Chapter 14
Sofia
The silence in the car is suffocating.
I can feel the weight of my words hanging between us, sharp and cutting and absolutely true.
I know I've pushed Dante too far—I can see it in the way his jaw is clenched, in the dangerous stillness of his posture.
But I couldn't help it. The words came pouring out of me like poison, and now they're sitting in the space between us, impossible to take back.
Good. Let him sit with them. Let him face what he really is to me.
"You're right," he says finally, his voice so quiet I almost don't hear him.
I wasn't expecting that. I was expecting anger, defensiveness, maybe even him storming out of the car. But this calm admission catches me off guard.
"I am your jailer," he continues, still not looking at me. "I am here because Vito ordered me to be here. And you're right that if I really cared about what you wanted, I'd get out of this car right now."
Something twists in my chest at his words. This isn't the vindication I thought I wanted.
"But here's what you don't understand, princess." Now he does look at me, and the intensity in his blue eyes makes my breath catch. "You think this is easy for me? You think I enjoy watching you try to kill yourself every day? You think I don't know exactly what's going to happen in three weeks?"
"If you know, then why—"
"Because it's my job." His voice is getting rougher, more dangerous. "Because I have orders. Because that's what I do—I follow orders, no matter what I think about them."
Heat floods my cheeks. "So you admit it. You'll hand me over."
"I'll do what I'm told to do." He shifts in his seat, turning to face me fully, and suddenly the car feels impossibly small. "Just like you've been doing what you think you need to do to survive."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you've been playing games, Sofia. The touching, the flirting, the looks—you think I don't know what you're doing? You think I can't tell when someone's trying to manipulate me?"
The accusation hits like a slap. "You bastard."
"Maybe. But at least I'm honest about what I am. Can you say the same?"
"I hate you," I say, but the words sound weak even to my own ears.
"Do you?" He leans closer, and I can smell his cologne, can see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. "Because your actions say something else entirely."
"My actions—"
"The way you look at me when you think I'm not watching.
The way you touched my chest when you were patching me up.
The games you play at breakfast while your mother's sitting right there.
" His voice drops lower, more intimate. "So either you're a really good actress, or you're lying to yourself about what this is. "
"There is no 'this,'" I snap, but I don't move away from him.
"Isn't there?" His hand comes up toward my face, and for a moment I think he's going to touch me. But then he stops, his fingers hovering inches from my cheek. "Tell me there's nothing here, Sofia. Tell me I'm imagining it, and I'll get out of this car right now."
I should tell him exactly that. I should lie through my teeth and get him out of here so I can escape. It's what the smart, strategic part of me is screaming to do.
But I can't. Because as much as I hate him, as much as I resent everything he represents, I can't deny the electricity that sparks between us every time he gets too close. I can't pretend my pulse doesn't race when he looks at me like he's doing right now.
"I hate what you represent," I whisper instead.
"That's not what I asked."
"It's the only answer you're getting."
Something shifts in his expression—frustration, maybe, or something that looks dangerously close to disappointment.
"Sofia—"
"No." I pull back from his almost-touch, anger flaring again.
"Don't you dare look at me like that. Don't you dare act like this changes anything.
You're still going to drag me back to Vito.
You're still going to stand by and watch while he hands me over to the Costellos.
Because that's who you are, Dante. That's what you do. "
"You think I want that?" His voice is rough, almost desperate. "You think any part of me is okay with watching you get—"
"It doesn't matter what you want!" I'm shouting now, all the fear and frustration and helplessness of the past weeks pouring out of me.
"It doesn't matter how you feel or how I feel or what games we play with each other!
Because when it comes down to it, you'll choose your orders over everything else! "
"That's not—"
"Isn't it? Prove it. Let me go. Choose something other than blind loyalty for once in your life."
We're both breathing hard now, the air between us charged with anger and something that feels like desperation. He's looking at me like I've torn something vital out of him.
For a moment, I think he might actually do it. I see something in his eyes that looks like he's considering it, weighing his options, trying to find a way to make a different choice.
But then his expression hardens, and I know I've lost.
"I can't," he says quietly. "And you know I can't."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Even though I knew what his answer would be, even though I was expecting it, it still feels like he's just proven everything I've been trying not to believe about him.
"Get away from me," I whisper.
"Sofia—"
"Get away from me!" I shove at his chest, trying to put distance between us in the confined space. "Don't touch me. Don't look at me like that. Don't pretend this is anything other than what it is."
He catches my wrists as I try to push him away, his grip firm but not painful. "Stop."
"Let go of me."
"Not until you calm down—"
"There's nothing to calm down about!" I'm fighting against his hold now, trying to break free, and he has to use both hands to keep me from clawing at him. "You made your choice! You chose your precious orders!"
"It's not that simple—"
"It is that simple!" Tears are streaming down my face now, hot and angry and utterly humiliating. "It's exactly that simple! And the fact that you can't see that just proves how little any of this actually means to you!"
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes, and suddenly his grip tightens. Not enough to hurt, but enough to still my struggles completely.
"Don't." His voice is low, almost a growl. "Don't you dare tell me what this means to me."
We're inches apart now, both breathing hard, both trembling with anger and something else that's much more dangerous. I can see the war playing out in his blue eyes—duty versus something he won't name, loyalty versus something that looks like it's tearing him apart.
For a moment, I think he's going to kiss me. For a moment, I think I'm going to let him.
But then he releases my wrists and pulls back, putting as much distance between us as the car will allow.
"You're right," he says, his voice carefully controlled. "I can't choose differently. But Sofia—" He looks at me with an expression that's equal parts pain and determination. "That doesn't mean it's easy."
"Easy doesn't change anything," I say, wiping the tears from my cheeks. "Easy doesn't save me from being handed over like property. Easy doesn't give me back my freedom."
"I know."
"Then stop looking at me like that. Stop playing games with me. And stop pretending this is complicated when it's really very simple—you do what you're told, and I pay the price."
He stares at me for a long moment, and I can see him rebuilding his walls, piece by piece, until he's back to being Dante the enforcer instead of just Dante.
"Fine," he says finally. "Let's go home."
Home. Like the cage I'm trapped in could ever be called home.
But I don't argue. I'm too exhausted, too emotionally wrung out to fight anymore. At least for now.