Chapter 7 Sofia
Sofia
A week. Seven days of failed escape attempts, and Dante has thwarted every single one of them with that infuriating smirk of his.
Day one: the window. He was waiting for me like he'd been expecting it.
Day two: tried to slip out while he was in the bathroom. Somehow he managed to intercept me at the front gate before I'd made it ten feet down the driveway.
Day three: fake illness to get him to take me to the hospital, then bolt from the parking lot. He caught me before I even reached the street.
Days four through six: increasingly desperate attempts involving laundry chutes, delivery trucks, and one particularly embarrassing incident where I tried to hide in the back of a capo’s car. Each time, there he was with that same cocky grin and some variation of "Nice try, princess."
But today is going to be different. Today I'm going for something he won't expect.
I've been watching his patterns too, and I've noticed something: every morning at exactly seven-thirty, he steps out onto the back patio to take a phone call. Something about checking in with Marco or Nico—some kind of daily security briefing that lasts exactly eight minutes.
Eight minutes. That's my window.
I've timed the route from the kitchen to the service road that runs behind the property. If I move fast enough, I can make it to the road and catch the early bus that stops at the corner. By the time his call is over, I'll be halfway to the city.
The plan is flawless. It has to work.
Seven twenty-eight. I position myself in the kitchen, pretending to help Mamma with breakfast preparations while keeping one eye on Dante. He's sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone with that relaxed posture that makes it clear he thinks he's got everything under control.
Seven twenty-nine. His phone buzzes. Right on schedule.
"Excuse me," he says to Mamma, already standing. "I need to take this."
He steps out onto the patio, and I force myself to count to ten before making my move. Can't be too eager.
"Mamma, I think I left something in the garden yesterday," I say casually, edging toward the back door. "I'll just go grab it real quick."
"Of course, cara," she replies without looking up from the stove.
Perfect.
I slip out the side door that leads to the garden instead of the main patio door where Dante is pacing with his phone pressed to his ear. From here, I can see him clearly, but the angle means he can't see me unless he specifically looks this way.
This is it. This is my shot.
I sprint across the garden, keeping low behind the hedgerows until I reach the back fence. There's a loose board here that I discovered two days ago—not big enough to squeeze through, but if I can work it free...
My fingers find the edge of the board and I pull, trying to pry it loose without making too much noise. Come on, come on...
"You know, most people use gates."
I freeze. No. No, no, no. This is impossible.
I turn around, and there's Dante leaning against a tree about ten feet away, his phone nowhere in sight. He's got that same infuriating smirk, but there's something else in his expression too. Something that looks almost... impressed?
"How?" I demand, standing up and facing him with my hands clenched into fists. "You were on the phone. I timed it perfectly."
"I was on the phone," he agrees, pulling the device out of his pocket and waving it at me. "Bluetooth earpiece. Hands-free technology is a beautiful thing, princess."
The fury that rises in my chest is so intense I can barely see straight. A week of planning, of watching, of calculating, and he's been one step ahead the entire time. Not just today—every day.
"You bastard," I hiss. "You've been playing with me this whole time, haven't you?"
"Hey now, that's a little harsh. I prefer to think of it as... educational. You're learning valuable lessons about surveillance and counter-surveillance."
"This isn't a game!"
"Isn't it?" He takes a step closer, and something in his posture shifts. The playful mockery is still there, but underneath it there's something more serious. More intense. "You keep trying to run, I keep catching you. Sounds like a game to me."
"I need to get out of here," I say, hating how my voice cracks slightly. "I need to be free."
"And go where, exactly? Do what? You're eighteen years old with no money, no connections outside the family, and half the city's looking for an excuse to use you as leverage against Vito." His voice gentles slightly. "At least here you're safe."
"Safe and trapped."
"Sometimes those are the same thing."
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I can see something flickering in his blue eyes.
Something that wasn't there before, or maybe I just never noticed it.
The way his gaze drifts briefly to my lips before snapping back to my eyes.
The slight tension in his jaw. The way he's standing just a little too close for this to be purely professional.
Interesting.
"Come on," he says finally, jerking his head toward the house. "Your mom's making breakfast. You should eat something before you attempt your next daring escape."
"I'm not hungry."
"You're always hungry. I've been watching you for a week, remember? You eat like you're storing up for hibernation."
"That's—" I start to snap at him, but then I catch that look again. The way his eyes linger on my face, taking in details he doesn't need to notice for security purposes. The way his breathing changes almost imperceptibly when I step closer.
Oh.
Well, well, well. Dante Mancini, professional badass and Vito's most trusted enforcer, is attracted to me. This could be... useful.
I let my anger drain away, replacing it with something softer. Something more calculated. "You know what? You're right. I am hungry."
The change in my tone catches him off guard. I can see it in the way his eyebrows twitch upward, the slight confusion that crosses his features.
"I... what?"
"Breakfast sounds good," I say, moving past him toward the house. I let my shoulder brush against his arm as I pass, just barely. Just enough. "Thanks for looking out for me, Dante."
I can feel his stare burning into my back as I walk away, and I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling.
Two can play this game, and I think I just figured out how to change the rules.
Maybe escaping isn't the only way to get what I want. Maybe there's another approach entirely.
One that involves getting Dante Mancini wrapped around my little finger.