Chapter 8
Sofia
I wake to the sound of Luca's phone buzzing on the nightstand. Sunlight streams through the windows, painting the room in a soft, golden glow. For a moment, I forget where I am. Then it all comes rushing back—the fire, the devastation, and the night spent in Luca's arms. The memory of how he claimed my body sends a shiver down my spine.
Luca Del Toro stirs beside me, his arm tightening around my waist. “Ignore it,” he mumbles, nuzzling into my hair. His breath is warm against my neck, and I'm tempted to do just that, to lose myself in his embrace and forget about the world outside.
But curiosity gets the better of me. I reach for his phone, intending to silence it, when a text notification catches my eye:
“I was beginning to think you didn’t have it in you. Thanks for taking care of our little restaurant problem. Owe you one.” It’s from Dominic Esposito.
My blood runs cold. I read the message again, hoping I've misunderstood. But the words remain unchanged, stark and damning on the screen.
“Luca,” I say, my voice trembling. “What is this?”
He sits up instantly, alert at my tone. When he sees his phone in my hand, his face pales. The look in his eyes—a mix of panic and guilt—tells me everything I need to know before he even opens his mouth.
“Sofia, I can explain—”
“Explain what?” I push away from him, scrambling out of bed. The silk sheets that had felt so luxurious last night now seem to cling to me, trapping me. “That you had my restaurant burned down? That this was all some sick game to you?”
Luca reaches for me, but I flinch away. The hurt that flashes across his face almost makes me waver. Almost. “No, Sofia, it's not like that. Please, let me explain—”
But I can't hear him over the roaring in my ears. Everything I thought I knew about Luca, about us, comes crashing down around me. The past few weeks play out in my mind like a movie, every scene now tainted with suspicion. “I trusted you,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. “I let you in, I let myself believe—”
“Sofia, please,” Luca pleads, getting out of bed. He's wearing nothing but his boxers, and I force myself to look away, to not remember how it felt to be held by him. “It's not what you think. Dominic is—”
“I don't want to hear it!” I snap, grabbing my clothes and hastily putting them on. My hands shake as I button my shirt, and I hate myself for the weakness. “God, I'm such an idiot. Was this your plan all along? Make me fall for you just to destroy everything I care about?”
Luca's face contorts with pain. “No, I would never—” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “Sofia, you have to believe me. I had nothing to do with the fire. I would never hurt you like that.”
But I'm beyond listening. It's all too much. I grab my purse and head for the door, my heart pounding so hard I think it might burst out of my chest.
“Sofia, wait!” Luca calls after me. I hear him fumbling for his clothes, but I don't turn back. I can't bear to look at him, to see the man I thought I knew—the man I was falling in love with—and reconcile him with this.
I flee his penthouse, tears blurring my vision as I hail a cab. The driver gives me a concerned look in the rearview mirror, but I manage to choke out my address. As we drive through the city, I watch the familiar streets pass by, wondering how everything could have changed so drastically in just one night.
Back in my apartment, I collapse on my bed, feeling utterly defeated. How could I have been so blind? So stupid? I'd let myself fall for Luca, believing he was different, that he truly cared about me. Was it all just a big plan to destroy me?
With shaking hands, I call my sister. “Gia? Can I stay with you for a while?”
An hour later, I'm throwing clothes into a suitcase, tears blurring my vision. A knock at the door makes me freeze.
“Sofia? Baby, please talk to me.”
Luca's voice, usually so comforting, now sends a chill down my spine. I open the door but leave the chain on. “I can't do this right now, Luca. I need some time.”
His eyes are wild with worry. “Where are you going? Let me help you.”
I shake my head. “I'm staying with Gia for a while. I just... I need to think.”
“Think about what?” His voice is low, dangerous. “Sofia, you can't possibly believe I had anything to do with the fire.”
But I say nothing, and my silence speaks volumes.
Luca's face hardens. “You're not leaving. It's not safe. Not until we know if the fire was intentional or not.”
I straighten my spine, meeting his gaze. “You don't get to decide that, Luca. Besides, if anyone wanted to hurt me, wouldn’t I be safer staying somewhere else?”
“Then stay with me.” It’s not a question.
We stare at each other for a long moment, the air thick with tension. Finally, Luca steps back. “Okay fine,” he says, his voice tight. “Go to your sister’s. But if anything feels off, you call me immediately.” Then he adds, softer, “Please.”
I nod, relief and anxiety warring in my chest. “Deal. If you promise to give me space. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
As I close the door, I hear Luca's fist hit the wall. Part of me wants to run to him, to let him wrap me in his arms and tell me everything will be okay. But I can't. Not until I know the truth.
An hour later, I'm at Gia's apartment, curled up on her couch as she makes us tea. “Want to talk about it?” she asks gently.
I shake my head, then pause. “Gia... do you think Luca could have... I mean, is it possible he...”
“Had something to do with the fire?” Gia finishes, her eyes wide. “Do you really believe he'd do that?”
“I don't know,” I whisper, and the admission breaks my heart. “I don't know anything anymore.”
Gia sits beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Then take all the time you need to figure it out.”
As I sip my tea, I stare out the window at the Brooklyn skyline. Somewhere out there, Luca is probably pacing his penthouse, furious and hurt. Part of me aches for him, while another part knows I need this time to think.