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“Are you going to stand there and watch me all day?” She glances over, shading her eyes against the sunlight. “Or are you going to run off now?”
Normally, I’d turn and walk away as fast as I can. I’ve come across Sophia in the house a few times over the last weeks, and I always hurry away when she tries to engage me. Evander made it clear that Sophia and her mother aren’t to be messed with, and the memory of that first dinner is still fresh in my head.
But for some reason, I stick around. Maybe it’s the streak of mud under her eye or how small she looks kneeling in the grass, but she doesn’t terrify me. Not right now at least.
“I didn’t know you were into gardening.” I walk toward her slowly.
She gets to her feet, takes off her gloves, and wipes her hands on her thighs. “It’s cathartic. Normally, only Aunt Dimitra comes out here, but I guess you’ve ruined even the gardens for me.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean—” I stop my apology with a sharp breath. “Actually, no, I’m not sorry.”
Sophia’s eyebrows arch. “You should be.”
“I’m still not.” I step forward, but not before glancing back to make sure Alonzo’s nearby. He’s at a polite distance but watching. Apparently, I’m still a coward at heart. “I live here too, you know.”
Sophia lets out a little laugh. “Oh, I’m very aware. As much as I’d love to forget you exist, it has been exceedingly hard.”
“Why do you hate me so much?”
“Aside from the fact that you married my cousin, the man I despise most in this world, you’re also the ex-wife of an Italian Capo. You’re the enemy. Are you surprised I feel this way?”
I shake my head. “I’m not the enemy. I hate those people.”
“Good for you. Unfortunately, you are what you are, and nothing can change it.”
“You put Hector and Zale up to that little kidnapping scheme, didn’t you?” The words rush out before I can stop them. “You’ve been trying to convince the other captains that I’m a problem since the moment I showed up here, and they’re the ones that bought in, didn’t you?”
Sophia checks her nails. Despite looking like a farmer’s daughter, her French tips are immaculate. “I plead the fifth,” she says, smile telling me everything I need to know.
“It won’t work. Evander won’t let you get away with it. And you know what? No matter what you do, I’m not going back, because nothing will be worse than what I went through with my ex-husband.”
She tilts her head curiously. “It was that bad, wasn’t it? Bad enough to put up with all this?”
I hesitate, not sure how to interpret that. There’s a hint of humanity in her tone, the barest suggestion of pity, but I don’t want that from her. I don’t want it from anyone.
“It was bad enough that I risked my life to run out on him with nothing but the shoes on my feet.” I don’t mention that those were thousand-dollar sneakers. It’s a minor detail. “It was bad enough that when I met your cousin and he offered to protect me, I accepted, because how could a stranger be any worse?”
“Is that how Evander convinced you to marry him?” She laughs quietly to herself. “It seemed rushed, but now I understand. Only I wonder what he’s getting in return. I suppose it’s not something I want to hear about. You are somewhat attractive in that ugly Italian way.”
I flush red. What a bizarre insinuation. “You have it wrong.”
“Maybe.” She shrugs. “Not that I care.”
I grind my teeth. She’s trying to get a rise out of me on purpose, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier, because it’s working. “We have a lot in common, you know. The men in our lives did everything they could to ruin us.”
“The difference is you married my abuser. What did I do to you?”
“Why are you like this?” I explode, unable to help myself, spreading my hands wide. “Evander told me what happened. He told me about your father, and Dimitra, and Evander’s father, and the whole sick triangle of their twisted relationship, and how Evander’s your half—”
“Enough,” she says sharply, pulling into herself like she’s preparing to spring. “Shut your goddamn mouth. You don’t know anything at all.”
I let out a slow breath. My stupid mouth got me in trouble again and I went too far. And to think I’ve been so good lately. “Can you really blame him for what happened?”
She stares at me for a few seconds, not speaking, composing herself. Her back straightens and her chin lifts. She watches me down her nose, looking hard. Finally, she breaks the tense silence, just as I’m thinking about walking away.
“You want to know the sick thing? When I first heard about what happened to my father, I wasn’t even upset. I thought, great, another dead Kazan. I wasn’t even sad, isn’t that so wrong? It wasn’t until I heard aboutmy brother, and how it all happened, that I got angry, so fucking angry. Now it’s like that anger’s all I have. It’s the only thing keeping the grief back.”
“Is that how your mother feels too?”
