Chapter 41 - Sophia
The next morning…
The morning air is a bit warmer, the dampness is slowly evaporating, but it still holds the clean scent of pine and wet earth.
After my last outing, I feel strong enough to go out again.
I need to call Marcello. It's been too long.
But not from here. Raffael isn't worried about Marcello tracing my phone signal to this place, but I am.
Raffael is willing to risk a war, says he's ready, but that's not what I want.
I want my brother and… what is Raffael? Boyfriend?
Anyway, I want them to get along with each other.
They're the only two men in this world whom I love.
I expect another truck to be waiting in the driveway, a big, armored SUV maybe, something that screams protection and safety. Instead… I freeze. What I see is a motorcycle. No, not just any motorcycle. A monster. Sleek, black, gleaming even under the pale sun.
Raffael’s grin is boyish and smug all at once, pride radiating off him as he steps forward and rests a hand on the bike. "Like her?"
My mouth goes dry. Like her? The thing looks like it could eat me alive. "That’s… yours?"
"My Ducati," he confirms, his voice laced with satisfaction. He pats the seat. "Ours, if you want it."
I shake my head quickly, backing up a step. "There’s no way I can get on that. No way."
"Come on, bella mia," he coaxes, his tone drops into that dangerous lure he always uses when he knows I’ll give in eventually.
He holds out his jacket. His jacket. The bastard knows how we girls giggled and vied to be the one wearing it.
Not that any of us ever succeeded. It was a price none of us ever got.
And now he's holding it out to me. His leather jacket.
"I hate you," I grumble as I step forward so he can put it around me. It's just as I imagined it would be, warm, smelling of him, soft. It envelopes me like a mantle. "What about you?" I can't help but stop and ask.
His grin should warn me. He pulls out another jacket from underneath two helmets and winks.
"You knew?" I accuse.
"I may or may not have overheard certain brats betting who would look hotter in my jacket," he admits, unable to hide his smugness.
"Now I really, really hate you," I say even as I pull his enormous jacket closer around me.
Raf leans forward, his breath hot against my ear, "I've always wanted you to wear it."
And just like that, my knees turn to jelly.
Next, he lifts a sleek black helmet and fits it over my head with such care that it makes my heart stumble. His voice comes through the little mic inside, low and coaxing, "You’ll be safe with me. Always."
"I can’t—"
"You can," he counters softly. Then he swings a leg over the machine, and the leather of his other jacket stretches across his shoulders. He looks made for this, the very image of sin and steel. My heart hammers even as he reaches out a gloved hand toward me.
I stare at it. Then at him. Then, at the beast purring under him.
He tilts his head, and his grin softens into something more tender. "Try. For me."
For him? I’d wade through lava. Before I can think better of it, my fingers slip into his. He pulls me forward, steadies me as I swing a trembling leg over the bike. He helps me settle onto the seat behind him, then guides my arms around his waist until I’m plastered against his back.
The leather of his jacket is cool under my cheek. His body is warm, solid, every inch of him a wall between me and the ground.
"Alright," I whisper, my voice cracking. "But go slow, okay?"
Through the mic, I hear his laugh—low, wicked, fond. "Sure, baby."
He kicks the machine alive, and the roar of the Ducati swallows everything. The vibration shoots up through me, rattling my bones, making me cling tighter. And then—
The world lurches.
From zero to eighty in the span of a heartbeat, the bike eats the road like a predator unleashed. Wind tears at my hair where it spills beneath the helmet, the trees blur into streaks of green and brown, and my stomach drops straight into my shoes.
I scream, clutching him tighter, my nails digging into the leather at his ribs. He laughs again, and the sound is carried back to me over the roar. "Hold on, bella mia!"
As if I could ever let go.
At first, I can’t do anything but cling, my helmet pressed hard against his back, every muscle locked tight. My heart slams like it wants to escape my chest, but then—
The Ducati leans.
The world tilts with it, and suddenly the ground is rushing by so close I swear I could touch it with my fingertips.
My breath catches—half terror, half awe—as the bike curves, bends, then straightens again with effortless power.
And it happens again. And again. Each lean draws me tighter against him, forces my body to move with his, to trust his balance, his strength.
It should scare me. But it doesn’t.
Something stirs inside me instead.
It’s almost like sex, the way our bodies fit together, the way he leads and I follow, the way the machine vibrates between my legs, raw and alive. Every shift, every tilt, every surge forward, it feels intimate, primal.
Curiosity wins out over fear. I peel my head from his back and force myself to look around. The trees blur into emerald streaks, the sky overhead a boundless gray canvas split by shards of sunlight. The road unspools beneath us, endless and fast.
And then I do something I never thought I could again.
I laugh.
The sound bursts out of me, sharp at first, then fuller, rising like a song I thought I’d forgotten. I tilt my head back, and the wind bites at my throat; the world rushes past so quickly I can barely breathe it in.
"Faster!" I cry into the mic, my voice shrill with exhilaration. "Faster!"
Raffael’s answering growl vibrates through his back into my chest. And then he obliges.
The Ducati roars, a beast unleashed, the engine snarls like it had been waiting for this moment all along.
The surge of speed steals the air from my lungs, and the ground beneath us is nothing but a blur, a whoosh, gone before I can even register it.
I feel it then.
Like I’m flying.
Like every chain Roberto ever wrapped around me, every bruise, every scream, every cage of fear—gone, stripped away by the wind and speed and power of this moment.
I close my eyes for a heartbeat, and when I open them again, I swear I see her—the girl I used to be—the girl who laughed, who dreamed, who wanted more.
A butterfly, breaking out of the cocoon.
Free.
Utterly, gloriously free.
We slow down once we hit the city limits, but even here it feels exhilarating.
Raffael weaves the Ducati through traffic like it’s nothing, slipping between lanes, gliding past lines of cars stuck at red lights while horns blare in frustration.
Where others are trapped, he’s in control.
Untouchable. And with my arms wrapped tight around him, pressed against his back, I feel untouchable too.
When he finally pulls into a park and kills the engine, the sudden silence makes the rush in my blood louder, almost dizzying.
The vibration lingers in my legs, a hum under my skin, and when he swings off and reaches back for me, I take his hand without hesitation.
My legs wobble when I land, but I’m too wired to care.
The moment he unclips my helmet and pulls it free, cool air brushes over my hair. I don’t think. I don’t plan. I just kiss him. Breathlessly and fiercely. A spark born of adrenaline and something so much deeper.
When I pull back, I’m smiling, shaky but real. "Thank you. That was… amazing."
His grin is pure pride, but it softens the second his eyes lock on mine. "If I had known this was my reward, I’d have done it a lot sooner."
Our eyes meet, and like always when that happens, everything around us stills. "Call your brother," he finally says, steady and certain, and nods toward a bench beneath the shade of an oak.
I look at him, then take the phone out of my jeans' pocket. Slowly, I nod, swallowing a dry knot in my throat.
The bench creaks as I sit; the wood is cool beneath my fingers.
I clutch the device like it’s both a lifeline and a loaded weapon.
Across the path, Raffael folds his arms, keeping his body taut, while his gaze sweeps the park, sharp, restless, vigilant.
Always watching, always guarding. But he gives me space too, far enough away that this moment belongs only to me.
It’s been so long since I’ve talked to Marcello, really talked, just the two of us. And now, with everything that’s happened, I don’t even know where to start. It’s taken me days to realize he must be worried sick about me, especially after the police found Roberto’s body.
But the fucked-up truth? I didn’t once stop to think about Marcello’s feelings. Hadn't considered that he'd be worried about me. As if… as if I couldn’t let myself believe I mattered enough to anybody to be worried about.
It doesn’t make sense, I know. It sounds like an excuse, but it’s the truth. That’s what Roberto did to me. He hollowed me out until I couldn’t see myself as anything more than a pawn, a burden, a toy to be used and discarded. He made me forget that I was someone’s sister. Someone’s blood.
Raffael and Esther have been chipping away at that lie, showing me piece by piece how false it is. But the years I spent with Roberto carved deep scars, ones that don’t fade just because someone tells me I’m worth more.
The phone feels heavier than it should, like it’s carrying the weight of the last three years with it.
My thumb hovers over Marcello’s name, and my pulse races so fast I almost can’t breathe.
My eyes find Raffael, a few feet away, still leaning against that tree.
He sends an encouraging nod my way, and I swallow another lump down, before drawing in a breath and hitting the button.
The ringing fills my ears, loud, sharp, like it might split me open.
And then—