Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Alessio
P ietro stands in front of me, shifting nervously on his feet. The room feels colder with him in it, though I'm unsure if it's the chill in the air or the weight of the note he delivered. His hands twist together, his head slightly bowed like a schoolboy waiting for punishment.
"You're sure this was sent this morning?" I ask, holding up the copy of the letter he handed me.
Pietro nods quickly trembling. "Y-yes, sir. She first wrote a letter, then she placed a flash drive inside the envelope. I was going to come and give it to you, but when I returned for the envelope, it was open, and the flash was gone. Someone had uploaded it onto the computer and sent it out to Vittorio."
Fuck.
"It was heavily encrypted, and the firewall was hard to get past. The encryption wasn't easy to crack, but it went through to Carlo Vittorio's network, that much I am sure. It's... bad, sir."
Bad. That's one word for it. I stare at the paper, reading the few sentences scrawled there in Sophia's hand. She doesn't name anyone explicitly, but the implications are clear enough. She's reaching for answers in all the wrong places.
Stupid, stupid little girl.
"Did you intercept the response?" I ask calmly despite the frustration brewing beneath.
"No, sir," Pietro replies, his tone apologetic. "Vittorio's system is locked down. If he replied, we wouldn't have seen it."
I toss the letter onto the desk between us, the sharp sound making him flinch. "Do you know what you've just handed me, Pietro? This isn't just a security breach. The moment she handed you that envelope, you should have given it to me."
He casts his eyes down and trembles at my words. "She told me not to tell anyone. I owe her father my life, and she is our new leader, and I wanted to respect her rank but I—forgive me, sir. I was stupid and should have come straight to you."
Pietro drops to his knees, the poor kid sniffing with tears streaming down his face. This isn't on him. This is on the woman who decided to be a free thinker in the wee hours of the morning, and now she has not only put us at risk, but she has compromised this entire organization.
Our intel, our spies, our shipment orders, and how we do business. Every secret we have out there is in the hands of a man who had betrayed Alejandro in his last days.
"Leave," I snap.
Pietro scurries toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at the desk where the note lies. I can see the guilt on his face; he feels like a traitor for reporting Sophia. He shouldn't. This isn't a betrayal—it's protection, even if she can't see it. Had he come the moment she had handed him the letter, then this would have been even greater protection. But now the information is out there, and I need to act fast.
Vittorio is not a good man, and there is a reason why Alejandro axed him from his life. He wasn't even at the funeral. Had he been, I would have put a bullet in the middle of his head. My blood hisses as hot steam pulses through my veins.
When the door closes behind him, I sit back in my chair, staring at the note. My thumb brushes against the edge of the paper, as though feeling the weight of her defiance. She doesn't trust me.
I unfold the letter slowly, my fingers trembling more than I care to admit. I stare at her handwriting—sharp, clean strokes that hold no emotion except for the words they contain. As I read, my stomach sinks, and the air in the room suddenly feels thick and suffocating.
She sent this to Carlo.
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I've spent every moment since her father's death guarding her, keeping her safe, trying to protect her from the very world that this letter is now pulling her deeper into. She didn't trust me enough to come to me. She didn't trust me enough to ask, to give me the chance to explain, to show her that I'm not the enemy.
Last night in that library, I believed to some extent we had connected. Something had moved and shifted between us. But now, I guess that it was only on my side.
I grip the letter tighter, crumpling the edges, but I can't bring myself to tear it. It feels like the last thread between us. She's not just questioning my judgment, she's questioning me . Everything I've done for her, everything I've sacrificed, all the times I've put myself between her and the world… none of it matters.
She fucking sold us out—sold me out. And that hurts.
Every piece of me wants to storm to her, demand an explanation, but I know that I can't go to her when I am riddled with sour betrayal and red-hot anger.
You should have just told her the truth.
My conscious tries to reason with me. And it is right. Maybe if I had been more forthcoming with her, then we would not be here right now. But how can I give her more pain than she is already carrying?
My not telling her is helping her to hold onto the last shred of humanity that she has left.
I swallow hard, trying to fight the wave of anger and hurt that's choking me. My jaw tightens, my hands clenching around the letter, but I don't know what to do with it. What to do with her. What to do with me.
And worse, a part of me understands why she went and did this.
I lean my head back and look up at the ceiling. I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a long sigh. For a brief few seconds, I allow myself to be human and to feel all the human emotions. But then I snap my eyes open, and I school my features as I grab my phone and dial a number.
The phone rings once before he answers.
"We are going into level three lockdown. Shit has hit the fan. Get me two fake passports and IDs, and pack for Sophia and me. I am getting her the fuck away from here."
Two hours later, everything is sorted, and Matteo is handing me the documents, and I am storming my way to Sophia's room.
I simply enter the moment I reach her door. I've had enough of her games for one night. The door swings open under my hand, and there she is, seated at her desk, the glow of her lamp casting a halo around her dark hair. She looks up sharply, startled, but her expression turns into one of annoyance.
"Can I help you?" she snaps, her tone as sharp as the glare she shoots in my direction.
I hold up the copy of her message. "What the fuck, Sophia!"
A flash of guilt crosses her eyes, but it is quickly replaced by the previous annoyance. "What is it you always say to me? I did what I needed to do for the good of the family?"
She is trying to be cute, but this shit is not acceptable. What she has done has not only risked her safety but the organization's safety.
I stride across the room, tossing the paper onto her desk. "You sent this to Carlo Vittorio. Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
Sophia rises from her chair, meeting me head-on. "I'm looking for answers, Alessio. Answers you refuse to give me or keep hiding. And don't say you aren't hiding anything from me because I know you are. Since no one here will give them to me, I don't have much choice, do I?"
"Vittorio is a serpent, Sophia. I could have told you that if you had just come to me," I say, my tone cold. "He deals in leverage, and he is not to be trusted. What possessed you to even think of sending him highly sensitive information? Do you even know what he did to your father weeks before his death? He is pure evil, Sophia, and that says a lot coming from a man who has been dubbed the Reaper. There are operations that we performed against him that he will seek retaliation for. And now, thanks to this stunt, he has you by the throat."
My words hit her like a two-ton truck. I can see it in the way her mouth slightly parts into an O shape, and then she schools her features.
"Well, if you had just spoken to me and told me all I needed to know, I wouldn't have felt the need to seek out a man who has been friends with my father since the time I was in diapers," she fires back, trying to justify her stupidity. "You don't tell me anything, Alessio!"
I take a step closer, my presence looming over her, though she doesn't flinch. "What you have just done proves to me that you will NEVER be able to handle the real hard truth. None of this has ever meant to be about control, Sophia. All I have ever done from the get-go was make sure that you are safe, physically and mentally. You make keeping you alive harder than it needs to be."
Sophia's chin tilts up defiantly. "It wouldn't need to be so hard if I felt like I could fully trust you. You keep feeding me half-truths, Alessio. My father died on your watch. How can I trust you to truly keep me alive?"
Her words land like a slap, though I don't let it show. My jaw tightens, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "Maybe you don't understand the world you're in, Sophia. This isn't a game. Every move you make is a gamble, and the stakes are your life and the lives of everyone under you. You just sold out names and secret intel to a deranged man who is going to want blood for blood."
She is taken aback. The weight of what she has done is finally hitting her. I see the exact moment the regret washes over.
"I can fix this," she retorts.
I laugh bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow. "You can't even see the enemies at your door, and you think you can put out the bomb you just lit?"
The tension between us crackles like a live wire. She steps closer, her face inches from mine, her dark eyes blazing with fury. "Then stop suffocating me. Stop hiding things from me. Let me fight for myself. Let me fight with you!"
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The air between us is heavy, charged with more than just anger. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, her lips slightly parted.
I force myself to take a step back, breaking the pull between us. "We're leaving," I say, my tone clipped.
"Leaving?" she echoes, her expression shifting to disbelief.
"It's too dangerous here," I say. "We're going to a safe house until I can put out all the damn fires you just lit."
She crosses her arms, a defiant glint in her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
"You don't have a choice," I reply. "You've already made your move. Now, it's my turn. You're the queen on this board, remember? You are to be protected at all costs. So you can either come with me on your own free will, or I am throwing you over my shoulder and marching us down to the car. Your choice."
We stand toe to toe, and neither one of us breaks our deadlock. If she is angry, then I am livid. There is no way that she is winning this. I have allowed her to do her own thing. Now it is time to revert things to how they have always been. Me in charge and her following my orders.
After another argument or two, I have her in the car, and we are driving away from her childhood home while my men get to work.
War is imminent, and I need to make sure that we are fully equipped.
The car cuts through the night, the quiet hum of the engine doing little to mask the weight of the air inside. Sophia sits rigidly in the passenger seat, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The anger from our confrontation still lingers between us, a storm brewing just below the surface.
"Where exactly are we going?"
"To a safe house," I reply curtly, my eyes fixed on the road. "It's quite far from here, so get comfortable."
She lets out a bitter laugh. "I guess I don't get a say in this either—like everything else."
I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening. "You're right," I say, my tone even, though the anger simmers underneath. "You don't have a choice. Because your decisions are reckless. Do you have any idea what your actions have done? The entire organization is at risk, Sophia. You fucked up, and instead of owning it, you are sitting there all high and mighty, trying to fight me. Hate me? Fine. But can you not for a second think about how your leaking personal info on our personnel puts their family members at risk? Trevor's grandmother and sister?"
The car falls silent. It feels suffocating, pressing in on all sides. I can feel her focus, heavy on me, but I keep my eyes fixed on the road, the hum of the tires the only sound filling the space.
"I... I shouldn't have done that," she says quietly. "I was just trying to find answers, but I should have come to you first."
Her words hang in the air, the sincerity clear in her tone, but I don't know how to respond. Part of me wants to turn, to tell her how much it hurts that she didn't trust me, that she went behind my back. But I don't.
She shifts in her seat, her hands twisting in her lap. "I... I was scared, Alessio. Scared of being controlled. But I was wrong."
I can feel the weight of her apology, the remorse in her words, but the anger still burns inside me, hot and steady. I open my mouth to say something—anything—but the words don't come. I force myself to stay silent, swallowing down the lump in my throat.
She looks down at her hands, the regret washing over her face.
The hollowness stretches, thick and heavy.
"I'm sorry," she finally says. "I know I screwed up. I was just... I didn't know who to trust anymore."
I grip the steering wheel harder. I want to say something, to tell her how much this hurts, but I can't seem to find the words. I keep my eyes on the road, the passing scenery a blur.
"I didn't mean to push you away," she adds meekly. "I thought I could handle things on my own, but I see now... I should have come to you. I should have trusted you."
Her words hit me, a soft blow that stings more than I'd like to admit. I can feel the sincerity behind them, the regret she's trying to hide, but I can't shake the anger, the feeling of betrayal.
"You don't have to say anything," she murmurs. "I get it. You're angry."
I don't answer right away. But eventually, I manage. "You don't get it. You thought you could go behind my back, play your own game, and I'd just... let it happen."
"I never meant to hurt you," she says, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I just... I thought you were trying to control me. But I see it now. You were trying to protect me. And I... I didn't trust you enough to see that."
I glance at her briefly, her face flushed with regret, and I feel it—the pang of hurt mixed with something else, something I can't quite name. I open my mouth, ready to say more, but the words get caught in my throat.
She doesn't push me to speak. Her eyes drift out the window, and for a moment, it feels like we're both just trying to figure out what comes next.
We're halfway down a winding road when the headlights appear in the rearview mirror. At first, I chalk it up to coincidence, another car on the same dark stretch of road. But they're gaining fast, too fast.
My gut tightens.
"Stay alert," I mutter, shifting slightly to check my gun at my side.
"What is it?" Sophia asks, her tone wary.
"Trouble," I reply.
The car behind us surges forward, slamming into our bumper with enough force to jolt us forward. Sophia lets out a sharp gasp, gripping the edge of her seat.
"What the hell?—"
"Get down!" I bark, pushing her head lower with one hand as I swerve to avoid a vehicle trying to cut us off.
The road is narrow, bordered by dense trees that seem to close in as the attack unfolds. The headlights behind us flare, blinding in the rearview mirror, and then the sound of gunfire shatters the night.
A bullet punches through the back windshield, spraying shards of glass over the interior. I curse under my breath, accelerating as I maneuver around the lead car.
"They're shooting at us?" Sophia's voice is high, the fear barely masked by her indignation.
"Welcome to my world."
The car veers sharply, trying to box us in. I slam the wheel to the right, narrowly avoiding a collision. The tires squeal against the pavement, the scent of burning rubber filling the car.
Sophia is crouched low, her breathing shallow but steady. "What do we do?"
I glance at her briefly. "We don't stop."
A second car comes up on our left, its side scraping against ours in a deafening screech of metal. I jerk the wheel hard, forcing them into the ditch. Their headlights disappear in a spray of dirt and leaves, but I don't have time to celebrate. The lead car is still in front, blocking the road.
Gunfire erupts again, and this time, I hear the sickening crack of a bullet piercing the side panel near Sophia. I see her flinch, instinctively clutching the seatbelt.
"Stay down!" I shout.
I grip the wheel and press the accelerator to the floor. The car roars forward, closing the distance between us and the lead vehicle. At the last moment, I swerve hard to the right, clipping their rear bumper and sending them spinning off the road.
The impact rattles through the car, and for a moment, everything is silent except for the pounding of my heart. I keep driving, the forest blurring around us as the adrenaline pulses through my veins.
I drive as fast as I can, watching my mirrors to make sure that no one else pops out of the blue. I turn my head to the side to look at Sophia. Her eyes are forward, but her body is shaking.
"You okay?" I want nothing more than to pull over and check her over for injuries. But we need to keep going.
"I'm okay. You?"
That's all I need to hear to instantly calm.
We reach the safe house 20 minutes later. The cabin is a small, secluded structure tucked into the woods, its dark silhouette barely visible against the night sky. I park the car and cut the engine, the sudden quiet almost deafening.
Sophia exhales shakily, pushing herself upright. Her hands tremble as she brushes shards of glass off her lap.
"You're bleeding," she says suddenly, her eyes wide as they settle on the dark stain spreading across my side.
"It's nothing," I mutter, brushing her concern aside.
"Like hell it's nothing," she snaps, her fear giving way to anger. "Let me see."
Before I can argue, she's out of the car, pulling open my door. I step out, the movement sending a sharp jolt of pain through my ribs. Her hands are on me immediately, steadying me despite her own unsteady breaths.
Inside the cabin, she moves with purpose, finding a first aid kit in the cabinet. I sit on the edge of the couch, my shirt already soaked with blood. She kneels in front of me, her hands hovering uncertainly before she pulls at the hem of my shirt.
"Take it off," she says, her tone softer now.
I hesitate but comply, wincing as the fabric peels away from the wound. Her sharp intake of breath cuts through the room like a knife.
"You should have said something sooner," she mutters, grabbing a clean cloth and pressing it against the wound. Her hands are gentle but firm, the warmth of her touch grounding me in a way I didn't expect.
"It's not as bad as it looks."
She doesn't reply, her focus entirely on cleaning the wound. The room is quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the faint rustle of the first aid supplies. Her touch lingers longer than necessary, her fingers brushing against my skin as she works.
"Why do you do this?" she asks suddenly. But I barely heard the words leave her lips
"Do what?"
"Put yourself in danger for me," she says, her eyes lifting to meet mine.
The question catches me off guard.
"Because I have to," I reply gruffly. Because I want to.
She shakes her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "That's not an answer."
I exhale slowly, the weight of her question pressing against me. "Because you matter, Sophia. More than you realize."
Her hand stills, the cloth against my skin forgotten. She's close enough that I can feel the warmth of her breath, see the faint tremble in her lips.
"I didn't ask for this," she whispers.
"I know. But you have it anyway."
For a moment, everything else fades—the danger, the betrayal, the chaos. There's only her, her touch, and the unguarded look in her eyes.