“That wasn’t my brother,” I snap.
“Didn’t say it was.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem,” he says, setting the cup down, “is that the minute you touch that phone, someone else touches you. The mayor, his friends, the men who tried to kill you—take your pick. I’m not giving them another breadcrumb.”
My jaw locks. “You’re not givingmea choice.”
“That’s right.”
The silence stretches tight again. I can feel the pulse in my temple, still sore.
Finally, I push. “How would you feel if you couldn’t contact Sofia?”
That gets him. His shoulders tense, the slightest twitch in his jaw. I know I’ve hit the right nerve.
His gaze slides to me, dark and unreadable. For a second, I think he’s going to walk away—but he doesn’t. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out my phone.
“I’m giving you five minutes,” he says, crossing the room. “You’ll make your calls here. In front of me.”
I open my mouth to argue, but his tone cuts through the air. “Don’t mistake kindness for weakness, Bella.”
The name hits differently when he says it. Low. Rough. Personal.
He gestures toward the couch. “Sit.”
I sit mostly because I don’t have another option.
He hands me the phone. The lock screen lights up with a dozen missed calls—Danny, Dad, Casey, my editor. The sight of it almost makes me dizzy with relief.
I call my father first.
He answers on the second ring. “Isabella?Dio mio, where have you been? The news—Danny said there was a shooting—and now we can’t reach you.”
“I’m okay, Dad. I’m fine.”
“Fine?” His voice breaks. “You disappear and you’refine?”
“I’m safe,” I say carefully, watching Dante from the corner of my eye. “I can’t say where, but I promise I’m safe.”
My father exhales shakily. “You sound tired.”
“I am.”
“Come home. Please.”
“I can’t,” I whisper.
He goes quiet. I can almost picture him rubbing his temples like he always does when I make him worry. “This story—this isn’t worth your life,figlia mia.”
“It’s the truth,” I say softly.
“Then let someone else tell it.”
I close my eyes. “I love you, Dad. Tell Danny I’ll call him next.”
When I hang up, Dante’s watching me—studying every breath.
