Chapter 12
Sofia
A week has passed since the attack, and I still hear gunshots every time I close my eyes.
Vito agreed to let me return to work at RRE—partly because I begged for some semblance of normalcy, and partly because I think he's hoping the routine will help me snap out of whatever this is. This fog I've been living in, where everything feels muted and far away.
I'm sitting at the reception desk, mindlessly sorting through files when I hear the commotion down the hall.
Hushed voices, rapid footsteps, the sound of the conference room door closing with more force than usual.
Council meetings are the only place I'm not allowed to be anymore, given Vito's heightened security since the attack.
But something about the urgency in everyone's movements makes my stomach twist.
Dante disappeared into that room twenty minutes ago with explicit instructions for Dario and Luca to watch me. But Dario stepped out to take a phone call, and Luca is in the bathroom. For the first time in a week, I'm alone.
I should stay put. I should be the compliant, shell-shocked girl they think I've become.
But the old Sofia—the one who's been buried under fear and trauma—stirs to life. Just enough to make me stand up and walk down the hallway toward the conference room.
The door is almost closed, but not quite. A sliver of space, no more than half an inch, but enough for sound to carry through.
I press myself against the wall next to the door and listen.
"Kieran is no longer demanding just a virgin bride." Vito's voice is clear, controlled, but I can hear the tension underneath. "He's offering a wedding date."
My blood turns to ice.
"How else would they have been able to breach Don Vito's personal estate?" someone asks, and I realize they're talking about the attack. About how the Costellos got past all that security.
"Do you think we have a mole?"
"Who the hell would be handing over information to the Costellos?"
The voices blend together—English and Italian mixing as panic creeps into the room. I slide down the wall slightly, getting closer to the crack, trying to catch every word.
"Kieran is demanding Sofia specifically," Vito continues, and my heart stops. "If we don't deliver her to them by the turn of the quarter, any form of truce and negotiations will be off the table. They will take her of their own accord and continue their attacks for our lack of compliance."
The turn of the quarter. Less than three weeks away.
I press my fist against my mouth to keep from making a sound. This isn't about finding any virgin anymore. This is about me. They want me specifically, and they're giving Vito a deadline.
"Sir," someone says—Marco, I think—"what are our options?"
"We find another solution," Vito replies, but his voice lacks conviction. "We have three weeks to figure out an alternative."
"And if we can't?"
Silence stretches through the room, and that silence tells me everything I need to know.
The walls are closing in. There's not much anyone is going to be able to do for me now.
I hear chairs scraping against the floor—the meeting is ending. Panic floods through me as I realize I need to get back to the reception desk before anyone notices I'm gone. Before Dante realizes I was listening.
I push myself up from the wall, but my legs feel weak, unsteady. The hallway stretches in front of me like a tunnel, and I have to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.
Three weeks.
Three weeks until they come for me, one way or another.
I make it back to my desk just as Dario returns from his phone call, giving me a casual nod as he takes his position by the elevator. Luca appears moments later, looking relaxed and unsuspecting.
Neither of them has any idea what I just heard.
I sit down at my desk and stare at the computer screen, but the words blur together. My hands shake as I try to type, and I have to grip the edge of the desk to steady myself.
This isn't about Vito's pride or maintaining power or even the ongoing war with the Costellos. This is about me being owed to them—like I'm some kind of debt that needs to be paid.
The question is: what am I going to do about it?
The old Sofia would have started planning her escape the second she heard those words. But the old Sofia didn't know what it felt like to cower behind a table while bullets flew over her head. The old Sofia didn't know what it was like to have someone willing to die to protect her.
Three weeks to figure out if there's any fight left in me.
Three weeks to decide who I want to be when this is all over.
If I survive long enough to find out.