Extended Epilogue Sofia
I’m sprawled across my bed, scrolling through TikTok and trying not to laugh at some ridiculous dance trend. The weak evening sun streams through my windows, painting golden patterns across the cream carpet. Taylor Swift plays softly in the background, just loud enough to fill the empty silence of the house. Mom and Dad are at their charity gala—Mom probably micromanaging every detail while Dad works the room with that practiced charm that makes people forget how dangerous he can be.
Marco is…somewhere. He’s been different lately—more secretive, more intense. I catch him watching me sometimes with this worried look, like he’s seeing threats I can’t imagine. But tonight, I don’t mind the solitude. These are rare moments when I can just be Sofia instead of a Renaldi, when I can pretend the world outside my bedroom door isn’t filled with power plays and carefully maintained alliances.
My sheets rustle as I roll off my bed, heading for the bathroom. But I freeze mid-step, every muscle suddenly tense. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up—that primal warning system Marco’s always telling me to trust.
Something feels wrong. A sound that shouldn’t be there, like someone trying very hard to be quiet and almost succeeding.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I grab my phone, fingers trembling slightly as I check my family’s locations—a safety measure Marco drilled into me until it became a habit. No one’s anywhere near the house. The blue dots showing my family are scattered across the city—Mom and Dad at the Plaza, Marco somewhere in Brooklyn. I turn down the music, straining to hear… there . Footsteps on the stairs, pausing every few steps as if testing whether they’ve been detected.
The sound sends terror galloping through me.
I rush to my window, throwing it open. The late summer air hits my face as I look down. The drop looks daunting now, though I’ve scaled this roof countless times sneaking out to parties. Three stories up, but there’s that sturdy trellis and the garage roof below. My hands shake as I text Marco: Someone’s in the house.
My phone lights up instantly with his call. “What the fuck do you mean someone’s in the house?” Marco demands, his voice sharp. I hear car engines revving in the background, the squeal of tires.
“I don’t know,” I whisper frantically, already climbing out onto the roof. The tiles are slick under my feet, still damp from an earlier rain. “But I hear them on the stairs, and Mom and Dad aren’t due home for hours?—”
“Where are you right now?” The edge in his voice makes my stomach drop. Marco doesn’t scare easily.
“My room. I’m going out the window. Meet me at our spot?” Our childhood hideout, where we’d retreat when things got too intense at home. The old treehouse in the woods, our sanctuary since we were kids.
A floorboard creaks right outside my door—that loose board I usually avoid because it gives me away when I’m sneaking in late. My breath catches in my throat, and I can feel a panic attack starting to build.
“Sofia?” Marco’s voice holds real fear now, the kind I’ve never heard from my unshakeable big brother. “Talk to me.”
“They’re here,” I whisper, panic making my voice shake. The doorknob turns slowly, deliberately. “Marco, I’m sorry, I’m so?—”
My bedroom door bursts open, the force sending my framed photos crashing to the floor. I scream, scrambling fully onto the roof, but strong hands grab my hair, yanking me backward. The pain brings tears to my eyes as I catch one glimpse of masked figures before a chemical-soaked rag covers my face. The scent is sharp, medicinal, wrong.
The last thing I hear is Marco screaming my name through the phone as darkness claims me.
While you wait for Sofia and Dante’s story, check out Matteo and Bella’s story here.