is Dante? Still your loyal dog? Still cleaning up your messes?"
I ignored the bait. "What do you want?"
Sofia laughed, the sound brittle as glass. "Cut to the chase, as always. No 'how are you, sister?' No 'congratulations on becoming the youngest neurosurgical fellow at Milan General' ?"
"Congratulations." I said flatly. "Now what do you want?"
She turned back to the view, Lake Como spread before us like a sapphire among emeralds. "Money. What else?"
"Your salary as a neurosurgeon isn't covering your expenses? Perhaps you should reconsider your cocaine habit."
"It's not for me." Her knuckles whitened on the railing. "It's for the clinic. The one I told you about last year, before you decided to play dead for six months."
Ah yes. Her pet project. A free trauma center in Naples' worst district. Noble, if naïve.
"I'm not a charity, Sofia."
"No, you're something far worse." She faced me again, eyes, the same ice blue as mine, glittering with barely contained rage. "The clinic treats children, Leo. Children like we were. Broken bones, cigarette burns, worse. I need five million euros for equipment, staff, security."
"And you think I owe this to you because..?"
"Because you owe me everything!" The composure she'd been maintaining cracked, revealing the molten fury beneath. "You left me with him. You knew what he was, what he did, and you just... left."
The accusation hit its mark with unerring precision. I kept my face expressionless despite the guilt that clawed at my insides, an old, familiar companion.
"I was thirteen, Sofia. A child myself."
"I was nine." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Nine years old, Leo. And when you disappeared, he turned all his attention to me."
Memory sliced through me, sharp, unwelcome. My father's fists. The belt. The cigarettes pressed into soft flesh. Bones cracked with casual cruelty. And worse, so much worse, after I escaped.
"I sent money," I said, the justification weak even to my own ears. "As soon as I could. Enough for you to get away."
"Three years later. Do you know what happened in those three years?" She laughed, the sound like breaking ice. "No, you don't want to know. The great Leonardo Russo can't handle the truth about what his cowardice cost."
I turned away, unable to bear the accusation in her eyes. "I'm not giving you money for your clinic, Sofia."