Chapter 20 - Sofia #2
The normalcy of it all makes me want to scream. Here's my family, whole and warm and worried about me, while I sit here knowing I deleted intelligence that could improve their lives, strengthen our hold over the city. Knowing I chose their enemy over them.
God, I hope I find the strength to stay here, to let that midnight deadline come and go, and then settle back into my own life.
"So," Marco says once everyone's served, his voice carrying that particular gravity that signals the shift from family to business. "Tell us about the compound."
The table quiets, even baby Antonia seeming to sense the change. All eyes turn to me: my brothers who trust me, their wives who welcomed me, this family I'm about to betray with every word.
I recite what I've prepared, accurate enough to be believable, vague enough to be useless. Guard rotations that Alexei has already changed. Security protocols he updated the moment I left. I give them the bones while keeping the meat for myself, for him.
"The compound is a fortress," I say, cutting my pasta mechanically. "Three levels of security. Electronic locks on everything."
"Weak points?" Nico asks, but his eyes are on my hands, watching how they tremble slightly around my fork.
"The east side has older cameras. Slight delay in the coverage." A truth that will be false by tomorrow; Alexei mentioned upgrading them this week.
"And Volkov himself?" Marco's voice stays neutral but his eyes are sharp. "His state of mind?"
Devoted. Obsessed.
"Controlled. Strategic." I force myself to meet his eyes. "He's grieving his brother still. It drives everything he does."
"Is he…" Alessandro pauses, unusual for him. "Is he hurting you?"
The question hangs over the table like a blade. Everyone waits: Ana's hand stilling on Antonia's back, Faith's fingers finding Luca's, Eleanor leaning forward slightly.
"No." The word comes out steadier than expected. "He needs me alive. For leverage."
But that's not why. He needs me alive because he needs me, period.
"There's more you're not telling us," Marco observes, setting down his wine.
"There's always more," I say, forcing myself to take another bite. "I'm still gathering information."
"Speaking of," Alessandro interjects, and I've never been more grateful for his timing. "Did I tell you about the Detroit situation?"
"The one with the shipping container?" Luca perks up, that manic gleam in his eyes.
"Better. There was a goat."
Eleanor laughs. "There was not a goat."
"There was absolutely a goat." Alessandro grins, settling into his story. "So this supplier, right? He thinks he's clever. Says the shipment is delayed because of 'livestock complications.' I'm thinking he means the port authority found something, maybe dogs sniffing around."
"But?" Faith prompts, already smiling.
"But he literally had a goat. In the container. With our weapons." Alessandro's green eyes sparkle with mirth. "This goat, I swear to God, had eaten through three crates and was working on the fourth when we opened it."
"You're making this up," Eleanor insists, but she's laughing.
"Luca was there!"
Luca nods solemnly. "There was indeed a goat. I wanted to keep it."
"Of course you did," Dante signs, eye-rolling evident in his expression.
"What? It had spirit. It ate three crates of evidence. That's impressive."
"We are not keeping a goat," Marco says, but there's the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
"You never let me have any fun," Luca pouts, actually pouts, this man who has a master's degree in chemistry and uses it primarily for creative torture methods.
"You have seventeen knives," Dante signs.
"Knives aren't pets, Dante."
"Neither are goats!"
The laughter that erupts around the table is so normal, so purely us, that for a moment I forget everything else. Forget that I'm lying to them. Forget that I chose their enemy. Forget that this might be the last time I sit at this table.
But then I catch Nico watching me, see him note how I'm not really eating, just moving food around my plate. See him clock the way I keep touching my throat where Alexei's fingers left their invisible brand. See him see everything I'm trying to hide.
"I need some air," I say suddenly, pushing back from the table.
"I'll come with you," Nico says immediately.
Marco looks between us, reading the situation with those dark eyes that miss nothing. But he nods. "Ten minutes. We're not done talking."
The terrace doors close behind us, cutting off the warm chaos of family.
The Chicago night is thick with humidity, the air tasting of coming storm.
I move to the stone railing, gripping it hard enough that the rough surface bites into my palms, a small pain to focus on instead of the larger one crushing my chest.
"You've lied to me twice," Nico says without preamble. No warm-up, no gentle approach. Just straight to the heart of it. "On the phone. And just now at dinner."
I don't turn. Can't face those hazel eyes that have seen every evolution of who I am. "Nico—"
"We have a pact, Sof. Nine years of nothing but truth between us." His voice carries the weight of all those dawn training sessions, all those shared silences, all those moments when we were each other's only safe harbor. "Why are you breaking it now?"
The words sit between us like a blade, sharp and undeniable. I think about that night when I was sixteen, shaking apart from nightmares about blood and Russian voices, and Nico holding me together with just his presence and a promise of honesty.
"I can't," I whisper.
"You mean you won't."
"I mean I can't." My voice cracks. "Because telling you changes everything between us."
"Something already has changed." He moves beside me, and I catch his reflection in the dark window: tired, concerned, already mourning what we're losing. "I can't lose you," Nico whispers. "Not to him. Not to anyone."
"You won't lose me. I'm still your sister. Still the girl who can't whistle and does bird calls instead."
He almost laughs. Almost.
"If he hurts you—"
"Then you'll storm the compound with Luca and his goat. I know."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." I squeeze his hand. "I have to go back. And you have to let me. I’ve escaped several times, I can escape again if I need to."
Another lie.
"Will you at least… tell me if you're in danger? Real danger?"
"Yes." This, at least, isn't a lie. "That promise I'll keep."
He pulls me into a hug. Tight. Desperate.
"I love you, little bird."
"I love you too."
And I'm so sorry for all the ways I'm going to break your heart.