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He would have, if it were the only way to keep you safe,I hear the small voice in my head whisper, but I don’t want to believe that. I don’t want to believe that there’s no other choice. Before tonight, I didn’t even know that the Bratva existed. I didn’t know any of this—and I can’t believe that all this time, this shadowy fate has just been waiting for me. That I’ve been living out a plan for a life that was never going to exist.
I want to stop crying, to be the strong and resilient woman that I know my father would want me to be, but I can’t. I feel betrayed, helpless, completely at a loss as to what to do—and above all, exhausted beyond what my battered body can handle. And so, with tears still streaming down my face, I collapse onto the couch, curling into a ball as I close my eyes tightly.
Maybe when I wake up, this will all have been a terrible dream.
* * *
It’s almostdawn when a hand on my shoulder wakes me up. I see a sliver of the faintly-greying sky outside of the floor-to ceiling window in Luca’s living room, and then I sit up with a start, adrenaline flooding my body as I realize with a sinking pit in my stomach that none of it was a dream. I’m still in Luca Romano’s penthouse. Everything that happened last night was real.
“Sofia.”
I turn sharply at the sound of Ana’s voice. She’s sitting next to me on the couch, her hands in her lap. Her face looks drawn, tired and pale, and I realize that she was the one who woke me up.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, startled. “How did you--?”
Ana smiles tiredly. “Luca called me.”
“Luca—how did he know—”
“Sofia, Luca knows everything and everyone in this city.” Ana reaches out, patting my hand gently. “Come on. There’s got to be a way to make some coffee, if we can find the kitchen.”
I follow her as if in a daze, looking around for any sign of Luca. But he doesn’t appear as we make our way into the spacious kitchen, and I let myself relax just a fraction, taking in my surroundings at last without his suffocating presence.
The kitchen is as large as half our apartment, and sparkling clean, as if no one ever actually uses it.He probably doesn’t,I think grimly.He probably goes out for every meal, or has a private chef.No one with this kind of money cooks their own food.
The entire room is as luxurious and elegant as the bedroom that I woke up in last night, after Luca took me out of the hotel room. The counters are all sleek black granite, the floor polished white marbled tile, and the appliances are gleaming steel, shined to a high polish. The cabinets are hardwood, banded with iron, and the island is dark hardwood with a gleaming black granite top as well.I’m seeing a theme here.
It only takes a second to glimpse the ridiculously complex and expensive-looking coffeemaker, next to an espresso machine that looks equally expensive and unused. Ana makes a face as she pokes at them, peering at the dials. “I don’t know how to use any of this,” she admits. “Can’t the man just have a fucking Keurig?”
“No,” I say tiredly, sinking into a chair. “He’s richer than God, apparently.” After another few minutes of watching Ana try to figure out the coffeemaker, I sigh. “Ana, please. I don’t even want coffee. I just want to go home.”
To my shock, I see Ana’s eyes fill with tears as she turns to face me.
“You can’t,” she whispers, and I feel the pit in my stomach turn to ice.
I stand up, almost knocking the chair over in my haste. “Luca keeps saying that!” I exclaim, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “Why are you saying it too? Did he tell you to say that? Does he have something on you, to make you say that to me?”
“No!” Ana shakes her head, chewing on her lower lip as she dashes away the tears. “Sofia, please listen to me. Just—sit down, okay?”
I don’t want to sit down. I want to run out of this apartment, run all the way back to my own safe, warm bedroom, and pull the covers over my head. I want to go back to when I was a child, when I could disappear into my books and my violin and the safe, secure knowledge that my parents loved me, that they would always come home, that I had my whole life stretching out in front of me to be anyone that I wanted.
It was all a lie, I think, and I feel tears clog my throat again.I was never safe.
“Sofia, Luca isn’t lying to you.”
“How do you know?” I try not to yell, but I can hear my voice rising again, choked and panicked. “You’ve only knownmefor a few years, Ana! You don’t know anything about my family, or this promise Luca is claiming our parents made—”
“No,” Ana says calmly. She steps forward, gripping the back of one of the chairs. Her tearful blue gaze fixes on mine, and I can see in that moment that she’s just as frightened as I am—for me, or for herself, I can’t tell. “I don’t know anything about that, you’re right. He could be lying about all of that. But what he isn’t lying about is the danger that you’re in from the Bratva.”
I feel like I’m going to be sick. Last night, I’d thought that maybe Luca was exaggerating, that he was trying to frighten me into agreeing to the marriage. But now my best friend, the only person I trust in the world, is saying that it’s true. That I’m still in danger.
“I’m sorry,” Ana whispers. “I shouldn’t have taken you to that club last night. Maybe if they’d never seen you—”
I stare at her, still not quite able to believe it. Slowly, I sink back down into the chair across from her, trying to breathe. “Luca said it didn’t matter if I’d gone to the club or not. They’d have come for me eventually.” I look up at Ana, struggling to hold back tears. “They killed my father. It was the Bratva. I never knew that until last night, and now to find out this way—”
The tears start again, hot and overwhelming, and I bury my face in my hands.
“I’m so sorry, Sofia.” I feel Ana’s hand on my back, rubbing gently as she comes to stand next to me. She strokes my hair as I sob, making soft soothing noises. “Just get it out. It’s okay to cry.”
