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‘You’re not into that stuff?’ Sophia was becoming increasingly convinced that there was no peach juice in this place.
‘I mean, it’s fine. But like, you know, I’m more spiritual, I guess. Plus, I’mwaytoo Little for him. Not sure he’d be into a spiritual Little.’
‘Spiritual, huh?’
‘Do you like Tarot?’
Sophia looked up.
Esme was leaning on the bar, her chin in her hands. She had an excited look on her face.
‘I don’t know much about it,’ Sophia said.
‘Ooohhhhh, I should do a reading for you!’
That sounded kind of fun. It was always exciting to try new stuff, and Sophia could definitely use a new friend.
She opened her mouth and was about to answer when there was a loud noise. She shot up and looked out. The front door had been kicked open, and in walked two men. These men werenotbikers. Each of them wore a well-cut gray suit over a black turtle-neck sweater, almost like some kind of uniform.
Even though they were dressed like suave accountants, Sophia could see that they were stacked — their bodies seemed to be fighting to escape their clothes. More worryingly than that, though, they were both carrying guns. The weapons were nothing fancy, just a couple of modern, military-style pistols. But there was something chilling about just how confidently the two men held them, as though they were an extension of their arms.
The reaction from the bikers was instant. With unsettling calmness, they watched the two men who’d entered their bar. Sophia — whose body was locked-up with a chill she hadn’t felt for years — could tell that the men nearest the door were ready to spring into action. Wolf gave her a quick glance then held out his hand as though reassuring her that everything was going to be okay.
But when the third man walked into the bar, she knew that everything wasnotgoing to be okay.
Her Papa.
It had been ten years but he still looked just the same. Well, almost. His hair, which had always been jet-black, was now shot through with gray. There were many, many wrinkles around his eyes, on his forehead, around his mouth. The last time she’d seen her father, there had been a playfulness to his expression. But not today. Today it looked as though he hadn’t smiled for ten whole years.
He wasn’t wide anymore. That’s how she remembered him, as an imposing physical presence. Now, when he walked forward, he used a cane to steady himself.
His eyes, though. They burned just as bright. And they were looking straight at her.
‘Sophia,’ he said, his voice hoarse, a shadow of what it had once been.
Had she done this to him? Had she made him this way?
‘No,’ she said, desperately lying.
‘Don’t take another step,’ Wolf said, stepping out from behind the bar. The second he did so, the gangsters on either side of her dad held their guns a little more aggressively.
‘Please,’ her father said, ‘there’s no need for conflict. No need for violence. I’m here to give you an opportunity. I’ll explain, and then me and my gentlemen helpers will leave.’
‘Is this your father?’ Wolf said.
‘I am,’ Giovanni said, before Sophia had a chance to utter a word. Then, her father shook his head. ‘Sophia, what have they done to you?’ He held out his hands toward her. ‘You look like a common whore. So much make-up and that hair…’ He shrugged. ‘Your mother will be so disappointed.’
Just the mention of her mother was enough to bring tears to Sophia’s eyes. She’d missed her mother and brother so deeply that there had been times she’d considered going back home.
‘Is mom doing okay?’ she croaked.
‘How do you think she’s doing?’ Giovanni spat. ‘Abandoned by her daughter for ten years? She’s not the same as she was. Let’s just leave it at that.’
Marcus stepped forward. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I don’t have a quarrel with you. Nor does my organization. But this is a big day for us, so I’ll ask politely. State your opportunity, then leave.’
‘Ah. So you’re the man in charge?’
Marcus nodded. Sophia could feel his bravery as he stood up to the three figures in front of him.
