Chapter Eight
Sophia
“Weirdest Halloween ever,” Maria says as we weave through the crowd at the front of my home.
“Yep,” I reply. “And I thought marrying Raphael was the strangest thing that was going to happen tonight.”
Maria nudges me. “Gabriel’s over there, talking to Vincent.”
I glance across the yard and spot them. “Let’s divide and conquer.”
“Okay, but don’t get yourself killed,” she warns, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze.
We hug, tight enough to feel the tension in her chest, then I make a beeline for my father. He’s got a woman draped on one arm and is chatting with an older family friend.
“Mario, it’s so good to see you.” I kiss both his cheeks, and he sizes me up with that calculating look that always makes my skin prickle.
“Sophia, where’s your costume?” he asks, his voice sharp but teasing.
He’s dressed like Gomez Addams—slicked-back hair, pinstripe suit—and his wife, no doubt, will be dresses as Morticia. The woman with my father looks like she’s trying to be Marilyn Monroe, but the wig is all wrong, slipping slightly over her eyes.
“Yes, Sophia,” Papa says, narrowing his gaze at me. “Why aren’t you dressed?”
I take a breath, smile sweetly, and keep my tone light. “Papa, there’s been a slight change of plans. Raphael and Antonio want to speak with you inside.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yes, Papa. We should hurry before they kill each other,” I say, giving Mario and the younger woman a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
Papa pats the woman’s hand and nods toward Mario. “Family business. I’ll be back shortly.”
Then he grabs me by the upper arm and marches me toward the house. The crowd parts instinctively, and I notice all the Halloween costumes, the grotesque, the funny, the flashy—like ghosts moving through my vision. It all feels unreal.
Maria is waiting by the front door with a younger version of Raphael and Salvador Costa. My chest tightens.
“It seems we have a problem,” Papa says, frowning.
“Could we discuss this inside?” Maria asks cautiously.
“Yes, inside would be better.” Agrees the younger man holding a hand to his chest, he turns to the me. “I’m Gabriel Costa.”
“Sophia,” I say.
“I know,” he replies with a smile. He ushers Maria and his father inside.
“Head for Antonio’s office,” I tell the group.
We move through the house, and I pull my arm free of Papa’s grip to take the lead.
When we reach Antonio’s office, I knock. The door swings open, and Raphael’s eyes meet mine. Relief flashes across his face.
We all step inside. The office has always felt big to me, but tonight, it feels claustrophobic, as though the walls are pressing in, with so many men in the room.
Gabriel embraces Raphael. Raphael’s hand goes to the back of Gabriel’s neck in an affectionate hold.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Raphael says quietly.
“And you, brother. When Maria used our code word, I feared the worst.”
Salvador Costa leans forward, frowning. “What is going on?”
Papa glances at me, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you dressed like this, Sophia?”
Antonio steps to Raphael’s side. “We think the Russians are trying to spark a war between us.”
Papa chuckles, sliding into the chair behind Antonio’s desk. “Did Sophia come up with this ruse to get out of marrying Raphael, or did Raphael decide my daughter isn’t to his taste?”
“Neither,” Antonio replies firmly.
Raphael pivots sharply, his eyes locking on his father. “Their security team at the back of the property… they’re all dead.”
Silence hits the room.
Papa straightens, shoulders stiff, eyes narrowing into razor slits. “Explain.”
Raphael’s voice drops, calm but hard, each word slicing through the tension in the room. “They were taken out before they could even react. Whoever did this is organized.”
Salvador shifts on his feet, a flicker of unease crossing his face. “This… this isn’t just a warning?”
“No,” Antonio says, his hand resting lightly on Raphael’s shoulder, a quiet show of control. “We think it’s the beginning.”
“Fuck,” Papa hisses, the words sharp enough to cut. “Most of our guests are wearing masks. We’ll never know who’s friend or foe.”
“Our men are not armed,” Salvador states.
Behind me, Gabriel sucks his teeth and peels back his jacket, revealing a gun snug in its holster. “Some of us are.”
“Gabriel!” Salvador snaps.
“Had we known this was a wedding and not some bullshit Halloween party, we wouldn’t be. But I thought it best to have a few armed in case it turned ugly—and it has.”
Papa taps the desk, knuckles rattling on the polished wood. “But not with us—with the Russians. What do we do?”
Raphael tilts his head toward the basement. “You have enough guns down there to arm us all.”
“And you know this how?” Papa asks, suspicion flashing across his features.
I raise my hand, and his frown deepens. “Raphael thought it best to keep us safe,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
Raphael steps closer, sliding an arm around my shoulders. The contact is warm and firm. “Sophia said you taught her and Maria to shoot. It was a wise decision.”
A part of me wants to pull away from him—this closeness feels dangerous—but another part can’t help but be impressed he’d stand up to my father and back me openly.
Papa nods once, sharp and deliberate. “All my children can shoot.” He glances at Salvador. “Can yours?”
Salvador tilts his head, a faint, cocky smile tugging at his lips. “Unlike you, I only have boys. They can all handle a gun.”
Raphael clears his throat. “We need to move discreetly, in groups. To keep everyone comfortable, groups of four. Two from your camp, two from yours.”
Salvador raises an eyebrow at my father. Papa just nods, slow and deliberate.
“This will work for us,” Papa says.
Raphael reaches for my hand. My pulse spikes, but I don’t pull away. “It needs to look like the wedding is going ahead. You need to get dressed, Sophia.”
“What?” My stomach knots.
“We need this meeting to look as though you had cold feet but that it was resolved,” he says, the edge of steel threading through his calm tone. “Your father goes out there and announces it. Let the guests know what’s happening.”
“As in… us getting married to merge the families?” I ask, my voice sharp, lined with steel.
Raphael’s jaw tightens. “Exactly.”
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. The thought of standing at the altar, pretending this is all normal, makes my stomach twist into knots. My eyes flick to Papa. He’s already staring at me, like a predator assessing prey.
“And we’re just… supposed to go along with this?” I ask, my hands curling into fists at my sides.
“You don’t have a choice,” Raphael says quietly. “Not if we want to survive the night.”
I shiver, half from his nearness, half from the gravity of his words. Glancing around the room, my brother, Antonio, stands like a statue, his expression unreadable.
Papa leans back, exhaling slowly. “So, we do this quietly, efficiently, and without alarming anyone. Understood?”
“Yes,” I say, though the word tastes bitter.
Raphael presses a hand to my lower back, guiding me toward the door. “Get dressed. Make it look like you’re ready to walk down the aisle, but don’t give anyone the satisfaction of thinking you’re happy about it.”
My stomach twists. I can feel the weight of a hundred eyes on us, even though the room is empty.
Every mask, every hidden glance, every whispered conversation outside is a potential threat.
And yet… somehow, with him at my side, I feel a fraction of control, like maybe we can navigate this chaos without losing ourselves.
With one final glance at the men in the room, I grab Maria’s hand and we move out into the hall and up the stairs.