Chapter 30
Sofia
The car ride feels endless. Hours of highways and back roads, my hands zip-tied behind my back, a burlap sack over my head that smells like motor oil. Every bump sends pain shooting through my wrists where the plastic cuts into my skin.
When we finally stop, rough hands drag me from the car. I stumble on unsteady legs, my feet screaming in protest after the long walk through the forest this morning. The burlap is yanked off my head, taking several strands of hair with it.
"Careful, jackass," I snap before I can stop myself.
The man who removed the sack—pale, stocky, with the kind of face that's seen too many fights—actually looks apologetic. "Sorry about that, miss. Kieran's orders."
We're standing in front of what looks like an old church, all gray stone and Gothic arches. Not what I expected from the Irish mob. Through the heavy wooden doors, I catch glimpses of stained glass windows and carved wooden pews.
"Welcome to our humble home," a voice says behind me.
I turn to see Kieran Costello himself emerging from a black sedan.
"I still can't decide whether you're as pretty as your sister. But, you'll make a fine wife nonetheless."
"I'm not marrying anyone," I spit.
"Oh, but you are, Sofia." He approaches slowly, like a predator sizing up prey. "My demands were sent to your brother-in-law hours ago. My intel tells me the Commission is voting on it tonight."
The way he says my name makes my skin crawl. Like he's tasting it, savoring the ownership implied in those syllables.
"Vito will never—"
"Vito will do exactly what I expect him to do," Kieran cuts me off with a laugh like breaking glass. "I've backed him into a corner. There's no way they won't approve it. You Italians are all the same—more interested in your precious pasta than your pride."
His words hit hard. They're voting on my future right now. Actually sitting around a table deciding whether to trade me away like I'm a piece of property.
"I can see you're processing this," Kieran continues, circling me slowly. "Good. Reality is setting in. Now, let's get you settled. Tomorrow's going to be a very big day."
"Tomorrow?"
"Our wedding, of course." His smile widens. "I know it's short notice, but we can't risk any more... interruptions. Can we, princess?"
I recoil at the nickname. When Dante calls me princess, it started as mockery but became something tender, protective. From Kieran, it's pure humiliation.
They lead me inside the church, past rows of empty pews and up a narrow stone staircase. The building feels ancient, cold, like the weight of centuries is pressing down on the vaulted ceiling. Religious icons stare down at me from alcoves, their painted eyes seeming to judge my situation.
"This is St. Patrick’s,” Kieran says, noticing my upward glance. "Been in my family for three generations. Seems fitting that it should host my wedding, don't you think?"
I don't answer. Can't answer. My throat feels like it's closing.
They lock me in a small room off the main sanctuary—probably a vestry or storage area. It's sparse but clean, with a single bed, a washbasin, and a small window too high and narrow to climb through. The door is solid oak with iron hardware that looks like it could withstand a battering ram.
I'm examining the lock when it opens again. A younger man enters, carrying a tray of food. He has Kieran's general coloring but softer features, brown eyes instead of gray. There's something almost apologetic in his expression.
"Thought you might be hungry," he says, setting the tray on the small table. "I'm Declan. Kieran's younger brother."
"The one who's going to help me escape?"
He almost smiles at that. "Afraid not. But I brought you real food instead of the gruel Kieran wanted to give you."
I look at the tray—roast beef sandwich, apple slices, a bottle of water. It's more consideration than I expected from any Costello.
"Why?"
Declan shrugs. "Maybe because I have a sister. Maybe because what we're doing to you isn't right, even if it is necessary."
"Necessary for what?"
His expression darkens. "You know about Liam?"
I nod. Rina had made a deal to marry Liam if he agreed to kill our father.
Only, Vito got to him first and took Rina as his wife.
A fact that didn't sit well with Liam, which he made public at their wedding.
Vito put a bullet in his shoulder, and since then, all we know is that he was still alive when he ran out of the cathedral.
"Liam was an idiot," Declan says bluntly. "Made promises he couldn't keep, deals that weren't his to make. Got himself shot and nearly started a war in the process. Brought shame on the family name."
"So you're marrying me off to clean up his mess?"
"Kieran is." There's a distinction there, subtle but important. "The whole world knows a Gallo was promised to the Costellos. If we don't follow through, we look weak. Can't afford that in our line of work."
"And what do you think about it?"
Declan is quiet for a long moment, studying my face. "I think you deserve better than being traded like livestock. But I also think you're tougher than Kieran gives you credit for."
"Tough enough to survive him?"
"Tough enough to make his life hell if you put your mind to it." This time he does smile, and it transforms his whole face. "Eat. You'll need your strength for tomorrow."
After he leaves, I force myself to eat even though everything tastes like ash. I need to think, to plan, to find some way out of this nightmare.
But every escape route I consider leads back to the same dead end. I'm in an unfamiliar building, probably miles from the city, surrounded by armed men who have no reason to show me mercy.
The door opens again, and Kieran himself enters. He's changed out of his expensive suit into dark jeans and a black sweater, but somehow looks even more dangerous in casual clothes.
"How are the accommodations?" he asks, settling into the room's single chair like he owns the place. Which, I suppose, he does.
"Lovely. Five stars. Would definitely recommend to other kidnapping victims."
He laughs, but there's no humor in it—just the sound of someone who enjoys others' pain.
"Kidnapping? Is that what you think this is?
" He leans forward, elbows on his knees, studying me like I'm a particularly interesting insect.
"This is a business transaction, sweetheart.
Your family owes a debt, and you're the payment. "
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just that ungrateful little girls who run away from their families tend to learn hard lessons about the real world.
" His voice drops to something softer, more dangerous.
"Tell me, Sofia—did you enjoy your little adventure?
Playing house with Dante Mancini? Because I have to say, the idea of Vito's attack dog rolling over for some spoiled princess is. .. amusing."
The way he says Dante's name makes my blood boil. Like he's something dirty, disposable.
"Dante's worth ten of you."
"Dante's a hired dog,” Kieran says with casual cruelty.
Before I can stop myself, I'm on my feet, hands balled into fists.
"Don't you dare—"
"Sit. Down." The command cracks through the air like a whip. When I don't immediately comply, his expression turns arctic. "I said sit down, Sofia. Best you learn to follow orders now."
I remain standing, glaring at him with every ounce of hatred I can muster.
"Defiant. I like that." His smile returns, cold and calculating. "It'll make breaking you so much more satisfying. Tell me, do you think about how it will feel when I fuck you? Because I've been thinking about it for months."
The crude threat hangs in the air between us. I feel sick, violated just by his words, but I refuse to let him see how deeply they cut.
"Even if the Commission votes yes," I manage, proud of how steady my voice sounds despite my churning stomach, "Vito would never actually hand me over."
"Vito Rosso is a businessman above all else.
He knows the cost of war versus the cost of one ungrateful sister-in-law who's already proven she can't be controlled.
" Kieran's smile turns predatory. "Besides, you made his choice easy by running away like a spoiled child.
Hard to protect someone who spits in the face of protection. "
He stands, moving toward me with deliberate slowness. "But don't worry, princess. I'll take very good care of you. Train you properly. By the time I'm done, you'll be the perfect wife—quiet, obedient, grateful for whatever scraps of affection I choose to give you."
"I'd rather die."
"Oh, you won't die." He reaches out and traces my jawline with one finger, and I have to fight every instinct not to recoil. "But you might wish you had. See, I've learned that broken toys are so much more interesting than new ones. They have... character."
"The wedding is tomorrow afternoon," he continues, finally stepping back and straightening his sweater with precision.
"I suggest you get some rest. Think about whether you want to walk down that aisle willingly, or whether I need to have you dragged.
Either way works for me, but one option is significantly more pleasant for you. "
He moves toward the door, then pauses with his hand on the handle. "Oh, and Sofia? That little scar on your wrist—the triangle ones from dear old daddy? I plan to add a few of my own. Consider it a wedding gift."
The lock clicks into place with a sound like a death knell.
I collapse onto the bed, finally allowing myself to feel the full weight of my situation. Tomorrow, I'll be forced to marry a man who treats me like property. The Commission is probably voting on my fate right now. My own family might sell me to buy their peace.
I don't know if anyone's coming to save me. But I refuse to go down without a fight.
Tomorrow might be my wedding day, but it doesn't have to be my surrender.