Chapter 13
Dante
Three days since the council meeting, and Sofia's acting like a completely different person. Again.
The shell-shocked, compliant girl who barely spoke for a week after the attack has vanished, replaced by someone more reckless and desperate than I've ever seen her. It's like someone flipped a switch, and now she's operating on pure adrenaline and panic.
She doesn't know that I know she was eavesdropping.
Dario and Luca got an earful for leaving their post, but Sofia herself has no idea I spotted that messy bun through the crack in the door.
Whatever she heard in that meeting lit a fire under her ass, and now I'm dealing with escape attempts that are getting more creative and exponentially more dangerous.
Yesterday, she tried to climb out of the third-story window at RRE using a makeshift rope made from computer cables. The day before that, she attempted to hide in a laundry cart being wheeled out of the building. This morning, I caught her trying to pick the lock on Vito's gun safe.
"You know, princess," I tell her as I confiscate the bobby pin she was using, "if you wanted to learn lock picking, you could have just asked. I'm an excellent teacher."
She glares at me with those green eyes that have been flashing with renewed fire lately. "Don't call me princess."
"There she is," I say, unable to keep the grin off my face. "I was starting to miss the attitude."
The truth is, I'm relieved to see some fight back in her, even if it's making my job infinitely harder.
The week after the attack, watching her move through life like a ghost, barely speaking or eating—that was worse than any escape attempt.
At least now she's engaged, alive, even if she's driving me crazy in the process.
But there's something different about her desperation now. Before, her escape attempts felt almost playful, like a game between us. Now there's an edge to them, a franticness that has me on high alert twenty-four seven.
"Sofia," I say, my voice gentler. "Whatever you heard—"
"I don't know what you're talking about," she snaps, but her eyes flicker away from mine.
Yeah, she definitely knows that I know.
"Look, if you want to talk about—"
"I don't want to talk to you about anything." She stands up from where she was crouched by the gun safe, brushing dust off her knees. "I want you to leave me alone."
"Not happening, and you know it."
She looks at me for a long moment, and I can see something calculating in her expression. Something that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"We'll see about that," she says quietly.
That's when I know today is going to be different.
I'm proven right four hours later when Sofia excuses herself to use the bathroom at RRE and doesn't come back.
"Shit," I mutter, checking my watch. She's been gone twelve minutes—far too long for a bathroom break. I signal to Luca and Dario, and we move toward the women's restroom.
"Sofia?" I call out, knocking on the door. "Everything okay in there?"
Silence.
"Princess, you've got ten seconds before I come in there."
Still nothing.
I push open the door and immediately see the problem. The window is wide open, and there's no Sofia in sight.
"Fucking hell," I breathe, rushing to the window. We're on the second floor, but there's a fire escape right outside. Of course she found the one bathroom with an actual escape route.
I stick my head out the window and see her—three buildings away and moving fast across the rooftops. She's wearing dark clothing and moving with purpose, like she's planned this route a hundred times in her head.
Which, knowing Sofia, she probably has.
"Luca, stay here and coordinate with Vito. Dario, take the stairs and try to cut her off at street level," I bark, already swinging my leg over the windowsill. "I'm going after her."
The fire escape groans under my weight as I take the stairs three at a time. By the time I reach the roof, Sofia has a significant head start, but I can still see her silhouette against the late afternoon sky.
She's fast, I'll give her that. And she's not running in a straight line—she's zigzagging between buildings, using air conditioning units and ventilation systems as cover. This isn't a panicked flight; this is strategic.
My phone buzzes with a text from Marco: Roadblocks at all major intersections. She won't get far.
But as I watch Sofia leap across a narrow alley to the next building, landing in a perfect roll that tells me she's practiced this, I'm not so sure.
I push myself harder, using my longer stride to close the gap between us. My shoulder throbs where the debris hit me during the attack, but I ignore it. The only thing that matters is catching her before she does something that gets her killed.
Three buildings later, I'm close enough to shout. "Sofia! Stop!"
She glances back at me, and even from this distance, I can see the determination in her face. She's not stopping. If anything, my proximity seems to spur her on.
She reaches the edge of the building and I realize with horror what she's planning. There's a parking garage across the street—not another building, but a four-story structure with a concrete roof. The gap is too wide. No one could make that jump.
"Sofia, don't!" I bellow, putting on a burst of speed that burns my lungs.
But she's already backing up, getting a running start. I can see her calculating the distance, the trajectory, the risk. And I can see in her posture that she's going to try it anyway.
Time seems to slow as she runs toward the edge. I'm still twenty feet away when she launches herself into the air, arms windmilling as she clears the gap between buildings and crashes onto the parking garage roof in a painful-looking tumble.
She made it. Barely, but she made it.
I skid to a stop at the edge of my building, looking down at the street below and then across at Sofia, who's picking herself up and dusting off her clothes. The jump is possible—I've seen it done—but it's risky as hell, especially for someone her size.
"Are you insane?" I shout across the gap.
She looks up at me, and for a moment, I see something vulnerable flash across her face. Fear, maybe, or the realization of what she just did. But then her jaw sets and she turns away, heading for the parking garage stairs.
I'm not losing her now.
I back up, take a running leap, and sail across the gap. My landing is more controlled than hers, years of training and experience keeping me upright as I hit the concrete and roll to absorb the impact.
Sofia's already halfway down the stairs when I reach them. I can hear her footsteps echoing in the stairwell, quick and light, and I know she's pushing herself as hard as she can.
"Sofia, enough!" My voice bounces off the concrete walls. "You're going to get yourself killed!"
"Better than the alternative!" she calls back, and there's something raw in her voice that makes my chest tighten.
She bursts out of the stairwell onto the second floor of the garage, and I'm right behind her. The space is dimly lit and full of parked cars, creating a maze of shadows and hiding spots. Perfect for someone trying to evade capture.
I catch a glimpse of her dark hair disappearing behind a row of SUVs and follow, my footsteps loud on the concrete. She's moving erratically now, ducking between cars, using the vehicles as cover.
"This isn't a game anymore, Sofia," I call out, trying to keep my voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through my system. "Whatever you think you heard—"
"I heard enough!" Her voice comes from somewhere to my left, but when I move toward it, she's already gone. "Three weeks, Dante. Three weeks until they come for me whether Vito agrees or not."
Fuck. She did hear everything.
"We'll figure something out—"
"No, you won't." There's a clatter of something metallic hitting the ground—keys, maybe—and I realize she's trying to hotwire a car. "You'll hand me over because it's the only option left. Because I'm just a bargaining chip."
I follow the sound and find her crouched next to a sedan, the driver's door open, her hands working frantically under the dashboard. Her face is streaked with dirt and sweat, and there are tears she's trying to blink away.
"Sofia—"
"Stay back!" She looks up at me, and the desperation in her eyes makes me pause. "I'm not going to marry some Costello psychopath. I'm not going to be handed over like property. I'd rather die first."
"Don't say that." I take a step closer, hands raised in what I hope is a non-threatening gesture. "Don't even think it."
"Why not? What do I have to live for? A life where every decision is made for me? Where I'm locked up for my own protection until someone decides I'm more valuable as a sacrifice?"
Another step closer. She's still working on the wires, but her hands are shaking now.
"You have plenty to live for," I say quietly. "You're brilliant, and stubborn, and infuriating, and—"
"And trapped." The engine turns over, and triumph flashes across her face. "Not anymore."
She slides into the driver's seat, but I'm already moving. I grab the door before she can close it, wedging myself into the opening.
"Get out of the car, Sofia."
"No."
"Get out of the car, or I'm getting in with you."
"You wouldn't—"
I slide into the passenger seat and pull the door shut behind me. "Try me."
For a moment, we just stare at each other. She's breathing hard, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles are white. I can see the moment she's considering just hitting the gas anyway, taking us both for a ride.
"You can't keep doing this," I say softly. "Running away isn't going to solve anything."
"It's better than sitting around waiting to be sacrificed."
"Is it? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're about to get yourself killed for no good reason."
"Maybe that would be easier for everyone."
"Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare say that."
Something in my tone must get through to her because she looks at me—really looks at me—for the first time since this chase started.
"You think I want this?" I continue, my voice rougher than I intended. "You think I want to watch you throw yourself off buildings and hotwire cars in parking garages? You think any of this is easy for me?"
"It's your job," she says, but there's less conviction in her voice.
"Fuck the job." The words are out before I can stop them. "This stopped being just about the job, and you know it."
She stares at me, lips slightly parted, and I can see her processing what I just said. The admission hangs between us.
"Dante—"
"Turn off the car, Sofia." I reach over and take her hand, ignoring the way she tenses at the contact. "We'll figure something out together."
She doesn't pull away, but she doesn't relax either. Her hand remains rigid in mine, and when she looks at me, there's something hard in her green eyes.
"Together?" she repeats, and there's an edge to her voice that sets off alarm bells in my head. "Like how we've been 'together' this whole time? With you watching my every move, stopping every escape attempt, making sure I stay right where Vito wants me?"
"Sofia—"
"No." She yanks her hand away from mine. "Don't you dare try to make this sound like we're partners in this. You're my jailer, Dante. A very attractive, occasionally charming jailer, but still a jailer."
The words sting more than they should. "That's not—"
"Isn't it?" She turns in the driver's seat to face me fully, and the look in her eyes is like ice. "When was the last time you let me make a decision for myself? When was the last time you actually gave a damn about what I wanted instead of what Vito ordered you to do?"
"I just chased you across four fucking rooftops—"
"To bring me back!" she snaps. "To drag me back to my cage like a good little soldier. Don't act like that was about saving me, Dante. That was about your job."
"You could have been killed—"
"And maybe that would have been my choice to make!"
The words hang in the air between us, loaded with fury and desperation and something that feels like a challenge. She's breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and I can see her hands shaking with adrenaline and anger.
"You don't mean that," I say quietly.
"Don't I?" She laughs, but there's no humor in it.
"You want to know what I heard in that meeting, Dante?
I heard Vito agreeing that I'm expendable.
I heard him talking about me like I'm a problem to be solved rather than a person with her own wants and needs.
And now you're sitting here telling me we're in this together, when you've spent the last week making sure I can't even go to the bathroom without an escort. "
I open my mouth to argue, but she's not done.
"So don't you dare pretend this is about partnership. Don't pretend you see me as anything other than a job to be completed. Because if you really gave a damn about what I wanted, you'd get out of this car and let me drive away."
The challenge is clear in her voice, in the way she's looking at me. She's daring me to prove her wrong, to choose her over my duty to Vito.
And we both know I can't do that.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we can't say, everything we both know is true. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, can feel the weight of her stare as she waits for me to prove her point.
When I don't move to get out of the car, something in her expression hardens.
"That's what I thought," she says.