Page 225 of The Devil's Thorn
Lorenzo’s lips twitched in what might’ve passed for a smile in another lifetime. “Appearances are what keep blood from staining white marble, Romanov. I thought you would’ve learned that by now.”
“Marble washes clean,” Rafael replied smoothly. “But rot runs deep.”
I felt it—the weight behind every word, every glance. This wasn’t casual small talk. This was war dressed in etiquette. Ice beneath velvet. It wasn’t about what they were saying—it was about what they weren’t. And still—still—I stood there, invisible between them.
Until I wasn’t.
Lorenzo’s eyes flicked to me briefly—dismissive at first, like a flick of light catching on glass. And then… they paused. Shifted. Lowered. His gaze landed on my wrist.
And I saw it—thepause. The subtle stilling of his features, like the world narrowed into a single frame.
My mother’s bracelet. The one I hadn’t taken off since I was sixteen. Gold, delicate, with a tiny enamel rose at the center—worn and slightly faded, but still intact.
Lorenzo stared at it. And then, without a word, he took my hand. Not gently. His fingers wrapped around my wrist and lifted it, turning it slightly so the bracelet caught the light.
I stiffened instantly, the intrusion sharp and jarring. His touch wasn’t intimate. It was clinical. Searching. Like he wasn’t seeingmeat all—just something I was holding.
“This…” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “I’ve seen this before.”
My voice was low. Controlled. Lethal. “Let go.”
He didn’t. Not right away. His thumb brushed against the edge of the rose, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to drag a memory from a place he’d long buried.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, still not looking at me—really looking at me.
I yanked my hand back, ripping it from his grasp hard enough that my elbow jerked. “From someone worth remembering,” I said coldly.
He blinked, and for the first time, truly looked at me. And I saw it—a flicker. Barely there. Not recognition. But something like… confusion.
His brow furrowed, subtle but visible. “What was her name?”
I didn’t answer. Not because I didn’t want to. But because it wasn’t his right to know.
“You don’t get to ask me questions,” I said, voice hard now, something bitter building at the back of my throat. “You don’t even know my name.”
He stared at me like he might argue. But he didn’t. Instead, he straightened slowly, withdrawing his hand, his mouth tightening into something unreadable.
“She must’ve meant something to you,” he said.
My jaw clenched. “She meant everything.”
Lorenzo didn’t respond right away. For a second—just a heartbeat—I saw something pass behind his eyes. Not regret.Nothing as soft as that. But somethingold. Something unearthed. Then it was gone.
“You wear her memory like armor,” he said.
“And you carry yours like it never mattered.”
His jaw twitched. For a moment, I thought Rafael might step in—but he stayed silent, letting me stand my ground. Letting me own the moment.
Lorenzo exhaled. “I bet you’ve got her fire.”
“Respectfully, I don’t intend to entertain this conversation,” I snapped.
His eyes darkened, but not with rage. With silence. The kind that left too much unsaid.
And then—just like that—he turned. Whatever thought had flickered in him, it was buried again. Locked behind years of practiced detachment and layers of power he wielded like a second skin.
But he didn’t leave without one last parting shot. He looked at Rafael, his tone casual but sharp. “She speaks for you now?”
