Chapter 44
Sofia
The drive back feels different this time. Dante's hand rests on my thigh as he navigates the winding roads, his thumb tracing absent patterns on my jeans. There's a lightness to him I haven't seen since before all this started—like some weight he'd been carrying has finally lifted.
"You nervous?" he asks, glancing over at me.
"A little." I adjust the sleeves of the sweater he insisted I borrow from Vito's closet. "It's been a week. Feels longer."
"Rina's probably going to cry," he warns with a smile. "She's been driving everyone crazy, asking Vito every five minutes if he'd heard from you."
The thought of my sister worrying makes my chest tight with guilt. "I needed the time."
"I know." He squeezes my thigh gently. "And everyone else will understand too, once they see you."
The new safehouse comes into view—a sprawling colonial tucked away behind tall trees and wrought iron gates. It looks peaceful, normal even, like the kind of place where families go on vacation instead of hide from rival crime families.
Dante parks next to Marco's familiar black sedan, and I can see movement through the windows. Someone must have heard us arrive.
The front door flies open before we're even out of the car, and Rina comes running down the steps in bare feet and an oversized sweater, her dark hair flying behind her.
"Sofia!" She crashes into me the moment I'm standing, her arms wrapping around me so tightly I can barely breathe. "Don't you ever do that again. Do you hear me? Don't you ever leave like that without saying goodbye."
I hug her back just as fiercely, tears I didn't expect burning my eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Rina."
"I was so scared," she whispers against my hair, and I can hear the tears in her voice. "When Vito told me you needed space, I understood, but I was terrified you wouldn't come back."
"Hold up," Dante interjects, raising his hands with an incredulous expression. "You're the one who told me to give her space in the first place. You literally said, and I quote, 'she needs time to think without you hovering.'"
Rina pulls back from me just enough to glare at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Yeah, well, that was before I had to spend a week not knowing if my sister was okay!
Do you know how many worst-case scenarios I imagined?
She could have been kidnapped, or hurt, or decided to move to Tibet and become a monk! "
"A monk?" Dante's eyebrows shoot up. "Princess, you didn't tell me you were considering the monastery life."
"Oh, shut up," Rina says, but she's half-laughing through her tears now. "You know what I mean."
"I think what Rina's trying to say," I interrupt, squeezing her hands, "is that logical decisions and emotional reactions don't always line up."
"Exactly," Rina sniffles. "I can be intellectually supportive and emotionally devastated at the same time. It's called being a woman, Dante."
"Note to self," Dante mutters with a grin. "Women are complicated."
"We prefer 'complex,'" Elena's voice calls from the doorway, where she's appeared with a knowing smirk.
"I'm here now," I murmur, pulling Rina back into a hug. "I'm not going anywhere."
She pulls back to look at me, her hands framing my face like she's checking to make sure I'm real. "You look different."
"Different how?"
"Settled. Like you know something you didn't know before."
Before I can answer, my mother appears in the doorway, moving more slowly than Rina but with the same desperate relief in her eyes. She's aged in the week I've been gone, new lines around her eyes, but she's here and she's safe and that's all that matters.
"Mamma," I breathe, and then I'm in her arms too, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume and the lavender soap she's used for as long as I can remember.
"My brave girl," she whispers in Italian, the words carrying years of worry and pride. "My beautiful, brave girl."
Elena looks suspiciously like she's been crying despite her attempts to play it cool. "About time you came home, troublemaker."
"Miss me?" I ask, wiping my own eyes.
"Terribly. Marco's been impossible to work with. All moody and distracted." She shoots a meaningful look toward the house, where I can see Marco's silhouette in the doorway.
"Elena," he calls, his voice carrying a warning.
"What? I'm just saying you've been—"
"Elena." This time there's definitely a threat in his tone, but she just rolls her eyes.
"Men," she mutters to me. "No sense of humor when they're worried."
Vito emerges from the house, and the lightness of the reunion shifts slightly. Not toward darkness, exactly, but toward the weight of everything that's still unresolved. He nods at Dante, some silent communication passing between them, then looks at me.
"Sofia." His voice is gentler than I've ever heard it.
"Vito." I step away from my mother and sister, suddenly aware that this conversation will determine how the rest of my life unfolds. "Thank you. For the time, for the space. For trusting me to make my own choice."
"And what choice did you make?"
"I choose this family. This life. This man." I reach for Dante's hand, intertwining our fingers. "But I choose it as myself, not as someone who doesn't have other options."
Vito studies me for a long moment, then nods. "Good. Because we're going to need everyone we can get for what's coming."
The words send a chill through the warm reunion. "What do you mean?"
"The Costellos aren't finished with us," Marco says, joining the group on the front lawn. "Killing Kieran bought us time, but his brothers are regrouping. And they're not planning to negotiate."
"Declan and Finn?" I think of the two men I met, one kind and one clearly smitten with Gianna.
"Declan's been reaching out to old allies, calling in favors. Word is he's planning something big."
"What kind of something?" Dante asks, his voice taking on that edge it gets when he's thinking tactically.
"We're not sure yet. But Rafa intercepted some communications that suggest they're not just looking for revenge—they're looking to take over Rosso territory entirely."
The news settles over us like a dark cloud, but strangely, I don't feel the terror I might have a week ago. Instead, I feel... ready. Ready to face whatever comes next, together.
"But it's a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, we celebrate having our family back together."
As if summoned by his words, the scent of something amazing drifts from the house—garlic and herbs and the kind of comfort food that means love in any language.
"Elena's been cooking all day," Rina explains, slipping her arm through mine. "Said she needed to keep busy or she'd go crazy worrying."
"I don't cook when I'm worried," Elena protests. "I cook when I'm planning to feed people who look like they haven't eaten a real meal in days." She gives Dante a pointed look. "Some people more than others."
"Hey, I was going through some stuff," Dante says, but he's grinning.
"Yeah, well, your 'stuff' doesn't excuse looking like a scarecrow."
As we head toward the house, I catch Marco watching Elena with an expression I can't quite read—something between exasperation and fondness.
But that's a mystery for another day. Right now, all I want is to sit around a table with these people who chose to love me, to be part of something bigger than myself, to build a life worth fighting for.
"Hey, princess," Dante murmurs as we reach the front door.
"Yeah?"
"Welcome home."
I look around at the faces surrounding us—my sister and mother, Elena with her fierce loyalty, Marco with his steady strength, Vito with his hard-won respect. Even in the shadow of whatever's coming with the Costellos, even knowing the danger isn't over, I've never felt safer.
Because this time, I'm not just surviving the storm. I'm part of the family that's going to weather it together.
"Yeah," I say, squeezing Dante's hand. "I'm home."