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Sofia
I’m in the kitchen, peeling a tangerine from the fruit bowl that’s always mysteriously full—the pantry and the refrigerator are always full of food too, despite the fact that neither Luca nor I ever cook—when I hear the front door open and shut with a hard slam.
My stomach knots. I’ve been nauseated all day, my head aching and stomach churning from the hangover that resulted after my binge drinking yesterday, but this is something different. I’m almost certain Luca is home, and the feeling that sweeps over me is strange and unfamiliar. It feels like fear mixed with excitement. While I can certainly understand the fear, I can’t come to terms with why his arrival sends a thrill through me as well, making me feel almost jittery.
It’s almost as if I’m anticipating the fight we might have, the way he’ll loom over me with anger, the taut, thick air between us as the tension builds. I never thought I would be someone who would get off on that sort of thing, but something about the way Luca and I clash makes me want more of it, no matter how much I tell myself I don’t.
“Sofia? Sofia!”
I hear him call my name from the living room, loud and commanding, and I walk out of the kitchen tentatively, my heart thudding in my chest. I don’t know what sort of mood he’s in, but I have a feeling I’m about to find out.
The lights in the living room are low, the room dim and lit mainly by the nighttime glow of the city coming in through the massive window. Luca is standing there, silhouetted by it, his suit jacket gone and his shirtsleeves rolled up. When he turns at the sound of my footsteps, I can see that he’s already discarded his tie as well, the first two buttons of his shirt open. It reminds me of how he’d looked just before he left, when he told me the new terms of my living situation, and a shiver runs over my skin.
“You didn’t come home last night.” There’s a slight quaver in my voice, and I hate it. “Where were you?”
“Does it matter?” His voice is tight and cold, and it sends another shiver through me.
“I don’t know.” I chew on my lower lip. “I just—I thought you’d be home.”
“I thought you’d enjoy the peace.” Luca’s tone is deceptively calm, and I know by now that there must be something else beneath it. “Can’t a husband worry about his wife’s well-being?”
“You’re not that kind of husband,” I retort. “And you know it.”
“No. I suppose I’m not.” Luca hits the lights, bringing them up a fraction. “Were you a good girl while I was gone, Sofia?”
My heart stutters in my chest.Does he know?I haven’t been a “good girl” in many ways—I didn’t read a word of what was left on the iPad for me, I got blind drunk, I…
I can’t even think about what I did in the movie room, or I’ll blush, and then Luca will know for certain that I’ve done something I shouldn’t.
And why shouldn’t I have?I think defiantly. After all, it’s my body. But it’s not what I did that I feel guilty about. It’s what I thought about while I was doing it.WhoI thought about.
He takes a step towards me, and the way he moves makes me think of a prowling panther, something stalking me in the half-light of the room. “What about your lessons? Did you read what Carmen sent over?”
“I—”
“What’s the name of the underboss for Miami?”
“Um—”
“Leo Esposito.” Luca stops, still several inches away. “What about his wife?”
“I—”
“Bianca Esposito. They have three children.” He recites it from memory, his green gaze fixed on mine. I can see something there—not desire, not quite anger. Something else, some restless emotion. “What about the underboss for Philadelphia?”
“Luca—”
“Angelo Rossi. He’s young and unmarried.” Luca takes two more steps towards me, and I can see the muscles working in his jaw. “Did you even look at the documents, Sofia?”
“I—no,” I admit, my mouth going dry at the expression on his face. “I didn’t.”
“And why not?” There’s that deceptive calmness as if he truly doesn’t care. But I know he does. I know there’s a storm brewing; I just don’t know when it will hit.
There’s nothing I can say. I didn’t want to, and that’s the only honest answer I can give. But I know that’s the worst possible thing I could say to Luca. “I didn’t know the password.”
“It was left for you. On a note stuck to the iPad. Carmen told me.”
“It must have fallen off.”
