Chapter 21
SOFIYA
My phone vibrates against the marble counter in the bathroom, its screen lighting up with a number I don’t recognise.
There’s no name, yet I know, with the few people who have this number, that I can’t ignore it.
I glance back at the bed I’ve just vacated. My thighs clench in recollection of everything we’ve done in the past few days, but especially tonight.
God, the way he owned me.
I cling to that memory, a large chunk of me burning with pleasure and shame, when I press the home button.
Bonafacio Mancinelli’s face flashes above the line.
Every muscle in me tightens. I lift the receiver and press it to my ear.
‘Nupita. I suppose I should be thankful that you picked up my call?’ His voice is low and ragged, the rasp of a snake cornered, the hatred of a king turned pauper.
‘Is it worth asking where you are?’ I murmur, keeping one ear out for a change in Rafaelle’s breathing. A sign that he knows I’m engaging with his enemy.
‘You ask me this, why? So you can betray me?’
I lean back, gripping the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles whiten.
I realise abstractly that I’m not even shocked at the accusation.
‘Betray you?’ I echo. I keep my tone flat – bloodless.
‘You betrayed yourself with your sloppiness, Nonno. And even then, I bought you hours to get away. You should thank me,’ I snarl, but inside, something claws at my ribs.
How many times have I bled for this family? Bitten my tongue until it scarred? Endured whispers and brushed off groping hands because I wasn’t born with a cock? I was good only when I was useful. Feared only when I was precise. Loved… never.
The only thing that matters is what I can deliver. Who I can remove. What secrets I can bury to fatten the Mancinelli bank account.
Fury builds in my chest. I stayed. I killed. I protected him. Even now, I’m the one half-hiding him. Shielding what little is left of our legacy.
My eyes flick back to the bedroom, where Rafa sleeps – careless and unguarded in the early light, dark lashes resting against stupidly fine chiselled cheekbone.
For a terrifying second, I wonder if he is my way out. My next move. If Maddie could carve a future with Cesare, against every fucking odd and tradition, then maybe… I… I could—
I shut the thought down like a trapdoor.
Because hope like that tastes like betrayal. And I’ve got just enough Mancinelli blood left to still feel sick about it.
He hisses through clenched teeth. ‘I should thank you? You think you helped me? You sheltered me? You bought me time in a cage you’re helping our enemies to build. Why are you in Sicily at all?’
‘Because of your actions. Because you’ve forced me to take whatever steps necessary to make sure no one else dies!
You would already be in the cage if not for me.
’ I swallow, feeling a shock of guilt flash through my chest. ‘And I did that because you’re my grandfather.
Because I’m remembering who I was before you taught me to kill.
’ Thanks to the very enemy I’ve been brought up to hate.
A hate perpetuated by a bitter old man. ‘My days of being your weapon are numbered, Nonno.’
He laughs, a harsh sound that’s evil and dominance and zero remorse. ‘You’re my granddaughter, Sofiya. My blood runs in your veins. You owe me everything.’
I set my jaw, refusing to let his venom penetrate.
‘Not after you tried to kill my sister at her own wedding!’ I stop, suck my fraying control back in.
‘I bought you time once. It won’t happen again.
All I owe you is the strong suggestion that you stop running.
It’s not too late to turn yourself in. A quick confession, and they might show mercy.
But if you stay on the run, the enforcer will find you – and you know he won’t leave you alive if he finds you. ’
He breathes in sharply. ‘You dare to tell me to turn—’
‘Do yourself a favour,’ I cut in, voice firm. ‘Save what dignity you have. I’m telling you this because once he’s on your trail, there’s no coming back.’
Silence stretches for a heartbeat, then he snarls, ‘Then do what’s necessary. Kill him.’
My blood slows – awash in ice. ‘I’m not your assassin any more, Nonno,’ I say, soft but lethal. ‘I stopped killing for free, and my schedule is full for the rest of your life.’
He seethes, the line crackling with rage. ‘You abandon me, your blood, just like your sister did. You choose that Salvatore bastard over—’
A heavy click echoes. He hangs up. I’m left with a sudden emptiness, and the phone’s black screen glares at me.
My fingers tremble as I drop the device onto the counter.
‘Everything okay?’ Rafa’s voice is right behind me. Soft, low, and raw with suspicion. I hadn’t realised he was there. He steps into view, arms folded, watching the phone as if it’s a ticking bomb.
I swallow. ‘I know you heard him.’
‘Hmm?’ His voice is cautious as he crosses to me. ‘Not everything. Care to tell me what he said?’
I meet his eyes. Dark and insistent. ‘He wanted me to kill you.’
His lips curl, a flash of defiance. ‘Old news. To which you said…?’
I place a hand on his chest and feel muscles taut beneath his shirt. ‘He should go fuck himself. But respectfully.’
His eyes gleam, even as they peer into mine, dissecting me. ‘Tell me what you’re feeling.’
Empty. Angry. Terrified. ‘Ask me again in the morning.’
‘You know what that means, right? He’s not going to take this well. It’s one thing believing his hand of retribution might come to his aid at some point in the future. It’s another thing having that surety yanked away.’
I feel something in my gut twist. ‘You mean now he’s alone, he’s ten times more vicious?’
‘Sì.’
I swallow. ‘Yes, I know that.’
He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes narrowing. ‘Does he know you’re with me?’
‘I’m not sure, but he thinks I’m a traitor anyway so…’ I shrug, even though half my bones protest. ‘I told him you don’t leave men like him alive.’
He lets out a short laugh – tension exhaling in a sharp burst. ‘You stealing my lines now, tigra?’
‘Just because it sounds insane like a line from John Wick doesn’t make it false.’ A tremor of relief and terror coexists in my chest. I realise how close I came to – what? To turning on him? The thought makes me cringe. And shake.
He catches it. Steps forward and tilts my face towards his. ‘Don’t knock it, bedda. There’s a reason it’s a franchise and a fucking cult classic.’ He turns serious for a moment. ‘You’ve handled yourself fairly well so far. Whatever happens, we’ll handle that too. Together, yeah?’
I close my eyes, leaning into his touch. ‘Yeah,’ I whisper.
He brushes a thumb over my lips. ‘Good.’ His gaze softens a touch, and he captures my mouth in a tender kiss. An anchor back to a need I don’t even know I need until he offers it.
And, yes, I’m beginning to notice a pattern, this pattern, with my enemy.
When he pulls away, I’m trembling, heart pounding.
‘Fairly well, though?’ I toss in, eyebrows raised.
He holds me by the waist, forehead against mine. ‘You’re far from top of the class yet. But the night isn’t over, bedda tigra. You’re still mine,’ he murmurs, fierce and unwavering and far too possessive. ‘So I’ll give you a chance to score some much-needed points. Sì?’
God, what that name does to me. A silly nickname that I should bat away and yet… ‘Sì,’ I answer, breathless.
Rain hammers against the shutters, but inside the villa, the storm is us. Desire and unease and longing entwined.
Rafaelle
I step into the pre-dawn hush of Valle di Luce and close the villa’s heavy stone door behind me to stand alone on the gravel path, the last sun rays warming my cheek.
I should feel triumphant – Sofiya and I extended our truce. My fingers are so close to clamping El Topo’s neck I can feel the weasel’s heat.
In a few days, a week, tops, I can snatch another victory in this never-ending war between Salvatore and Mancinelli.
More importantly, I can claim an eternity of rest for Mama.
But my chest is tight, my mind racing.
I pace a few steps before a gnarled vine trunk and run a hand across its rough bark. Normally, solitude here – earth and grape must – clears my head.
Tonight, even these ancient vines feel like they’re pressing in on me.
I exhale, recalling Sofiya’s call with El Topo, her voice breaking when she refused to kill for him, that defiant flash in her eyes as she hung up.
I thought I knew her from what I’ve learned over the past year. That she’s loyal only to blood and family. But last night she stood across from me, bearing her pain, choosing herself instead of someone else’s warped version of vengeance.
It shouldn’t have surprised me. Hell, I chose myself for something more than my birthright handed me. Found fulfilment that was entirely and selfishly mine alone.
We’ve done this, separately but so often, drawn comfort in the same kill zones, that it should’ve eroded any hint of softness, like it has to me.
Now I’m haunted by her words – I want to be something more than a hostage between two men.
I shake my head.
I’ve never been hostage to anyone – always predator, never prey.
My mind flashes back to cooking for her. Copper pots, garlic sizzling in olive oil, the rich scent of lamb ragu simmering under my mother’s gaze even though she’s been gone years now.
The memory feels absurdly tender. I remember Sofiya tracing the tomato sauce with her tongue, tasting it with an intensity I’d only seen on the cutting edge of our one mission together.
In the past, I’d treated those memories as fuel – reminders of home – but never offered them to another – certainly not a Mancinelli. Yet something warm and alien buzzes in my veins. Something a lot disturbing.
I’m beginning to sense a kindred spirit in my enemy. And that’s a big fucking problem.
I thumb my burner phone, replay Nightowl’s cryptic warnings, coded hideout locations.
Wondering why I’m stalling in taking the next necessary step.
Violence has always been my life’s baseline – I pull the trigger, slit that throat, walk away whistling.
But now, for the first time, the next kill leaves me flatlining.
And if she were in the line of fire, I know I’d drop my rifle. Walk away.
Not whistling.
Fuck.
I rub my face. Slap a taut cheek. ‘Focus.’ But the word tastes bitter.
Her footsteps, soft even on gravel – another talent I don’t want to notice but do – break the silence. She steps into the last golden light, silhouette caressing the vines. Damp hair curls around her face and she looks both vulnerable and unbreakable.
‘You should be asleep. We head out soon enough.’
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she says, coming to stand beside me.
A fingertip brushes a leaf, half-smile on her lips – like neither of us can believe how we ended up here.
I keep my gaze on the vineyard, hiding the storm inside. Because this is where I make a clever quip. A filthy joke about helping her sleep the best way I know how.
Except I’m all dried up.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Well, at least I can still cuss. I’d lose what’s left of my mind if I couldn’t, I’m sure.
She narrows her eyes, reading my tension. ‘Before things get fucked up again, you should know my time here has been… not safe like a mission, safe like… an unfamiliar home.’
Unfamiliar… because she’d never known a true home?
My jaw clenches. I don’t know what to do with that. And I want it all over me. Repeated in surround sound on a loop.
Classic insanity.
She reaches out, brushing my arm and my pulse spikes. Worst-case scenarios for the first time gaining a foothold in my thoughts. Thought of losing her, seeing her become collateral courtesy of El Topo.
That feels like a blade at my throat. I squeeze out the words. ‘I think you should head to Canada,’ I say. ‘Check on Narciso before the race—’
‘No.’ She steps closer, clasps my wrist in her hand. ‘Nothing changes. I’m in this with you – soul and bone.’
I raise deliberate taunting brows, resorting to tried and tested methods. ‘I don’t know if I can believe that.’
She blinks. Again. Her eyes shimmer with anger. Disappointment. But she holds my gaze. ‘Then look fucking deeper.’
In that moment, I see her pain – raw, open. The girl who lives in shadows and secretly thrills on the hunt of a kill now stands before me with a crack in her armour.
I realise that in hunting her own grandfather, she sacrificed that part of herself. A part she’s desperate to claim back.
For her, the ambiguous line between predator and protector has shifted.
She spared her grandfather’s life and refused to finish him off.
I grip her hand, fingers locking tight around hers against the vine’s rough bark. ‘We came to kill a monster,’ I say, voice low. Reminding her. Reminding myself.
I let go of her hand, stepping back. Nights of tenderness are over. They have to be.
I pour steel into my tone. ‘If you want to come with me,’ I warn, ‘you will answer to me every second. I’ll have full control over you once more. That won’t change.’
Her bottom lip trembles, but she doesn’t argue.
I see the hurt flash in her eyes, and it stabs me, yet I harden against it. My vendetta hasn’t waned, nor my hunger to protect my family from the monster who nearly destroyed them.
A beep sounds from my pocket. ‘I have to take this.’ I jump on the excuse.
She nods, vulnerability etched on her face, and something fierce stirs in me, a protectiveness I’ve never known.
I turn away, footsteps crunching over gravel. When I push open the villa door, I turn for one last look.
She stands tall against the dying light, a statue of loyalty and pain. And all around her, the vineyard pulses with what we might have been, two killers who found refuge briefly in each other.
Maybe history is inevitable.
Or maybe this is what grasping at bullshit straws feels like. Because when the hunt resumes, and I’m forced to choose between her and vengeance, I know what I’m choosing.
Right?