Chapter 30 - Alexei #2
I look past him to Sofia, still holding Nico's hand but watching us. Mine. Even standing there surrounded by her brothers' hatred, even after I tore her apart and rebuilt her, even after she ran, she’s still mine. The truth just confirms what my body's known all along.
"I'm asking you to stop blaming Sofia for something that was never her fault. And I'm asking for her. To let her choose. Without guilt."
Marco turns to study his sister. Really looks at her for what seems like the first time since she confessed. Something shifts in his expression. Not quite softness, but recognition maybe. Of the burden she's been carrying. Of the truth I've just revealed.
"Is this what you want?" he asks her directly. "Him?"
She doesn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Even after everything?"
"Because of everything."
The words hit me hard. After what I did to her, the basement, the degradation, the games, she still chooses me. Not because she has to. Not because she has nowhere else to go. But because of everything we've been through.
Marco exhales, something in his shoulders releasing. "You're still my sister. That doesn't change."
"Marco…"
"I need time. We all do. But you're still family."
It's not forgiveness for me. Not acceptance of what I did. But it's acceptance of her choice, and that's more than I dared hope for.
Sofia doesn't move immediately. She stands in the center of the room, tears still wet on her face, looking at each of her brothers in turn. I watch her catalog them—this woman who was trained to notice everything, now memorizing the people she's about to leave.
Nico still has her hand. He squeezes it once, then lifts it to his lips and kisses her knuckles.
A gesture so tender it feels like intrusion to witness.
He says something low, just for her, and whatever it is makes her breath catch.
Then he releases her, steps back, and the loss of contact is visible in the way her fingers curl around empty air.
Dante is next. He doesn't approach her—just raises his hands and signs something.
I don't know the words, but I see Sofia's face crumple and rebuild itself in the space of a breath.
She signs back, a short phrase, and Dante nods once.
His jaw is tight, but his eyes are soft.
He touches two fingers to his chest, then extends them toward her. Even I can read that one: love.
Alessandro won't look at her. He's staring at the floor, arms crossed, radiating the particular misery of someone who wants to be angry but can't quite manage it. Sofia crosses to him anyway, stops a foot away.
"Alex."
He shakes his head. Still won't look up.
"Alex, please."
When he finally raises his eyes, they're red-rimmed. "You're really leaving." Not a question. "You're really choosing him."
"I'm choosing myself." Her voice is steady even though her hands aren't. "For the first time in eleven years, I'm choosing what I want instead of what I think I deserve."
Alessandro's face twists. Then he's pulling her into a hug, fierce and brief, his hand cradling the back of her head like she's still the little sister he used to carry on his shoulders. I hear him say "Be safe" into her hair before he lets go and turns away, one hand coming up to cover his face.
Luca doesn't move from his position against the wall. His arms are crossed, his expression carved from granite. Of all the brothers, he's the one who looks most like he wants to put a knife in me—which, given what I know of him, isn't far from the truth.
Sofia approaches him anyway, stops just out of arm's reach. Smart. "Luca."
"Don't."
"I know you're angry—"
"I'm not angry." His voice is flat, controlled in a way that's more frightening than shouting. "Angry is what I was when you disappeared. Angry is what I was when we found out you'd been taken. This?" He gestures between her and me. "This is something else."
"What is it?"
He's quiet for a long moment. Then: "Grief. You're my sister, and you're walking out that door with the man who hurt you, and I can't stop you. So yeah. Grief."
Sofia reaches out, slow and careful, and touches his arm. He flinches but doesn't pull away. "I love you, Luca. That doesn't stop because I'm leaving."
"Yeah." He still won't look at her. "It doesn't stop for me either. That's the problem."
She rises on her toes and kisses his cheek. He stands rigid, accepting it without responding, but I see his throat move. A hard swallow. The only crack in that granite facade.
Then she turns.
The room holds its breath—or maybe that's just me, watching her walk toward me across the Rosetti study, leaving her brothers behind with each step. Marco stands like a statue. Nico has his hand on Dante's shoulder. Alessandro still has his back turned. Luca hasn't moved from the wall.
And Sofia walks through all of it, toward me, her eyes locked on mine.
Sofia crosses the room, takes my hand. Her fingers are cold, trembling slightly, but when our hands connect, something in my chest unclenches for the first time since she ran.
I walk out of the Rosetti compound exactly as I entered: nearly naked, vulnerable. But everything else has changed.
Sofia's hand in mine makes all the difference.
Her fingers slip fully into mine, and the contact shoots straight through me like always: electric, necessary.
Even after everything, my body recognizes hers as home.
I grip her fingers tight, but she doesn't pull away. Never pulls away, even when she should.
The guards still have their weapons drawn, still track our movement toward the gate. Any one of them could decide this insult can't stand, could put a bullet in my back before we reach the property line. But they look to Marco, still standing on the steps, watching us leave.
Behind us, Marco watches from the steps. Not forgiving. I see that in the set of his shoulders. But not stopping us either. It's not absolution, but it's permission, and right now, with Sofia's hand in mine and the truth finally burning in the light, it's enough. It has to be enough.