Page 67 of Porcelain Lies

“I said enough.” The words come out sharp enough to make her flinch. “Sofia will never know about him. Never.”

Diana rises, smoothing her skirt with practiced grace. “You can’t protect him forever by keeping him hidden.”

The truth in her words stings, but I push it aside. “Watch me.”

She opens her mouth to argue further, but something in my expression makes her pause. With a slight shake of her head, she stands smoothly and turns toward the house. “Just don’t do anything stupid,brat.” She tosses her cigarette on the floor and stubs it out with the toe of her shoe before moving off.

The tension coils tighter in my muscles as I watch her leave. Too much energy, too many thoughts circling like vultures. I need to move, to burn out this restless anger before it consumes me.

The gym calls to me — my private sanctuary where problems can be reduced to sets and reps. Where I can pound these frustrations into submission until my body is too exhausted to think about Sofia, about Diana’s warnings, about any of it.

I head for the basement stairs, already pulling off my shirt. The familiar scent of leather and metal welcomes me as I descend. Here, at least, everything makes sense.

The weights slam together as I power through another set, sweat dripping onto the rubber mat below. My muscles burn, but I push harder. One more. Then another. Each rep driven by Sofia’s shrill accusations echoing in my head.

“I know when you’re hiding something…”

The bar crashes down. I add more plates, ignoring the protest in my shoulders. The woman from the charity event flashes through my mind once again — her vulnerable eyes, the soft curve of her neck. The memory only makes me grip the metal harder.

Diana’s words cut through next.“You can’t protect him forever…”

A growl escapes as I drive upward, veins standing out on my forearms. The tattoos ripple with each movement — ink marking victories, losses, promises of vengeance. My body knows this language of pain and power.

The familiar ache spreads through my chest and arms, but it’s not enough. Not yet. I need to push until these thoughts dissolve, until there’s nothing left but the burn of exertion.

“The Novikovs have connections we need…”

My jaw clenches. Another set. Faster now. Sweat stings my eyes, but I don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not until this restless energy is beaten into submission.

Finally, my arms give out. The weights crash onto the safety bars with a deafening clang. I collapse onto the bench, chest heaving, mind blissfully empty except for the sound of my own ragged breathing.

In this moment of clarity, one truth emerges: I don’t need the Novikovs. I don’t need anyone. Everything I’ve built, I’ve done on my own terms. And that’s how it will stay.

I towel off and head back to my room, phone already in hand. Sofia’s perfume still hangs in the air, making my nostrils twitch. I yank open the windows, letting the breeze clear out her scent.

“Sasha. Status update.” I pull a fresh suit from the closet while he reports.

“Still no sign of Nico, but we’ve traced some unusual transfers through Gianni’s accounts.”

“Interesting.” I lay out a black Tom Ford jacket, examining it for lint. “How unusual?”

“He recently made a withdrawal.”

My hand stills on the fabric. “When?”

“Yesterday. In cash.”

I process this, methodically selecting a tie. “Have someone watch Maranzano. Closely. And get me everything on his recent movements.”

“Already done, boss.”

“Good.” I end the call, scowling as my phone buzzes with a text. It’s from Diana.

“You’re making a mistake with Sofia.”

I delete it without responding.

I shoot off instructions to my security team about tonight’s arrangements, doubling the usual personnel. With a guest list that includes most of the city’s biggest names, the last thing we need is a breech.

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