Chapter 15 Chapter Fifteen
I watch, momentarily entranced, as Lorenzo settles his weight into the seat, gripping the table’s edge as he effortlessly pushes himself forward to get comfortable, his aura thick in the atmosphere.
My pulse quickens, and I can literally feel it throbbing beneath the tender skin at the base of my neck. My breaths hitch quietly nonstop — one after another. And I feel as though I'm going to be sick from the emotions tightening my chest.
I mentally try to free myself from the trance, but it feels nearly impossible.
No — I can't.
Not with the way his gaze is now fixed on me — staring and taking in every inch of my appearance, or whatever it is he’s so intent on observing. His expression is unreadable, as usual.
My fingers fumble restlessly in my lap, anxiety playing soccer and scoring goals against my composure.
God, why do I feel so nervous?
It’s just him here, no one else. I saw him last night, didn’t I?
There’s nothing new about him — aside from the fact that he’s currently dressed in a white long-sleeved shirt, complementing his pressed black trousers now hidden beneath the table.
Nothing else special. Or rather, breathtaking about him.
With this little encouragement, I suck in a gulp of air and exhale as quietly and unnoticeably as I can. But I think he noticed my anxiousness anyway, his eyes won't leave mine.
I recall his greeting when he passed me a moment ago, so I clear my throat before returning so as to make things less awkward, “Good morning.”
His face remains expressionless, but I see the smirk already creeping onto his lips, his soulless grey eyes glinting with mischief.
I frown and try to maintain eye contact — to show him that he doesn’t affect me as much as he believes he does — but it’s a fucking struggle. His stare is excruciating, the kind that makes you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.
I should probably look away before he notices how pathetic I am. How bothered I feel under his scrutiny.
Luckily, Carmen arrives from the kitchen, her presence swiftly breaking the tension between us, and I silently mumble thankful prayers for her timing.
“Good morning, brother,” she greets him as she begins placing the tray of desserts she’s brought from the kitchen.
Agnes helps with the arrangement on the table. And even though Carmen insisted I should not help, I still feel a pang of guilt for sitting idly by.
Maybe not exactly guilt. Maybe I’m just bored and need a distraction. From him.
My gaze drifts toward the desserts on the two separate trays — one carrying batches of churros with chocolate dips, the other displaying Swiss rolls and cake slices beautifully adorned with whipped cream and buttercream.
“Liora, do you enjoy churros too?” Carmen asks, prompting me to shift my gaze to her.
Not sure what she means, I nod — that’s all I ever seem to do, always nodding. Still, I reply, “Yeah, they’re great snacks, I think.”
She chuckles, straightening after setting down the last tray. “Well, they’re your husband’s favorite dessert. Lorenzo’s been obsessed with them since we were kids.”
I swallow a soft lump, absorbing this piece of information I didn’t ask for. Nonetheless, my gaze slides to the supposed churro lover — and sure enough, he’s already reaching for the tray.
How interesting.
“How about you?” I ask Carmen, surprising myself, and she glances at me.
“What about me?”
I look at her, my tone soft and genuinely curious. “What’s yours?” I gesture subtly towards the tray when she gives me a clueless look, "I mean your favorite dessert."
She then smiles and shrugs. “I don’t really have one, but I think I like Swiss rolls.”
“Uhm,” I murmur in acknowledgment.
“Do you have one?” Carmen continues as she subtly dismisses Agnes with a wave of her hand once they’re done.
“Not really.”
“But you do enjoy Swiss rolls, right?”
“Yeah, I do.”
She grins. “Great, because I made plenty. Since I wasn’t sure what you’d like, I also baked cake. Please, feel free,” she adds before taking her seat elegantly.
I offer a quiet nod as my gaze lowers to the meal she’s served me.
Thoughts run through my mind and I contemplate for a moment, staring at the food while the clinking of forks and spoons disrupts my thoughts.
Eventually, I pick up my cutlery and begin eating.
We eat in silence for barely a moment. And despite the strong aroma of the dishes, I still smell… him.
His scent is overpowering — intoxicating. And it's crazy how he doesn't need to do too much before I notice he's around me. Before he kills my senses and sane thoughts with his dominance.
Itching to know what he's doing — even though I can literally hear him eating — I subtly lift my gaze and cast him a glance, only to freeze when I meet his eyes directly.
Cold. Devoid of emotion. And absolutely terrifying.
My heart thumps.
The piece of bacon I was swallowing catches midway in my throat, and I start coughing — partly from the blockage, but mostly from the sheer intensity of his glare.
“Oh my goodness, are you okay?” Carmen asks worriedly, rising from her seat and passing me a glass of water.
I quickly reach for it, pulling my gaze away from him, and take a few sips until my coughing subsides.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Liora. Is it the food?” she asks, unaware that it was her brother’s lethal scrutiny that just shattered every ounce of my composure. I really wasn't expecting that.
Since I obviously can’t tell Carmen the truth, I shake my head gently at her concerns. “No, it’s not the food. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” Her blue eyes shimmer with concern, and I nod once more reassuringly.
I redirect my attention to my plate, feeling a wave of mortification crash over me and my damn curiosity. But that’s when I hear a light, deep chuckle from the head of the table.
I stiffen before raising my head to see amusement flickering across his expression.
Carmen immediately reprimands him.
“What’s so funny about her choking just now, Enzo?” she demands, and I’m surprised she can talk to him that way despite his dark reputation.
Well, I guess sibling privilege has no limits.
Lorenzo merely shrugs, taking a bite of his sugar-coated churro with nonchalance.
Carmen then darts her gaze to me. “Ignore him, Liora. He can be an asshole sometimes, but he’s cool when he wants to be.”
I nod. “Uhm, it’s okay.”
She gestures casually. “So, tell me more about yourself. How old are you?”
I sigh, adjusting in my seat, and ignoring the fleeting glance he sends my way while I focus on his sister — the better one between them.
“I’m twenty-seven,” I answer to Carmen and her brows raise with astonishment.
“Hmm, wow, we’re agemates. When’s your birthday?”
“March fifteenth,” I say, feeling a twinge in my chest since I’ve never really been fond of birthdays — they’re just reminders of a past I’d rather forget.
What happened between Sky and me ten years ago actually happened on my birthday. So every year when that day approaches, no matter how hard I try to bury it, it resurfaces and haunts me. And my sister’s constant reminders don’t make it any easier.
“Mine’s in September. September fourth,” Carmen says in the silence, then adds, “Lorenzo’s is in December.”
I fight the urge to glance at him just as Carmen asks further, “So, what do you do for a living?”
I reply, “I’m an aspiring model. But I currently —or rather, used to— work at a modeling agency in Los Angeles.”
Her eyes widen with surprise. “Really? That’s wild. Lorenzo owns a couple of modeling agencies in L.A. too. What’s the name of yours?”
I’m about to answer when Lorenzo suddenly clears his throat — the sound deep enough to feel like an interruption.
“Quit asking all these questions,” he mutters coldly. “She’s not in a fucking interview.”
Carmen shoots back at him, “I’m just getting to know her, asshole. Since you obviously won’t —and can’t— someone has to do it on your behalf.”
He says nothing more, but he’s effectively killed the conversation anyway.
I straighten in my chair, glancing at him —he’s not looking at me. His focus is on his phone now.
I shudder slightly when Carmen suddenly turns to me again and apologizes on his behalf. “Sorry, Liora. Never mind my brother—or rather, your husband.”
My teeth grit. He’s not my fucking husband. At least, not willingly.
Lorenzo’s gaze stays glued to his phone as I force a small smile for Carmen.
“It’s fine.”
“I know he can be quite cold and insufferable at times,” she continues, a bit emotional, “but trust me, he wasn’t always like this.”
She says it like the man she’s talking about isn’t sitting right here with us.
Being his sister clearly gives her the privilege to speak so freely and casually about him. Because nothing about Lorenzo Sorrentino is fucking casual.
He’s the kind of man who could put a bullet between someone’s eyes for saying a single wrong word.
But luckily for Carmen, she’s under his grace.
She continues softly, almost sadly, “My brother used to be… warm-hearted, you know. A little, but still." My curious eyes flicker between hers as she supplies, "After what happened to Lia—”
“Who’s Lia?” I interrupt.
She’s about to answer when Lorenzo’s fist slams against the table, the sound cutting through the air like a whip, silencing everything. Both literally and figuratively.
My insides curl.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snaps at his sister — to my utter disbelief.
He’s on his feet now, eyes blazing with fury. My heart pounds against my ribs at the sheer wrath radiating from him.
It’s not calm. It’s not controlled.
It’s pure, unfiltered anger.
All this — because of a name?
But who is Lia?
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring her up,” Carmen says quickly, trying to pacify him. “I was just—”
“Shut the hell up and never mention her again!” he growls. And I know it’s only that fragile thread of sibling bond that is saving Carmen from his rage.
My gaze flicks between them. I’m not stupid enough to play peacemaker. I’d be lucky not to get caught in the crossfire. Or worse, take one straight in the eye.
I don’t realize how violently my chest is heaving until his merciless eyes land on me, and I hiccup involuntarily, drowning in the excruciating intensity.
He scowls but doesn’t utter a word before shoving his chair aside and storming out of the dining room — his footsteps leaving a trail of his undiluted rage.
My heart hammers in their chambers as I try to process what the hell just happened.
This is the second time I’ve seen him go red in barely two weeks.
And to think his anger just now was directed at someone I thought he’d never hurt — someone I presumed was his soft spot.
If he could react this way to her… what about me? He had merely suppressed the murderous urge on Carmen?
What would he do the day I push him to this point?
Fuck this.
I don’t think I ever want to find out.
I only need to leave this place. And I need to leave FAST!