Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Sophia
T he morning air is biting and sharp as I step onto the balcony outside my room. The faint glow of sunrise stretches over the estate, painting the grounds in soft pinks and golds. It would be beautiful if not for the weight pressing on my chest. My father's death, Trevor's murder, and Domenico's thinly veiled threats are constant shadows in my mind.
Alessio was in my room last night. He came in while I struggled to sleep, and he caressed my cheek.
I cup the very cheek he had touched, and little prickles of electricity move over my skin. My heart jumps in my chest, and the strange fluttering feeling returns to the middle of my belly.
I snap my eyes open and scold myself. No, those thoughts are not allowed. Alessio De Luca is not a man you pine over. He is the Reaper. The things of children's nightmares.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to ward off the chill that isn't entirely from the weather. Everything feels harder now, like I'm standing on a tightrope stretched over an endless abyss. Each move feels critical, every decision a test of whether I can survive in a world that seems intent on devouring me.
A soft knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. Something surges through my bloodstream at the sound of it.
"Sophia," Alessio says, his tone even. "We need to talk."
I glance back toward the door, torn between wanting to tell him to leave and knowing I can't. There's too much at stake now. I take one last look at the rising sun before stepping inside and opening the door.
Alessio stands there, his dark eyes scanning me like they always do, reading every detail.
"Good morning to you, too," I say with sarcasm. I try to hide the confusing and conflicting emotions I have begun to feel toward him. The last thing we need during a war is to involve feelings of any kind.
His jaw tightens, and he steps inside without waiting for an invitation. "We have a meeting in an hour. The enemy is making moves, and we need to decide how to counter."
"The enemy?" I scoff. "Say his name, Alessio. I know the person we are dealing with is my uncle. It's not hard to put two and two together."
His eyes grow hard. "Of course you knew."
"I am not as incapable as you think I am. What is insulting is the fact that you thought you could keep this from me."
He ignores my snide remark. "Come, we have work to do."
I close the door and lean against it, crossing my arms over my chest. "And by 'we,' you mean you, Matteo, and whoever else you deem worthy, right? I assume my role will be to sit there quietly and look pretty."
Alessio exhales slowly, clearly trying to keep his patience in check. "This isn't about cutting you out, Sophia. It's about strategy. You're not ready to face Domenico directly. Many in the outfit do not want a woman to be in power, so he already has their support when he so chooses to usurp your throne. He is looking for the votes right now. There are only two ways he can win this, and that is through vote or bloodshed, and to keep relations, he will try for the vote. It's why he is so open about going against you. Had he wanted you dead, he would have tried, but he is keeping you alive to show the rest in the outfit and the other families that you are too weak to take charge."
This is the first time that he has been open to me about anything regarding this situation. I take in everything he is saying and try to swallow it whole.
"So you want me to just sit here and lie in wait? I can't do that, Alessio."
He shakes his head and closes the distance between us. The distance between us is enough to create crackles of electricity through the air. When did it become like this? These feelings… these sensations. They are all foreign and new and so out of my realm of comfort.
"I am not asking you to lie in wait. I am asking you to allow me to lead you until you are ready."
"And when will I be ready, Alessio?" I step closer, meeting him. "After he's taken everything my father built? After he's killed me?"
His expression hardens. "Not on my watch. I will not let any harm come to you, Sophia."
"You cannot make that promise to me. You can't keep it."
A flash of determination moves across his eyes. "I can and I will. I will lay my life down for you, for this organization, and my men. I gave your father my word that you will live a long and happy life and intend to see that promise through."
"So for now I am merely a figurehead?"
He takes me by surprise as he grabs both my shoulders and forces my attention on him. "No, you are our queen on this big chess board we are playing on. And as the queen, you are the most powerful piece we have. But if we lose you, then we are left vulnerable and on the brink of collapse. So I will keep you safe and make all the necessary moves so you don't have to until the last minute."
The candor in his eyes throws me for a moment before I catch myself from tripping over my heartbeat.
"That's not good enough." I step out of his hold. "I need to do more than just survive. I need to fight, Alessio."
"You'll fight when the time is right," he says, his tone sharp, and the stiffness returns to his eyes. "And when you can actually win."
The tension between us crackles like a live wire, but before I can respond, there's another knock at the door. Alessio and I jump apart like we have both been shocked. The mix of frustration in both the sexual and mental sense riddles the air. He moves first to open the door, revealing Matteo on the other side.
"Sorry to interrupt," Matteo says, his pupils flicking between us with slight suspicion. "But we've got a situation."
There has not been one morning since I laid my father to rest that I have woken up to a mundane and dull morning.
"Another murder?" I draw out. "Or let me guess, more contraband has been stolen."
Alessio does not appreciate my sarcasm, and I guess for six in the morning, it is a little early. I will need to dial that back.
I shrug, and he just glares at me.
"Actually yes," Matteo quips. "Just minus the murder part."
Oh, I was joking. Just a normal day in the Romano household, I guess.
The situation, as it turns out, is Domenico's latest power play. One of the Romano warehouses was raided overnight, and another shipment is missing. The implications are clear: Domenico's testing my limits, pushing to see how far he can go before I snap.
The meeting takes place in my father's study—a room I've avoided as much as possible since the funeral. The heavy oak desk, the leather armchairs, the walls lined with books—it all feels like a museum to the man who once commanded this empire. But now, it's my space, whether I like it or not.
Alessio, Matteo, and a few other key players are already gathered when I arrive. Domenico, of course, is absent, but his influence is everywhere.
"Let's get started," I say, taking my place at the head of the table. The weight of the chair's high back feels suffocating, but I square my shoulders and force myself to meet the eyes of each of the men around me. I meet every pair of eyes around the table. Friend or foe, that is what my mind is trying to make up as I commit every face to memory.
Matteo is the first to speak, laying out the details of the raid. "The warehouse on Fifth was hit sometime after midnight. No security footage, no witnesses. They took another shipment, this time, weapons."
The room erupts with low murmurs, but Alessio cuts through it with a sharp command. "Quiet."
Stillness falls, and Alessio turns to me. "This isn't just about the shipments. Domenico's sending a message."
"Like he did with Trevor," I state.
Matteo and Alessio look at each other. Something passes between them.
"What is it?" I demand in a stern tone.
Matteo looks to Alessio for permission, and this annoys me. I slam my hand on the table, causing every pair of eyes to move to me.
"Matteo, I am your boss. The person you are looking for permission from answers to me. I already told Alessio that I no longer want to be hidden in the dark, so everything you know comes out now. So when I ask you a direct question, you answer it. Now, what is it?"
Matteo looks uneasy, but he settles back into his chair and addresses me. "We are unsure if what happened to Trevor was your uncle's doing."
"Excuse me? It has to be. Who else could it be?" If it isn't Domenico, that means I have more than one serpent in my grass.
"That remains to be determined." This time, Alessio speaks up. "My guess is that he is still the number one suspect, but we cannot rule out the possibility that there are more parties at play here."
I try to keep my emotions from showing at the table. The last thing I want is to seem weak or volatile in front of these men. My leadership is already being called into question because I am a woman. I cannot give them more ammunition.
"Okay. So we keep searching. I want a full report within the next 72 hours. We have enough resources to find out who killed one of our own."
When I am done with my little rant, I look around the table and then meet with a pair of molten brown eyes that shine with a gleam of something. Is that pride I see?
I don't linger on that for too long.
I speak steadily. "So what does my uncle want? Power? Control? To see me fail?"
"All of the above," Matteo mutters. "He wants the throne."
"It doesn't matter what he wants," Alessio says, his tone firm. "What matters is how we respond."
I glance around the table, taking in the faces of the men who are supposed to be loyal to me. Some look uncertain, their doubt written plainly across their features. Others, like Matteo, are stoic, waiting for orders. Alessio, as always, is unreadable, his focus entirely on the task at hand.
"We hit back." The conviction in my tone is clear. "Hard."
"And risk starting a war?" one of the men asks, his tone skeptical. "We need to remember that Domenico is still an underboss. If we are to kill a sitting underboss, it will reflect poorly on us to the other families."
"We're already at war," I reply. "Domenico declared it the moment he started targeting us, targeting me. The only question is whether we fight back or let him take everything. The other families will see reason in my actions. The Irish know this game well. They underwent the same thing in 1967 when Cain Murphy tried to kill off his older cousin Padraig Walsh. They found his actions justifiable, and the truces remained intact. We can do the same. The Irish will side with us, and the Russians and English will follow suit. The only ones who may cause issues are the Spaniards and Mexicans. I am the only heir to the Romano empire, and I refuse for my father's hard work to be ripped from my hands. Woman or not, I am Alejandro's kin, and I will not be moved from my seat."
The room falls silent again, but this time, the atmosphere is different. There's a shift, a touch of respect in some of their eyes. I know I still have a long way to go to prove myself, but this feels like a start.
Alessio speaks next. "If we're going to hit back, we need to be smart about it. Target his resources and his alliances–many of which we are still unaware of. Cut off his support before he can gain more ground."
I nod, my mind already racing with possibilities. "Then that's what we'll do. Matteo, I want a list of all the warehouses and operations Domenico is tied to. Alessio, you and I will work on the strategy and build a case to present to the rest of the heads of the family. If he wants to hold a vote, then we will need to be prepared. I am sure my uncle has been involved in an illegal deal or two, and any breaches of our code will serve us well. Find what you can."
Alessio raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't argue. "Understood."
The meeting concludes shortly after, but the weight of it lingers as the men file out of the room. Alessio stays behind, watching me carefully.
"You did well," he says after a moment.
"Don't patronize me," I reply. Now that the rest of the men have filtered out and it's just me and him, I feel slightly more at ease. Which is ironic considering how turbulent my relationship with him has been over the past couple of weeks.
"I'm not," he says, stepping closer, the distance pleading to be closed even further. "But this is just the beginning, Sophia. Domenico isn't going to stop, and neither can you."
He holds my stare. The brown in his eyes reminds me of the autumn leaves that began to fall just last week.
His words linger in the air long after he leaves, and I'm left alone in my father's study, the weight of my new reality pressing down harder than ever.
The hours after the meeting crawl by, heavy with preparation. Matteo delivers a comprehensive report on Domenico's known operations, outlining warehouses, supply chains, and suspected alliances. I pore over the details with Alessio by my side, his sharp mind cutting through the complexity like a blade.
We sit at the long table in the study, papers spread out before us, maps dotted with red markers pinpointing areas of concern. I'm trying to focus, but the sheer magnitude of it all is daunting. Every decision feels like a potential disaster waiting to happen.
Alessio studies me as I trace a finger over one of the maps. "You're hesitating," he says bluntly.
"I'm thinking," I snap back.
"Thinking is good," he replies. "But action is better. You want to hit him, so show me where we begin."
My irritation flares. "I know that. But every action has a consequence, and I'm trying to make sure I don't blow up what's left of my father's legacy in the process."
His expression softens, just slightly. "You won't."
I tear my stare from his and stare at the maps sprawled out in front of me. "Huh, you sound so sure when only days prior you couldn't even trust me in an interrogation."
"I was trying to keep your humanity intact."
His words catch my attention. My head snaps up to meet his face again, but his eyes are averted down to the paper before him.
"This world corrupts souls, princess. What I had to do to that man would have shown you a darkness that I am sure you are not ready to meet yet. Trust me when I say that it was for your best interest."
He almost sounds like he cares. The words, simple as they are, strike something deep in me. It's not comfort—Alessio isn't the comforting type—but it's steady and reliable. And right now, that's enough to make me believe that I can handle this.
I push the papers aside and sit back, running a hand through my hair. "If we hit Domenico's supply lines, he'll retaliate, and then it's all chaos from there. What's to stop him from killing me then?"
"Nothing," Alessio says, his tone matter-of-fact. "But it's already heading that way. The difference is whether we control the battlefield or let him dictate it."
I nod slowly, his words settling into the pit of my stomach like stones. "Then we strike first and strike hard."
Later that evening, the house is eerily quiet. Most of the staff have retreated for the night, leaving only the guards stationed throughout the estate. The tension from the day still lingers, coiled tight in my chest.
I find myself wandering the halls. My thoughts are a tangled mess, a constant loop of plans and doubts, not to mention him.
Sharp angled jaw. Striking brown eyes and?—
What the fuck? I have to stop myself from drifting too far off. The last thing that I need is to be lusting over my damn bodyguard.
"He is hot, though," I say under my breath, but as I pass one of the guards down the hallway, they give me a look. Shit. Heat colors my face, and I speed walk my way in the other direction, completely and utterly mortified.
I end up in the library, drawn by the dim glow of the fire that Alessio lit earlier. The room is warm and inviting, but I can't seem to relax. My family is buried toward the eastern wall of the estate, a place I have yet to visit but have been meaning to.
A family of what was intended to be four was reduced to one. My chest twisted with the agony and grief I had refused to allow myself to feel.
The sound of the door opening behind me pulls me from my thoughts.
"You're up late," Alessio says.
"So are you," I reply, looking out to the night beyond the glass. "I've just been… thinking."
"Don't hurt yourself now, princess." The amusement in his tone has me pulling a face his way. He holds his hands up and walks over to where I stand by the window.
My body is immediately hyperaware of his existence beside me. The silent buzz that I now associate with him returns, and the heat in the air increases. My body always seems to have a visceral reaction whenever he is close, and I don't know whether to chalk that up to sexual frustration or genuine emotion.
It is a question that I don't want to busy myself with. Least of all in times like these.
"Penny for your thoughts?" He speaks against the crackling of the fire in the room.
I turn to look up at him. "Depends, will you reprimand me, call me a child, and insist you know better than me?"
He rolls his eyes at my obvious attempt to troll him. I believe this is the most normal we have been with each other. It's… nice.
"I am simply an ear tonight. I think I've been in your ear a fair share today. Go ahead."
"I never knew my mother, my sister was ripped from me at a young age. So, all I knew of my family was from my father. He was the one who I addressed all my holiday cards to. He was the one who would sit through all my recitals, sports events, and plays. No matter how busy he got, he somehow always managed to make time for me. He always told me that family was the most important thing that we had. Blood is thicker than water will ever be, and I believed him. So color me surprised when I discovered through my father's ledgers that Domenico was the one who likely killed him."
"Your father's ledgers?" I can feel his stare burning a hole into the side of my head.
I nod. "He left them in his study for me. I have only combed through one or two, but I have learned enough to know that my uncle has been waiting for his time. He killed my father, Alessio, and for that, I will put a bullet in the middle of his head."
I am not a killer. As far as the first bleed went, I am yet to end a life. But I am more than happy to make Domenico my first kill.
"You are not a killer, princess."
"I am a mafia boss now. The initiation to such a title is murder, and Domenico will be my first bleed."
He doesn't respond immediately, I just feel the weight of his presence beside me. Our hands brush against each other, and instant sparks move up and down my veins. I finally turn to face him.
"Domenico was always ambitious," I say, more to myself than to him. "But I never thought he'd go this far. To kill your own in cold blood, all for what? Now he risks war with me because he wants the crown. How pathetic must you be to live for only power?"
"He's a sociopath, and if you spend your days trying to figure him out, you will never come to a conclusion. Some people are just inherently bad, and he is one of them," Alessio replies. "He's dangerous. He has a thirst for power, and he will stop at nothing to obtain it. And he's counting on you being too inexperienced to stop him. If killing him is what you want, then I will deliver that for you."
I lift my chin. "Then he's underestimating me."
A faint smirk tugs at the corner of Alessio's mouth. "And that is exactly what we want."
The moment stretches, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel a touch of something I haven't felt in days: resolve.
In the early hours of the morning, I sit at my desk with a pen in hand. I can't risk a digital message. I am not sure if Alessio has bugged my phone or not, so snail mail will have to do for now. The lamp on my desk casts a warm glow over the paper in front of me. My hand shakes as I hold the pen. I know Alessio will never forgive me if he finds out.
I hear him in my head, sharp and angry. "You don't trust me. After everything, you still don't trust me."
But this isn't about trust. It's not personal—it can't be.
My father's warning echoes in my mind: "Trust no one, Sophia. Not completely. Not even those who swear loyalty."
I've thought about those words every day since he died. Maybe Alessio wouldn't betray me. Maybe he would. But I can't take that chance. Not with Domenico watching my every move, waiting for me to fail.
I press the pen to the paper. The words come slowly, heavy with meaning. To Signore Vittorio.
The name feels strange to write. My father trusted him and called him a close ally. That should be enough. He's someone who can help me, someone outside all this. Alessio wouldn't understand.
My hand freezes. Shame twists in my stomach. Alessio has protected me and stood by me even when I pushed him away. He's earned my trust. And yet, here I am, hiding things from him and going behind his back.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. This isn't about Alessio. This is about what's best for everyone I'm responsible for. Being a leader means making hard choices. I can't let guilt stop me now.
I finish the letter, and my words are short and to the point. I ask for advice and help, keeping the details vague but clear enough to show urgency. When I'm done, I fold the paper and slide it into an envelope.
I melt red wax onto the seal and press the family crest into it. It feels final, like I'm crossing a line. I stare at the crest for a moment, guilt clawing at me.
No one can know. Especially not Alessio.
I slip the envelope into my jacket and head down the quiet hallway. Thankfully, when Alessio is home, there is no need for 24/7 security outside my door. The polished floors gleam under the soft lights, and every creak of the house makes my heart jump.
When I reach the delivery room, I push the door open slowly. Pietro is inside, sitting at a sleek desk. He's sorting through letters, neatly and carefully.
"Pietro," I whisper.
He looks up, surprised, then nods. "Miss Sophia. Do you need something sent?"
"Yes." I pull the envelope from my jacket and hand it to him. "This needs to go to Signore Vittorio. It's urgent."
He looks at the name but doesn't ask questions. That's why my father trusted him—he knows when to stay quiet.
"I'll take care of it," he says, slipping the letter into his bag.
"Pietro," I add, stopping him. "No one can know about this. Not Alessio. Not Domenico. No one."
He nods. "Understood."
I watch him leave through the private exit, disappearing into the night.
As I walk back to my room, the guilt sticks with me, heavy and sharp. But I hold my head high. This is what my father prepared me for—making the hard choices.
Even if it costs me everything.
I return to my room like a thief in the night. I wake up a few hours later, walk out of my room, and head down to the breakfast table, where I see Matteo and Alessio sitting and discussing today's agenda.
As soon as my eyes find Alessio's face, the guilt settles back in, and I feel awful. I try to push down those feelings and remind myself that I am only doing what he told me to do—not trusting anyone.
That includes him.
I push down my guilt and school my features as I approach them. "Good morning."
"Morning," Matteo responds while he sips his coffee.
I settle into my seat, my eyes avoiding Alessio as I focus my attention on the scones and butter displayed before me. I get to work plating my food while the two men continue to speak.
Alessio is watching me. He hasn't said anything yet, but I can feel his eyes on me, studying every move I make.
I focus on buttering my scone, keeping my hands steady even though I can feel my pulse in my fingertips. The dining room is calm, sunlight streaming through the tall windows, but it feels like I'm under a spotlight.
"You're quiet this morning," Alessio says, his tone casual. Too casual.
I glance up at him briefly and force a small smile. "Just tired, I guess."
He doesn't reply right away, just takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving me. I hate how he can do that—say nothing but still make me feel like I need to explain myself.
"Didn't you sleep well?" he asks smoothly, but there's an edge to it.
"Not really," I say, shrugging. "I've had a lot on my mind, as you know." That part, at least, isn't a lie.
He nods slowly as if he's considering my answer. "Understandable," he says, but there's something unreadable in his expression.
I reach for the jam, forcing myself to focus on spreading it evenly across my toast. My hand is steady, my breathing measured, but I can feel the pressure in my shoulders.
"You're uneasy," Alessio says.
I glance at him again, keeping my face neutral. "I'm fine," I say, taking a bite of the toast to give myself something to do.
His eyes narrow slightly, just for a second, and then the look is gone. "If you say so," he murmurs, leaning back in his chair.
The conversation shifts after that—something about security updates and a new schedule he's putting together—but I can tell he's still watching me, looking for cracks in my armor.
I nod at the right moments and ask a question or two, but I don't let my guard down.
When the meal is over, I excuse myself, keeping my steps measured and unhurried as I leave the room.
The moment I'm out of sight, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
Alessio suspects something. I don't know how much, but he does.
I just have to hope he doesn't dig too deep.