LORENZO
I strolled into the living room, unbuttoning the cuffs of my shirt, ready to shake off the weight of the day.
The chandelier above flickered like it knew the storm that was brewing under my skin.
And there I met with Francesca. Draped over the armrest like a bored queen without a throne, lips curled into a dirty little smirk that always meant trouble. Her eyes glittered with something sharper than flirtation.
"Of course," I muttered under my breath. "Because this day wasn't irritating enough."
She straightened as I passed, voice slicing through the silence like broken glass.
"Still playing house with your prosecutor's wife?" I halted, turning slowly.
"What exactly is your problem?" My voice stayed low, but my jaw tightened. "Trying to start a war in my house again, or just bored of your own shadow?"
Francesca stood now, heels clicking against the marble as she approached me with a look that screamed I know something you don't.
