Lorenzo had been busy the entire day, moving from one business meeting to the next. Work was his coping mechanism whenever he was angry, hurt, or stressed. And lately, he had been dealing with more than just those emotions since his last encounter with Ashley.
Or, to be more precise, his last known encounter. He had been secretly stalking Ashley for days.
Whenever work didn't distract him enough, he'd drive by Flynn Enterprise, park in a secluded spot, and wait for her to close work. He'd then follow her car from a distance, never getting too close, always careful not to be noticed. He knew all too well how much trouble he'd be in if she caught him.
But he couldn't risk not being be around should Incase christian tried anything funny again. He would never leave her out there alone again.
Carl had said he was losing his mind, and Lorenzo wouldn't argue with that. He was. Slowly.
But today was different. Preoccupied with other pressing matters, he hadn't been able to indulge in his usual surveillance. That didn't mean he hadn't ensured someone else did it for him.
Returning home after inspecting a new facility he was building for orphaned children transitioning to adulthood without a home, he drove straight to his bathroom to take a shower. The facility was the fifth he was constructing across five different cities.
Under the cold running water, his mind replayed Ashley's words—again, for the millionth time since that encounter:
"I hate you, Lorenzo."
"You're a selfish monster."
"The only thing I want is for you to stay away from me."
He didn't realize when he slammed his fist against the bathroom's ceramic wall, the pain spreading through him like a welcome distraction. He sank onto the chair beneath the rainfall shower, letting the cold water cascade over him in soothing torrents.
He couldn't stop thinking about the fact that she hated him. And worse, he couldn't stop thinking about how right she was.
No amount of charity work would erase the truth—that he was indeed a monster. Before, he had tried not to hate himself for it, he had tried to embrace it. But now... hearing it from the woman he still loved hit different.
He dragged his hand through his hair in frustration, briefly obstructing the water.
When he finally stepped out of the shower, he dried off, slipped into his briefs, and walked over to a secret drawer. There, he retrieved a book—one that contained a list of all his enemies. The judges, the cops, the boys… every family member they had. At the very bottom sat christian Harrington. The reason? Even after five years, he still hadn't found the perfect, slow way to kill him. But that didn't mean he hadn't been dismantling his life—piece by piece, before he even realized it.
Lorenzo stared at the list, mentally counting the names he had already dealt with and those still remaining. He began dressing, intending to pay a few of them a visit, when his phone rang, interrupting his thoughts.
Without hesitation, he sped to Vortex, a club on the city's outskirts that he owned. Border authorities had seized a shipment moving through one of his shipping companies, and now the owner of the product—Rafael Vincenzo, Lorenzo's boss–wanted to see him.
Lorenzo had no trouble getting past the heavy security, after all, the club belonged to him.
Moving through the crowd, his eyes landed on Nyema, who stood on stage, about to introduce the arrival of their exotic dancers. Without slowing down, he slipped into his VIP room, their usual meeting spot, where Rafael was already seated, casually smoking a thick joint.
As soon as he sat, both men got straight to the point. No pleasantries.
"I want the shipment recovered before they even get an idea what it is," Rafael said.
"I've already made calls, but this has never happened before. I suspect a betrayal." Lorenzo stated.
"Then find out who did it, and be fast about it," Rafael replied, puffing out a cloud of smoke.
"As long as the agencies still believe we only ship tequila, we're safe. That means the leak is internal. Until I solve this, this meeting stays between us."
Rafael stood, gave a curt nod, and walked out. His bodyguards followed from a distance, careful not to attract attention.
Lorenzo remained seated, fingers drumming against the table as he replayed the conversation in his mind. A leak. Someone within the gang had betrayed him. That much was clear. But who?
His jaw tightened. He had been careful—too careful—for something like this to happen by chance. If law enforcement had gotten wind of his shipment, it meant someone had either gotten sloppy or decided to sell him out.
He exhaled slowly, jiggling his knee. First, he had to confirm whether the authorities had genuinely seized the cargo or if this was just a scare tactic. Then, he'd start narrowing down the list of suspects.
His phone vibrated.
He frowned, hoping it wasn't more bad news. When he pulled it out, irritation swept through him as he read the text.
Carl: You're not gonna like this, but she wouldn't take no for an answer.
Attached was a blurry photo taken from across the club floor. Elara Vaughn. With Carl. And clearly drunk.
Lorenzo clenched his jaw. He already knew Carl had tipped her off. The bastard had been trying to get him to, as he put it, "stop wasting away over Ashley."
Before he could fire off a warning, the door swung open.
Carl stepped in with a shit-eating grin, and beside him was a stumbling, glassy-eyed Elara.
"Princess refused to leave me alone," Carl said, barely masking his amusement. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and slipped out, leaving Lorenzo with the unsteady, giggling woman.
Elara swayed, nearly toppling over, but Lorenzo caught her by the waist before she could hit the floor.
"You see," she slurred, looking up at him with unfocused eyes. "I knew you cared."
Lorenzo's grip tightened briefly before he set her upright. "What the hell are you doing here, Elara?"
Her fingers fisted into his shirt, holding on like he was the only thing keeping her from collapsing. "I just… I just wanna be loved, handsome."
Lorenzo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Elara…"
"I want to be loved by you," she murmured, poking his chest. And then, to his complete annoyance, her expression crumpled, and she started to cry.
"Fuck." He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. He made a mental note to murder Carl with a pillow in his sleep.
He tried guiding Elara toward the couch, but before they got there, she suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck and crashed her lips against his.
Lorenzo's body went rigid. A slow, burning anger simmered in his veins.
With a sharp breath, he wrenched his mouth away. And before he even realized it, his hand had shot up, gripping her throat in warning.
"I told you before," his voice dropped to something low and dangerous. "I can't give you what you want. Why is that so damn hard for you to understand?"
Elara's hands trembled against his wrist. "I—I'm sorry," she stammered, eyes wide with fear, tears still streaking her face.
His grip loosened instantly. With a sharp breath, he let go, stepping back.
"This is your last warning, Elara," he muttered, combing a frustrated hand through his hair. "If you pull something like this again, you will regret it."
He turned for the door, eager to leave the scene.
But then...
"It's my dad," Elara whispered behind him.
Lorenzo halted.
Elara sniffed, swaying slightly. "He's going to marry me off soon."
This time, her voice wasn't just drunk. It was scared.