Chapter 8 Dante
Dante
"More coffee, Dante?" Olga asks, already reaching for the pot.
"Please," I reply, keeping my voice steady despite the fact that Sofia's hand has just landed on my knee under the table.
I shoot her a warning look, but she's the picture of innocence, buttering her toast with only one hand while asking her mother about the weather. Her other hand creeps higher.
"Such a beautiful morning," Sofia says conversationally, her fingers now resting on my thigh. "Don't you think so, Dante?"
The little minx doesn't even look at me when she says it, just takes a delicate bite of her toast like she's not currently testing my self-control.
"Gorgeous," I manage, wrapping my fingers around my fork tighter. The uncomfortable pressure of the metal is the only thing keeping me from thinking about that silver dress again.
Skin exposed.
Cheeks flushed from dancing.
"I was thinking," Sofia continues, and her thumb traces a small circle against my leg, "maybe I should start helping more around the house. You know, setting the table, preparing meals..."
Her hand moves higher, and I clear my throat loudly.
"That's wonderful, cara," Olga beams, completely oblivious to the fact that her daughter is currently trying to seduce her bodyguard. "You've always been such a good helper."
Sofia's fingers find the inside of my thigh, and I nearly choke on my coffee. I give her the most pointed look I can manage while her mother's back is turned, but Sofia just smiles sweetly and asks, "Dante, would you pass the jam?"
"Sure," I say through gritted teeth, reaching across the table for the jar. As I hand it to her, our fingers brush, and she has the audacity to let the contact linger.
"Thank you," she says, her voice dropping just enough to sound breathless. "You're so... helpful."
Jesus Christ. This girl is going to be the death of me.
"More eggs?" Olga offers, turning back to us with the pan in hand.
"I'm stuffed," Sofia declares, finally—thank God—removing her hand from my leg. But not before giving my thigh one last squeeze that makes me seriously consider the benefits of cold showers.
I catch her eye and mouth 'stop' when her mother isn't looking. She just grins and mouths back 'make me.'
When breakfast finally ends—the longest thirty minutes of my life—Sofia follows me outside without being asked. Progress, I think. Or maybe she's just planning something new.
"So," she says, lighting up one of my cigarettes—when did I start sharing those with her?—"I'm eighteen now."
"Yeah, I heard. Happy belated birthday, by the way."
She waves dismissively. "The point is, I'm an adult. I should be doing something with my life, not just sitting around this house going stir-crazy while you babysit me."
"What did you have in mind? College applications? A nice internship at a non-profit?" I can't help the sarcasm that creeps into my voice.
"I'm serious, Dante." She takes a drag, exhaling slowly. "I need something to do. Some kind of purpose. I'm going insane with all this sitting around."
Actually, that's not a terrible point. A bored Sofia is a Sofia plotting her next escape attempt. A busy Sofia might be easier to manage.
"What if I could get Vito to agree to let you go back to work at RRE?" I suggest. "It would get you out of the house, give you something to focus on."
Her face lights up like I just offered her the keys to the city. "Really? You could do that?"
"I can ask Vito. No guarantees, but it's worth a shot."
"That would be..." She pauses, and for a moment I see genuine excitement replace the constant anger and frustration she's been carrying. "That would be amazing. Thank you."
The sincerity in her voice catches me off guard. This is the first time she's looked at me like I might actually be helping her instead of just keeping her prisoner.
"Don't thank me yet. He might say no."
"But you'll try?"
"Yeah, I'll try."
She finishes her cigarette, and I can see her mood starting to shift again. The brief moment of hope is fading back into the familiar restlessness.
"Speaking of Vito," I say, checking my watch, "we need to head over to the penthouse tonight."
"Why?" The suspicious tone is back immediately.
"Well, if you'd been answering your sister's texts, you'd know she's throwing you a birthday party."
Sofia stares at me like I just told her we're flying to the moon. "A birthday party? I turned eighteen over a month ago."
"Yeah, but things have been... busy. She wants to try and make amends. Give her a chance, Sofia."
"I don't want to see her. She didn't stand up for me at all in this whole thing."
"I know. But she's trying. And it's one night. Besides, your mom already said you're going, so unless you want to disappoint Olga..."
Sofia groans, dropping her head back dramatically. "Fine. But I'm not pretending to be happy about it."
"Wouldn't dream of asking you to."
Later that evening, we arrive at Vito's penthouse. The ride up in the elevator is tense—Sofia's been quiet since we left the Greenhouse, and I can practically feel the nervous energy radiating off her.
"You okay?" I ask as we reach the top floor.
"Just peachy," she mutters, but there's something vulnerable in her expression that makes me want to reach out and reassure her.
Before I can say anything else, the elevator doors open and we're swept into the controlled chaos of family dinner. Olga immediately commandeers Sofia, leading her toward where Rina is waiting with a carefully hopeful expression.
I hang back, watching the reunion unfold. It's awkward as hell, but at least Sofia doesn't bolt immediately. Small victories.
"Dante." Marco appears at my elbow, nodding toward Vito's study. "Boss wants to see you."
Shit. The look on his face tells me this isn't a social call.
I catch Sofia's eye and see confusion flicker across her face. Yeah, this can't be good.
Marco, Rafa, and the capos are positioned around the room, making it clear that something has definitely happened. Vito sits behind his desk, rubbing his forehead in thought.
"Kieran is trying to force a deal," Rafa starts without preamble.
"He caught wind of Sofia's stunt at Beehive last week," Marco continues, "but it's not just Sofia the Costellos are watching anymore."
"What do you mean?" I ask, taking a few steps closer but staying ready to move if needed.
"They have no interest in Elena," Vito finally speaks. "Rafa was right—they know she's not a virgin. And they made it clear they're watching all of us."
"Do you want me to shift focus to Gianna?" At least protecting Gianna doesn't involve daily escape attempts and games of sexual chicken at the breakfast table.
Vito shakes his head, pushing an envelope across his desk. "No. Kieran declared in his recent correspondence he's not interested in her either."
"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow, reaching for the envelope and flipping through its contents. A single sheet of printer paper accompanies a handful of photographs. Gianna—sans clothing—is pictured in several moments of pleasure with someone I can't quite make out. "Oh."
"Tell me about it. Now I have to live the rest of my life with the image of my naked sister burned into my eyelids," Rafa gags before Vito shuts him up with a look.
I shove the pictures back into the envelope and focus on the paper: She's not who we want. We want Sofia Gallo, and we'll know if you try to leverage anyone else for the deal.
"Shit." I read over the two sentences again. "Have you told Rina yet?"
Vito shakes his head, anger pulling his eyebrows together as he drums his knuckles on the desk. "Let's just make it through this dinner before we have to tell anybody they're specifically demanding Sofia."
"Just like that?" The words tumble out before I can stop them. "You know that won't go over well—"
Vito's expression hardens, and I'm met with the stony glare of Don Vito Rosso. "Are you questioning me?"
"No sir." I take a step back, putting more distance between us. "Whatever you have in mind will be in the Commission's favor, I'm sure."
He gives me a look I haven't seen in almost a decade, one that makes it clear he's questioning my loyalty.
The disappointment in his eyes hits me hard.
Vito became a mentor to me after my mother was killed—kept me off the streets when I had nothing and no one else.
I owe him my life, and having him question my loyalty feels like failing him completely.
"Go," he says finally. "Enjoy the party."
I nod and head for the door, my mind racing. The Costellos want Sofia specifically. They're watching our every move. And I just spent the morning promising her a job at RRE while trying not to think about how her hand felt on my thigh.
This job just got a whole lot more complicated.
"Ah, Vittore!" Olga's voice greets us as we emerge from the study, wine in hand. Vito's tense Don facade immediately falters as he welcomes his mother-in-law with a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for inviting us over for dinner tonight."
I scan the room for Sofia and find her standing near the windows, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else. When our eyes meet, she raises an eyebrow in question. I give her the slightest shake of my head.
Not here. Not now.
But soon, we're going to have to have a very different conversation about what keeping her safe actually means.