Chapter 16 Sophia
SOPHIA
Here I am, back where I started, curled up in the spare bed, staring at the closed door, willing my husband to get the hell out of the house so I can start my morning without the threat of seeing him.
I knew I should have told Dante about the texts from Enzo. They were all innocent from my side. Not that Dante gave me the chance to explain anything without getting all threatening and nasty. Scary.
Which, of course, made me determined to turn him down because the one thing I can’t stand is a bully. I was raised by one, surrounded by them my entire life. The kind of men who think they should get what they want just because they said so.
I knew something else, too, and it makes my heart heavier than ever as I sit up, rubbing a wrist that is still a little sore. He wouldn’t have listened, no matter what I said.
I still haven’t heard a sound from anywhere else in the house by the time I finish going to the bathroom and washing my tear-stained cheeks.
It took a while, but I finally cried myself to sleep last night.
There’s a haunted look in my eyes by the time I turn away from the mirror over the sink.
Everything was going so well too. There I was, humming away in the shower, my heart racing and my body tingling in anticipation, the whole time Dante was melting down.
I can’t stay up here forever. Besides, it’s past eight, and Dante’s usually up at the main house way earlier than this.
Probably sitting at his papa’s feet, waiting to be patted on the head.
Or maybe he’s up there ranting and raving in a testosterone-fueled haze, demanding Enzo’s head on a platter or something.
It’s when I’m halfway down the stairs that I hear him. The sound of a cup touching the kitchen island freezes my body—except for my heart, now pounding harder and faster than ever. Shit. The man is a goddamn ninja, tricking me into thinking he’s not here.
“Are you going to stand there all day, or are you coming down?” he asks.
I can’t tell what kind of mood he’s in. His voice is flat, without the teeth-grinding rage I heard hours ago. I doubt he’s feeling regretful and generous or that he’s had a huge change of heart.
Well, I’m not going to stand here all day like an idiot.
I am Sophia Vitali Santoro.
I’m stronger than this.
With my head held high, I continue down the stairs, rounding the end of the railing and finding Dante typing intently on a laptop, parked on one of the island stools. He’s dressed in nothing but a pair of soft cotton pants, like he rolled straight out of bed before coming down here to work.
This would be so much easier if I didn’t want him. If I didn’t remember his touch so clearly, and how it makes me feel. How much I was looking forward to being with him last night. Why does he have to be so gorgeous and chiseled? His muscles have muscles, for God’s sake.
And he could hurt you. Yeah, I can’t exactly afford to forget that part.
All of those muscles equal strength, and the slight throb in my wrist is a reminder of how that strength can turn against me. And that’s why I can’t bring myself to get closer.
Instead of crossing the living room and the invisible barrier between it and the kitchen space, I sit in one of the plush armchairs, facing the kitchen.
Dante’s seated ninety degrees from me, giving me a look at his stern expression and tightening jaw as he finishes typing whatever it is he’s so busy with.
He is really beautiful—a beautiful demon.
My pulse flutters when he closes the laptop, but instead of looking at me, he stares straight ahead before letting out a soft sigh. “I’m going to get in touch with your ex and make sure he knows it’s a smart move to leave you alone from now on.”
He can’t be serious. After everything that went down, this is the first thing he says? “And there I was, thinking I would get an apology,” I murmur.
His growl lifts the hair on the back of my neck while he folds his hands on the countertop and clenches them tight. “That was going to be my next point.”
“You don’t do much apologizing, do you? Usually, that’s what you lead off with the day after you attack somebody.” Rubbing my wrist, I add, “At least there’s no bruising.”
His shoulders sink, and he releases another, deeper breath, lowering his head a little.
“I never went to sleep,” he tells me, and I believe him.
He sounds exhausted, not that I feel sorry or anything.
“I’ve been fighting with myself all night.
All this time, you’ve been taunting me. Throwing my work ethic in my face.
Acting like there’s something wrong with me for devoting so much of my life to the family. ”
“I don’t think that is the same as—”
“Let me finish,” he snaps, shutting my mouth before he sighs yet again.
“Let me get this out, all right? Then you can chew me out. But I need you to understand something, and this isn’t easy to say.
I spent hours trying to come up with the words, then convincing myself I should share them with you in the first place. ”
Safe to say this is not what I expected. I’m getting a feeling he’s about to open up in a way he never has, and I’m hanging on every word. Maybe some of the mystery will be solved because I can’t make any sense of him.
“Do you want to know why I’m shut down so much of the time?” he asks, slowly angling his body on the stool until he faces me. My God, he looks as haunted as he sounds. “Because if I’m not, shit like last night happens. If I am not practically numb, I turn into what you saw upstairs.”
Is this a joke? He’s a grown man, and this is the best he can do?
I’m still swimming in confusion when he continues, “A long time ago, I had a girlfriend.”
Oh shit.
“I was a different person then. Like an animal. Cocky, always one side-eye away from beating the shit out of somebody. I’ll spare you the details.” When he waves a hand, I see his father. I wonder if he knows how many of Rocco’s habits he’s picked up.
“One night, while I was out with her, I spotted somebody I knew was deep in debt to the family,” he continues. “College basketball. He lost a fortune and was ducking us. I was only going to intimidate him a little, but he took a swing at me and… he regretted it.”
Message received.
He snickers, staring at the coffee table rather than looking at me.
“I didn’t know she had followed me out of the club, but she watched me beat the living shit out of this guy, and by the time I was finished, we were over.
She couldn’t forget what she saw. I don’t blame her. She made the smart move.”
So that’s why they broke up. No wonder Guilia didn’t know the details. She was too young. It was too personal.
“About a month later…” he continues, his voice fading a little, “… I ran into her at a bar out on Long Island. She was with some asshole I vaguely recognized. He used to organize drag races. Drove like a fucking maniac. I only wanted to talk, but she shut me down. I followed her out and watched her get into his car. And I followed them. I was obsessed. I wasn’t going to let her get away, especially not with him. ”
He shudders, and dammit, my heart aches before he murmurs, “I was close enough behind them to see the car flip.”
Jesus Christ. I have to catch my breath before whispering, “Oh no.”
“We were out on one of the back roads, probably where he was used to racing,” he muses.
“I guess he figured he could drive as fast as he wanted with the road empty like it was. I still don’t know what happened…
maybe a raccoon darted out in his path. I got out and ran to the wreck, which was starting to burn.
I wanted to get Monica out, but… she was already gone. ”
A tear spills over my lashes and rolls down my cheek. I can’t help it. I’ve never heard anyone sound this broken. What does it feel like, living with that memory? This was someone he loved, and he witnessed her death.
“It wouldn’t have happened if she were still with me.
” There’s a razor’s edge in his voice now, something vicious running under his words like a river of poison meant only for him.
“I pushed her away by being who I was, so I stopped being who I was. All of me, everything, has gone into the family since that night. Whenever I lose sight of that, last night happens.”
His brows draw together before he chokes out, “I end up hurting the last person who deserves it. I destroyed the first good thing that’s happened to me in a decade.
I saw it happen, the way your eyes changed.
Like hers did out in that alley, once she saw the man I really am.
” Hanging his head, he drops his shoulders in defeat.
Now I see.
And now I stand and let his pull over me draw me in because he’s hurting and hates himself. I hear it. I sense it in the air. I see it in the way he flinches and turns away when I touch his bare shoulder.
“It’s all right,” I whisper, stepping up behind him, winding my arms around his waist, and touching my lips to the back of his neck. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Because you signed a marriage license,” he scoffs.
I wish there were nothing but a signature on a license keeping me here, with my arms around him, and the need to provide a little comfort almost as intense as the need to breathe.
I don’t know what to do with everything swirling in me now—sympathy, tenderness, regret over the nasty comment I made about him not being able to find a wife.
Instead of trying to put it into words, I only murmur, “No. That’s not it.”
I have to back up a step when he turns around, his bloodshot eyes staring deep into mine. This man has the capacity for insane violence. He has the power to make a phone call and end countless lives if he feels like it. I’m sure he’s got more than a few lives on his conscience already.
All I see right now is someone who’s been hurting for a long time and probably doesn’t even know he needs to forgive himself.
Running a hand over his sharp cheek, I murmur, “Why don’t you take a shower, shave, and I’ll fix something for breakfast?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Really? You want to be in the same room with me after what I did? Are you going to poison my food?”
I can’t resist. “I wasn’t going to, but now that you mention it…”
His hands cup my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks while he probably wonders whether he can believe me. Something in my steady gaze must have convinced him, because he smiles gently before touching his forehead to mine. “Thank you. I know the words might sound empty, but I mean them. Thank you.”
I don’t get the chance to accept his thanks before the ground shakes.
It comes out of nowhere, the bone-jarring rumble that makes the windows rattle and the coffee in Dante’s mug spill onto the counter.
“What the fuck?” He gasps, caging me against him with his protective arms while the rumbling fades before the screech of a siren fills the air.
“What’s happening?” My pointless question goes unanswered because there is no answer. He’s as clueless as I am as he runs to the front door and flings it open. Men are running across the grounds, shouting, and all of them are headed down the driveway to the front gate.
The black smoke drifting into the air from that direction makes my stomach clench. “Oh my God!” I shout, covering my ears with my hands. Not that it does anything to block out the sirens.
Dante turns to me, gripping my arms tight. “Go up to the house! Stay there!”
I watch with a sinking heart as he sprints barefoot across the grass. Even if I begged him not to go down there, he wouldn’t hear me, and I doubt he would listen anyway.
Isabella must be frantic up there at the house, which is what gets me moving up the stairs.
Somehow, I fumble my way through, pulling on a pair of leggings and shoving my feet into flats before throwing a cardigan over my tank top, even with the sirens wailing loud enough that I can barely hear myself think.
So loud, I don’t hear anyone coming up the steps and rushing into the room. Not until it’s too late. All at once, an arm wraps around me from behind, holding me in place while a cloth covers my mouth and nose.
And what does instinct want me to do? Scream.
Which means taking a deep breath and losing consciousness.