Lorenzo's POVThe moment they called Vivienne's name, something warm settled in my chest.I watched her rise from her seat, graceful and poised, walking toward the stage like she'd been born for spotlights. The cream dress I'd had imported from Milan. The diamond earrings I'd given her for her eighteenth birthday. The confident tilt of her chin that reminded me, oddly, of myself.Twelve years.Twelve years since I'd carried a frightened eight-year-old out of that cold Italian orphanage. Twelve years of raising her, teaching her, shaping her into the woman she was today.And now she stood on stage, accepting the highest academic honor her university could bestow.Marcello, old friend. I hope I've done right by your daughter.The thought brought a familiar ache. Marcello had died in my arms, choking on blood, begging me to find his child and protect her. I'd sworn on my life that I would.Every tutor I'd hired. Every opportunity I'd created. Every door I'd opened for Vivienne—it was all
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