Chapter 9 Sofia
Sofia
"You're not going to try to jump, are you?" Rina's concern carries from behind me on the balcony.
Wordlessly, I shake my head. I'm pissed, not suicidal. What is it with people? A high balcony and suddenly I can't be trusted to my own devices?
"Can we talk?"
I close my eyes so she doesn't see me roll them. "Is that not what we're doing now?"
"You know what I mean." Her voice softens as she moves to stand next to me. "I miss you. I want my sister back."
"Yeah well," I shrug, taking a step away from the railing. My voice comes out cold, detached when I look at her over my shoulder. "Like Mamma said, 'we don't get what we want.'"
The words hit their mark. I can see it in the way Rina's face crumples slightly before she catches herself. Good. Maybe now she knows how it feels.
"Sofia, please. Just... give me five minutes. Let me explain."
"Explain what? How you chose your husband over your sister? How you sat there and let him assign me a babysitter? How you defended him when he talked about handing me over to the Costellos like I'm some kind of bargaining chip?"
"He's not going to hand you over," Rina says firmly. "He told them no."
"For now." I turn to face her fully, crossing my arms. "But what happens when they get tired of waiting? What happens when the next demand comes in and it's even worse?"
Rina is quiet for a long moment, and I can see her struggling with something.
When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper.
"I know you think I betrayed you that night.
And maybe... maybe I did. But Sofia, you have to understand—when you're married to someone like Vito, when you're part of this world, sometimes you have to pick your battles. "
"And I wasn't worth fighting for?"
"You are worth everything to me," she says fiercely, stepping closer. "But if I had defended you that night, if I had gone against him in front of Marco and Dante, it would have made things worse for both of us. He would have seen it as undermining his authority, and then where would we be?"
I want to stay angry. I want to hold onto this rage because it's easier than admitting she might have a point. But the exhaustion in her voice, the genuine regret in her eyes—it's hard to ignore.
"So what, I'm supposed to just accept being under house arrest for the rest of my life?"
"The protection isn't permanent," Rina says carefully. "It's just until we can figure out another solution. And Dante... he's not the worst person who could be watching over you."
"That's not the point."
"I know." She reaches out tentatively, and when I don't pull away, she takes my hand. "I know you feel trapped. I know you feel like your choices have been taken away. But Sofia, this really is for your own safety. The Costellos aren't playing games."
"And neither am I."
"I know you're not." She squeezes my hand. "You're eighteen now. You're an adult. And I should have acknowledged that sooner, should have fought harder for your voice to be heard. I'm sorry I didn't."
The apology catches me off guard. I was expecting more justifications, more explanations about why things had to be this way. I wasn't expecting genuine remorse.
"I'm sorry about the birthday party too," she continues. "I know it's over a month late. I know it probably feels like too little, too late. But I wanted to do something, wanted to try to make up for—"
"It's okay," I interrupt, and I'm surprised to find that I mean it. "It's... it's a nice gesture. Thank you."
"Really?"
"Really. I mean, I'm still pissed at you. And I still think this whole situation is fucked up. But... I miss you too."
Relief floods her face, and for a moment she looks like the sister I remember from before Vito, before the marriage, before everything got so complicated.
"Can we find a way to make this work?" she asks. "I can't change what Vito decides, but maybe I can help make it more bearable. Maybe I can talk to him about giving you more freedom, more choices within the constraints."
"Like what?"
"I don't know yet. But we'll figure it out. Together."
I study her face, looking for any sign that this is just another manipulation, another way to keep me compliant. But all I see is my sister—tired, worried, and genuinely trying to bridge the gap between us.
"Okay," I say finally. "We can try. But Rina, if you ever choose him over me again—"
"I won't," she says quickly. "I'll find a way to support you that doesn't undermine everything, but I won't abandon you again. I promise."
It's not perfect. It doesn't fix everything that's broken between us, and it doesn't change the fact that I'm still essentially a prisoner. But it's something. It's a start.
"Good," I say. "Because I'm going to need someone on my side when I figure out how to get out of this mess."
"Sofia—"
"I'm not giving up, Rina. I can't. But... maybe I can be smarter about it. More strategic."
She looks worried, but she nods. "Just promise me you'll be careful. Whatever you're planning, don't do anything that will get you killed."
"I promise." I glance back through the glass doors at the dinner party happening inside. "Now come on. Let's go back before someone notices we're having an actual conversation and decides to break it up."
As we head back inside, I catch Dante's eye across the room. He raises an eyebrow in question, probably wondering if he needs to intervene in some sister drama. I give him a slight shake of my head, and he relaxes.
The party is in full swing now—if you can call a bunch of middle-aged men in expensive suits nursing whiskey and talking business a party.
Olga is holding court near the kitchen, gesticulating wildly as she tells some story that has the wives laughing.
Vito is deep in conversation with a couple of capos by the windows.
And there's a bar cart.
I make my way over to it, surveying the options.
Whiskey, gin, vodka... and a bottle of red wine that looks expensive enough to be worth trying.
I've never been explicitly told I can't drink—probably because no one thought an eighteen-year-old would be bold enough to help herself at a family gathering.
But tonight feels like the right kind of night to get a little tipsy.
I pour myself a generous glass, the wine dark and rich as it swirls in the crystal. The first sip is bitter, then warm, spreading through my chest like liquid courage. The second sip is easier. By the third, I'm starting to understand why adults seem to enjoy this so much.
I can feel Dante's eyes on me from across the room. When I glance his way, he's got that look—the one that says he's calculating whether or not to intervene. I raise my glass slightly in his direction, a silent challenge.
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't move.
Good. Let him watch.
I take another sip, larger this time, and let myself drift through the room. The wine is making everything feel softer around the edges, less sharp. The conversation seems more interesting, the laughter more genuine. Maybe this is how Rina manages to tolerate these family gatherings.
I'm making my way toward the balcony for some air when I collide with someone. Wine sloshes dangerously close to the rim of my glass.
"Whoa there," Marco says, steadying me with a hand on my shoulder. "Careful."
"Sorry," I say, looking up at him with what I hope is an apologetic smile. Marco is... well, he's attractive enough. Dark hair, sharp features, probably in his early thirties. And from the corner of my eye, I can see Dante's attention has shifted from casual observation to laser focus.
Perfect.
"No harm done," Marco replies, already starting to step away.
But the wine has made me bold, and Dante's intense stare from across the room has made me reckless. This is too good an opportunity to pass up.
"You know," I say, moving a little closer to Marco, "I don't think we've ever really talked. Just the two of us."
Marco looks confused. "Uh... no, I guess we haven't."
"That's a shame." I let my free hand rest lightly on his arm. "You seem like you'd be interesting to talk to."
The confusion on Marco's face deepens, and there's something almost uncomfortable in his expression. But from where Dante is standing across the room, all he can see is me touching another man's arm and smiling up at him.
"Sofia, I—"
"You have really nice eyes," I interrupt, leaning in slightly. The wine is definitely affecting my judgment now, but I don't care. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
"I... think maybe you should—"
"Should what?" I ask, batting my eyelashes in what I hope is a flirtatious manner. "Should get to know you better? I think that's a great idea."
Marco looks like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world, but he's too polite—or too confused—to just walk away. "Sofia, you're a very nice girl, but—"
"Woman," I correct, taking another sip of wine. "I'm eighteen. Officially an adult."
"Right. An adult. But I don't think—"
I don't get to hear what Marco doesn't think, because suddenly there's a firm hand on my elbow and Dante's voice, low and dangerous, right next to my ear.
"Excuse us."