Chapter 37 Sophie
Sophie
The lunch rush is over when Siena walks through the Arsenal’s front door, and I know immediately something’s wrong. She has that look, the one where her eyes are soft but her mouth is hard.
I’m wiping down the counter and when I glance up to greet her, she stops mid-stride.
“What?” I ask, my hand stilling.
She tilts her head, studying me through squinted eyes. “You look different.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Different how?”
“I don’t know.” She circles me slowly, her designer heels clicking on the worn floor. “You’re… glowing. And you were humming.” She stops directly in front of me, her eyes wide. “Oh my gosh. You had sex.”
“Siena!” I glance toward the kitchen door even though we’re alone.
“Don’t ‘Siena’ me. Wait, why are you looking at the kitchen? Is he here?” She grabs my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. “Hold on. It’s more than that.” Her eyes go wide. “Holy shit, did you get off?”
The dish towel slips from my fingers.
“Sophie Bellamorte!” She’s practically shrieking now, but there’s joy in it. “You finally—” The joy evaporates as quickly as it appeared. Her face goes pale. “Please tell me that it wasn’t Rocco.”
“No! Of course not. I fired him, remember?”
“Then who—” She stops. Her gaze sharpens like a blade. “Vin.”
It’s not a question.
“FUCKING VIN?!”
My silence is answer enough.
“No.” She steps back, shaking her head. “No, no, no. Sophie, please tell me you did not have that moment with Vin fucking asshole Demonio.”
“It’s not a big deal, Siena. We have an understanding—”
“An understanding?” Her voice pitches higher. “Do you hear yourself? Vin doesn’t do understandings! He doesn’t do relationships. He uses women and throws them away like—” She gestures wildly at my kitchen. “Like takeout boxes!”
I pick up the towel and resume wiping the counter, my voice calm. “I know who he is.”
“Do you?” She plants both palms on the counter, leaning in. “Because the Sophie I know has never really wanted casual sex. The Sophie I know wants a husband and babies and Sunday dinners with family. The Sophie I know—”
“The Sophie you know is 34 years old and capable of making her own choices.” My voice is steely, at least my version of it. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” She peers at me closely, and whatever she sees makes her shoulders slump. “Sophie, damn it, you’re all weird and giddy. You like him.”
“Of course I like him—”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You don’t just like him. You—”
The kitchen door swings open.
Vin walks in, and the entire atmosphere shifts. He’s all coiled muscle and tension, his dark eyes sweeping the room before landing on Siena. His jaw tightens, meeting her glare with one of his own.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, his voice flat.
Siena whirls on him. “Protecting my cousin from making the biggest mistake of her life.”
“Siena—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“How dare you.” She stalks toward him, small compared to his 6’ 3” of solid muscle. “She’s not one of your whores, Vin. She’s family. She deserves better than you—”
“Stop.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. Both of them turn to look at me.
I set down the towel, my hands trembling slightly. “Siena, I love you. But Vincenzo is a guest in my home, and you can’t talk to him like that. Not in my restaurant.”
Vin’s expression doesn’t change, but pride or maybe surprise flits across his face.
Siena’s mouth opens, closes. “Sophie, I’m trying to—”
“I know what you’re trying to do.” I move around the counter, standing between them, creating space. “And I appreciate it. But I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay,” Siena says, but her voice has lost its edge. Now she just sounds sad. “Look at you. Look at how you’re looking at him.”
Her face is etched with worry and tears gather at the corners of her eyes.
Vin shifts behind me. I can feel his solid presence, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, sullen and silent, refusing to engage.
“Can we talk?” Siena asks quietly. “Alone?”
I nod.
We move to the corner table, the one by the window where Mr. Cavallari usually sits. Vin stays by the kitchen door tracking our movement, his expression carefully blank.
Siena grabs both my hands the moment we sit. “I see you,” she whispers. “I know you, Sophie, better than anyone. And I can see it written all over your face.” She squeezes my fingers. “You’re in love with him.”
The words are hard to hear out loud. I open my mouth to deny it, but nothing comes out. Because she’s right.
Somewhere between the gnocchi and the cannoli cream, between the degradation and the tenderness, between scopami, padrone and la mia regina, I fell in love with Vincenzo Demonio.
“Please.” Siena’s voice breaks. “Please protect your heart. He’s going to hurt you. There’s no scenario where this ends well. There’s no version of this story where he becomes the loving husband and father you want. He’s not built for that, Sophie. He’s not capable of it.”
A heaviness settles over me. “I know,” I whisper.
And I do. I’ve known it from the beginning, from the moment he told me he’d never have a girlfriend, that he’d only marry for an alliance and fuck women on the side. From every rough word and degrading act. From the way he holds himself apart even when he’s buried inside me.
Vin Demonio is not a forever man. He’s a right-now man, a man who will leave me with memories and an empty bed and a heart that will take years to put back together.
I know all of this, and I love him anyway.
“I know,” I say again, and this time my voice breaks.
Siena pulls me into her arms, and I let her. I let her hold me while a cold sinking feeling settles in, heavy with the weight of loving someone who will never love you back.
Over her shoulder, I see Vin still standing by the kitchen door, silent and watching.
Our eyes meet. And for just a moment, I see something in his expression that looks like regret. Then it’s gone, locked behind that stony blank face.
He turns and walks out without a word. The click of the back door closing sounds like an ending.
“It’s going to be okay,” Siena whispers into my hair.
We both know she’s lying.