As they packed the last of their things to leave Bogliasco and fly to Morocco, Sofia’s phone rang.
Jamie.
Ilias knew that name showing up would ruin whatever peace she’d been holding onto.
The statement they had posted had been making noise online for two days straight. He hadn’t opened Instagram once. Neither had Sofia. From what Alejandra—already en route to South Africa for the next USL event—had reported, people were split. Some supported them. Some called them liars. Others simply moved on.
Classic internet.
Sofia was sitting on the couch that faced the garden, the phone flat in her hand. She put it on speaker. The house was quiet, unnervingly so. Maria had left with Gabriella and the twins to Milan. José and Marina had flown with their sons to South Africa. Which left just him and Sofia, waiting on a late afternoon flight to Agadir.
“What do you want, Jamie?” Sofia said. Her voice was cold steel. No softness left.
The funeral had been over for two days. And with horrible timing, TerraVive had sent their final email: contract terminated, full repayment required. Without hesitation, Sofia had sent back every cent. According to her accountant, and then double checked by one of the nerd trio, Salacia was booming and they didn’t need TerraVive to continue doing so. Her personalbrand was still thriving, which prompted tons of sponsors to contact her directly. A couple of brands had reached out to both of them, like vultures, trying to get what TerraVive had lost—a very good reputation. But in reality, all of that didn’t seem to matter. Not to him. Not to Sofia.
“We received the payment,” Jamie said flatly.
“Great,” Sofia replied. “An email would’ve been fine.”
Jamie hesitated. Then: “Listen. I think I overreacted. There’s been constant pressure from Whitmore to drop you both and—”
“No.” Sofia snapped. “No excuses. The money’s back in your precious bank account. Our deal’s done. You don’t get to backpedal just because you’re finally taking heat for how you treated us.”
“We’re losing money,” Jamie admitted, through gritted teeth.
Ilias slid down next to her and wrapped his arm over her shoulders. She leaned into him instinctively. That small movement was everything.
“Are you?” he said, voice calm, but sharp underneath. “My sister told me TerraVive’s losing other athletes. I’m not surprised. A brand that built itself on compassion, on humanity, suddenly cold the moment grief didn’t fit your timeline. And if you are losing money, then the 200k you asked back to Sofia will definitely help.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Sofia. I didn’t know—”
“Fucking bullshit,” Ilias growled. His hands clenched. “You knew. I told you. Sofia told you. I remember your exact words:‘He hasn’t died yet, so what’s the problem?’You really want to stand there now and pretend you didn’t say it? What happened to the sympathy you had for me when my father died? What changed between then and now?”
“I told you. Whitmore. He threatened to cut us off. I was under pressure—”
Sofia shook her head, staring out the window. He could feel her vibrating with rage.
“Do you feel like a shitty person now, Jamie?” she asked, her tone bone-dry. “Because using Thomas as an excuse for everything doesn’t work. As much as he could blackmail you, TerraVive is big enough to stand on its own. The board and you have decided to let him threaten you, and now you are losing clients, brand deals, for what? Are you for real when you say that’s all Thomas’ fault? I can’t stand that man, but you are all people with a mind of your own, experiences of your own, and when it came to my grief, you’ve downplayed it. If that’s how you do business, I don’t want to talk with you anymore.”
There was a pause. Then, Jamie continued, “I could’ve handled things better.”
“Do you want to redeem yourself with us? With me?” Ilias asked, exchanging glances with Sofia who nodded.
“I’d like to try to make amends,” Jamie said after another long pause.
“You’re going to get an email from us,” Sofia interjected. “It has a number. A London-based lawyer. You’re going to call and tell them exactly what Thomas Whitmore said to you. That he pressured you into dropping us. That he weaponized your company’s name to come after us.”
There was a pause. “I—I’ll try. I’m sorry.”
Sofia ended the call without even saying goodbye and tossed the phone into the pillows beside her. She leaned into his chest like she needed to anchor herself there.
“Che vada a fanculo,” she whispered. For the little Italian he had learned, that was clearly a way to tell Jamie to fuck herself.
“At least she sounded guilty,” he muttered.
“Did she?” she sounded skeptical. “Because to me, that was guilt because things didn’t go as she had planned.” Then, after a pause, “I just need Thomas to fuck off too and disappear.”
“The nerd trio will bury him,” Ilias said, rubbing her shoulder. “And once we get to Imsouane, we’ll gather what we need. Proof. Witnesses. Something that sticks.”
