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Chapter 31
Sophia
As the days passed since the revelation of Matteo's involvement in the mafia, I found myself in a whirlwind of emotions.
I still couldn't believe the man I had fallen in love with was deeply entrenched in such a dangerous world. It was surreal, like a plotline from a movie, but this was our reality.
I knew that I needed time to process everything, to come to terms with the harsh truths he had shared with me, and so, I decided to continue working, at least until the bump of my growing pregnancy became well and visible.
It was a small way to maintain some semblance of normalcy in my life, to keep the routines I had known before this chaos descended upon me.
Working from home had become the new normal for me. Matteo had insisted that it was for my safety, and while I understood his concerns, the constant reminders of the dangers lurking outside began to wear on my nerves. At times, I was irked by the very thought of it all.
A part of me couldn't help but wonder if I should have never crossed paths with Matteo. Perhaps then, my life would have remained uncomplicated without the looming threats and the shadow of the mafia hanging over us.
But deep down, I knew that regret was a fruitless emotion. I had chosen to stand by Matteo and continue to do so for our child's sake.
I had to admit that even though I wasn't entirely comfortable with the whole mafia situation, there was something undeniably reassuring about Matteo's commitment to my safety.
As the days passed, I couldn't help but appreciate the lengths he was going to.
Our home had transformed into a fortress, with an increased security presence that left me feeling both safe and slightly claustrophobic.
But whenever I saw Matteo making those seemingly urgent phone calls or discussing matters with his trusted associates, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the gravity of his responsibilities.
While I continued to work from the safety of our home, Matteo's dedication and determination to protect me created an undeniable sweetness that touched my heart, even amidst the chaos of our circumstances.
As for my relationship with Matteo, it had undeniably taken a complicated turn since the revelation of his involvement in the mafia.
Feelings I'd thought I could suppress still lingered, stubbornly refusing to fade away. It was frustrating, to say the least.
I understood the weight of his responsibilities and the revenge he sought for his father's murder, but it didn't make our situation any less awkward.
Strangely, I found myself empathizing with his predicament. I would likely do the same if I were in his shoes, seeking retribution for my father's death.
The thirst for justice was a powerful force. At the same time, it was difficult to comprehend how his flesh and blood uncle could betray their family in such a despicable manner.
Our interactions had become strained, almost as if we were navigating uncharted territory. On one hand, Matteo was perpetually occupied with the secretive world of the mafia, leaving us with limited time to see each other.
On the other hand, when we did cross paths, the atmosphere felt stilted, as if we'd forgotten how to be comfortable around one another.
It was as though we were walking on eggshells, afraid to say or do anything that might exacerbate the already fragile situation.
My phone chimed with an incoming message, disrupting the momentary peace I'd found in my work. I picked it up, curiosity mixed with a hint of unease, as I saw that the message was from an unknown number.
I furrowed my brows, contemplating whether this might be a new number Keisha was using. She'd mentioned considering a change recently, but as I read the message, the sense of unease grew into a knot of dread deep within me.
The message was not from Keisha; it was a veiled threat to mock my parents' death. It insinuated that their deaths, which I had always believed were tragic accidents, were not accidental but part of a sinister plan.
The words cut like a knife, and a cold shiver ran down my spine.
I re-read the message, my hands trembling slightly, trying to make sense of it. Who could be sending such a message, and why? My phone dropped from my hand onto the table.
I sat there, my thoughts jumbled, trying to make sense of the words that had just landed like bombshells.
The room felt stifling, and my breathing grew shallow as I replayed the message's veiled implications.
Could it be true? Could my parents' deaths have been something other than the tragic accident I had believed them to be all these years?
