Chapter 22
Sophie
As Long Island and that secluded piece of heaven fades into the background, the car hurdling over the bridge connecting us back to the mainland—to the Bronx—Xavier’s hand falls into my lap, free for the taking.
A slight smile tugs at the corners of his mouth when I waste no time clinging to him, massaging his nimble fingers to distract myself from where we’re headed.
After we veiled the furniture in the cottage and gathered what little we had with us, I expected we’d be on our way upstate, but we’re entering city limits.
It’s so different from Reykjavík or even Madrid.
There’s nothing like New York City.
Only here does steam vapor rise from every grate, seeping from tunnels hidden beneath the concrete.
Graffiti? It’s everywhere. On sidewalks, metal scaffolding, even on billboards suspended high above skyscrapers.
In the city, construction is constant, and people move in droves, crossing the frenzied streets as if they own them.
Man, I’ve missed this .
To think I lived here, even if just for a few months… So many memories come flooding back.
Xavier navigates the boroughs easily, just as skilled in avoiding traffic as his driver, Michael.
Curious, I ask, “Do you still have a driver?”
“Most days.”
“Michael?”
The man never cared much for me, but when Xavier nods, I smile at the familiarity.
After years of nothing but displacement, I want to hold onto every single thing I know.
Above all, the crime lord beside me. He’s done more to ease my burdens in just a few days than an entire year with Isaac or Victoria tucked away in that compound.
The bruises Isaac inflicted during our last skirmish have faded to a dull yellow, less prominent than when I first arrived. My body desperately needed the downtime, but now, with the dangers of the city lurking all around us, I’m craving a session with a punching bag.
The sight of Xavier’s wedding ring on his mangled finger is still something I can’t quite get used to. Unable to tear my eyes away from him, I idly trace the glossy, round peaks of scarred tissue mapping the surface of his hand.
I don’t want to think about how those blemishes resemble branding, that the faded markings have the likeness of the Marcello signet ring that’s no longer adorning his smallest finger, or that they are so profoundly burned into his flesh that there’s no way they’ll never not be there.
How he manages to smile at all, I’ll never know.
Xavier’s voice breaks apart the hatred rapidly forming in my chest, a feeling I have become way too reliant upon.
“We’re here.”
He’s parked us beside the curb of custom-designed brickwork, a building made of rusty cinder block—somewhere I'm certain I’ve never been before. “Where? ”
His eyes gleam with mischief as he reaches past me to open the passenger door, dark hair veiling his cheekbone.
“There are two particularly desperate twins waiting for you upstairs.”
At that moment, a swish of glass lodges into the wood, voices calling from above.
Squinting at the clear sky, the rays of sun fade as I shift into the shadow of the structure, catching sight of deep, dark skin, smiles that stretch for days.
Before I know it, my legs are dashing through the front entrance, charging up three flights of stairs until I'm swept off my feet, hearing Dante’s signature laugh echo across multiple floors.
“Woman! You are a fuckin’ sight for sore eyes!”
After being numb for so long, to feel at all is a gift… a gift that unravels me swiftly. Because in many ways, Dante was the first person I truly trusted in my new life, even before Xavier managed to break through my defenses.
Always a quiet guardian for his friend, Dante made sure I understood the struggles my future husband had faced to get me to the altar. He introduced me to a sense of normalcy in a suffocating world, reassuring me that my life would only get better beyond the restrictive walls of my childhood home.
As Dante lets me go and Bo takes over the warm embrace, I realize these two helped Xavier rescue me from hell—a challenge that must have seemed impossible to pull off.
If it weren’t for all three of them, I’d be gone. I know it.
“Bo,” I cry, clutching the weathered leather of his jacket. When I reach out, Bo's grip remains firm, and without hesitation, Dante’s hand fits into mine, his palms as rough as my husband’s. “ Dante .”
The giant of a man enfolds us, hooting. “Can you fucking believe this? The group is back together! Get over here, X.”
Xavier’s uncomfortable sigh is to be expected. He’s a man skilled at keeping his cool, but he listens .
I feel his warmth against my back, feel his tattooed arms surround us, gripping both of his brother’s shoulders.
Together again.
I really don’t know how I lived without this.
“Eat something. Here, I got the greasiest food I could find. Your favorite.”
“Who the hell bruised you? Tell us, and we’ll fuck them up. Tonight, tomorrow, doesn’t matter.”
“Zeke is cutting through traffic as we speak. Delli’s hauling over two dozen roses for you.”
It’s all love. Nurturing love surrounds me as soon as I step inside Dante’s and Mimi’s one-bedroom apartment.
There’s barely room to walk, with everyone touching and acknowledging one another as they navigate the narrow paths of the kitchenette and move around the mauve velvet couches. My eyes greedily follow them, drinking in the spectacle.
I could smile, cry, lose my absolute shit .
Instead, sitting on the stool at the kitchenette counter, I lean into Xavier’s body, which is always within reach, inhaling the sea breeze mixed with citrus laundry detergent lingering on his sweater.
It’s such a poignant scent, evoking images of us heaving against each other in bed, all tangled limbs and Egyptian cotton sheets.
Madrid feels like a nightmare, some dream I’ve woken up from.
Reykjavík, even more so. It’s nearly possible to convince myself that the past four years have unfolded this way, swathed in warmth and friendship…
if it weren’t for how Xavier’s eyes brighten whenever he sees me smile, the way he won’t let go of me as if I might suddenly vanish.
His thumb lightly grazes my scarred wrist, hovering over my racing pulse. “Okay? ”
If I spoke, a torrent would flood out.
Xavier must realize that because his arm wraps around my neck, letting me sink into his firm chest, revealing the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat. We are quite alone in a room full of people, falling right into this private love that I'm convinced no soul on Earth could understand.
Once the Chinese take-out is devoured and the beer is drained, I’m so at ease with this familiarity. I no longer flinch when touched unexpectedly. I don’t disassociate when the noise borders shouting.
When Mimi begins distributing fortune cookies, the doorbell rings, and I'm the only one taken aback by it.
“That’s her.”
“Bout time!”
I set my glass down and turn on the stool to catch Xavier’s subtle smile, as if he’s been anticipating this moment all night. Meanwhile, already quite drunk, Dante flings open the door, his broad shoulders obstructing the visitor's entry.
Xavier gives my fingers a light squeeze as I plant my feet on the ground, hearing that familiar voice. A voice that disrupts all the calm I had maintained—making my throat tighten until Dante shifts to the side, revealing the woman who raised me.
“Courtney.”
Her buttery eyes are widening, framed by deep creases that have formed during the years I’ve been gone.
She wobbles from the force of my embrace, from how quickly I crash into her.
Memories flood my mind as I inhale the scent of her hair, the perfume on her skin, and that subtle tinge of cleaning liquid that clings to her from housework.
“Sophie,” she sobs softly, her voice trembling. “Oh, God. Sophie. You’re here.”
In an instant, I'm six, drifting off to sleep to the soothing sound of her voice.
Thirteen, wincing while she cares for my arm, broken from falling out of a decayed cedar tree.
Twenty, numb as she yanks me out of a tub, shrieking at the ghastly sight of my wrists.
And twenty-four, tears filling my eyes as she adjusts the hem of my wedding gown.
It captures everything—a lifetime shared with the closest thing to a real mother.
She grabs my arms, clothes, and hair, examining me thoroughly. “You’re alive.”
You’re alive.
A blow. A reminder of what my father is capable of doing to those who love me. They’ve all been mourning for the past year. Even as they hold back their words, I notice the disbelief etched on their faces when I speak, as if they aren’t sure this is really happening.
“I'm fine,” I lie. “I'm good. I'm okay.”
“And you’re back?”
There’s no mistaking the hope behind those words.
Xavier’s smile softens when I voice my answer.
“Zeke, I left the tins in the car. Go get them for me, will you?”
Dante waves off his friend, pulling out a box of cigarettes. “I’ll go, Court. I’ll go.”
Zeke and Delli trail behind him after searching the couch cushions for a lighter, making room in the small, wonderfully chaotic apartment.
Bo left hours ago, hurrying home to have dinner with his girlfriend.
To combat the sweltering New York heatwave, all the windows are slightly opened, allowing a faint breeze.
Mimi is in the kitchen, assigning tasks to Xavier.
A smile creeps across my lips as I imagine how Arturo Marcello would react to seeing his golden child packing leftovers and wiping down counters.
He would’ve despised all this. The easy laughter.
The casual conversation. The sheer lack of Italians in this room.
Oh, he would have hated it. He would have told Xavier to get his ass to the streets, and there would’ve been no choice in the matter.
To think he’s gone—that he’ll never be able to assert that kind of power again—I let out the breath I instinctively hold when I remember his face. He had no idea who his son was, how beautifully normal he wanted to be.
From the kitchen, Xavier gives me an enchanting smile, aware he can read my gaze as I admire him, finding him irresistibly appealing in this moment. Completely genuine, not the stern businessman he’s been conditioned to be throughout his life.
“He can’t keep his eyes off of you.” Courtney rounds the couch, her movements less agile than when I saw her last. “Gosh, do you remember your engagement party? You came back so convinced he didn’t want anything to do with you.”
“He did a terrible job convincing me that night.”
“I can hear you,” Xavier says, his eyes still focused on his hands in the sink.
“I’ve heard the stories from Dante,” Mimi inserts bravely, grinning. “You basically insulted her half the night. He said it was a complete failure.”
Fearless, she remains completely unbothered when Xavier narrows his eyes. “Remind me to kill him.”
“I wouldn’t say completely,” Courtney interjects, cutting the lightness with just a few words. “He went against his papa to help you.”
And it wasn’t the last time he would do that.
That singular thought filters through the living room, undoubtedly infiltrating everyone’s mind, not just my own. Xavier doesn’t look up or acknowledge his heroism at all. My chest feels tight as I nod, glancing down at the hand Courtney lays on mine.
Enjoying task-setting on the Capo dei Capi, Mimi sends Xavier to the bedroom with bundles of storage boxes .
For the first time tonight, I find myself alone with the woman who has always been my confidant when my life was going thoroughly to shit.
“Tell me everything,” she says.
Nestled in the sagging couch cushions, wrapped in the warmth of her presence, my pain pours out, each word more complicated than the last—a chaotic stream of thoughts.
I’m trapped in the emptiness of roaming the cobblestone streets of Madrid, my very being a gaping wound left to fester. And how that wound transformed into a suffocating rage I couldn’t handle most days.
What came next was not even what I could have imagined. Victoria. Iceland. That filthy compound.
Blood and fists and release .
I see how much I’ve changed in her eyes, as she understands what it took to survive what has been done to me. My heart will never heal fully. I just have to live with the broken pieces, striving each damn day to hold them all together.
What happened will never leave me.
Arturo Marcello will always be my nightmare.
Those men will continuously invade my dreams.
Four years later, which feels like a lifetime, I am still curled up in a ball on the floor of that cell, just trying to make it to the next minute, the next second.
But to remain in that goddamn filth, it’s not an option.
To lose myself to this, they win.
To keep running, Arturo gets exactly what he wanted.
With my experiences, the years of isolation hang in the air, and even my own pain disturbs me. It’s no wonder Courtney cries once my mouth closes, my esophagus constricting. Everything I said lingers, but my eyes are dry, my heart hardened as easily as I trained it in Iceland.
“ How could they do this to you?” she sobs, enveloping me, oblivious to the front door opening and the group piling into the apartment, their laughter fading at the sight of us on the couch. “How?”
She has no idea how many times I’ve screamed that very question into the void. And more.
What did I do to deserve this?
Why am I being punished?
Why am I alone?
Stronger than before, I wrap her in my arms, my lips trembling as I sense how frail time has rendered her. All these years, I’ve missed—time that’s been wasted.
I’ll never forget it.
I’ll never let Vito get away with it.