The hall door was wide open, flooding the room with brilliant light. Lorenzo stood there, casually seated in an armchair, one leg crossed over the other, as if he were in his own home. He slowly turned his head as we arrived, his emerald green eyes lingering on me just a little too long.
I felt Alessandro tense beside me, his fingers brushing the small of my back—a protective, almost possessive gesture. I still held Leo in my arms, his tiny, comforting weight pressed against my chest. I glanced briefly at my son, his eyelids closed, soothed by the innocent sleep that starkly contrasted with the heavy tension in the room.
Lorenzo, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, greeted us with a smile that was as warm as it was insincere. He rose slowly, his imposing stature betraying an irritating confidence. His gaze shifted to Leo, and a look of feigned admiration lit up his face.