Chapter 25 #2
It’s all here.
Boxes. That’s where I pictured all of this would be, if not ransacked and destroyed by his father. Not here, not in his home, all of these years later.
I'm not sure how long I remain frozen, staring at the only evidence left of our previous life together. Each article stores a different memory, a spectacle to my eyes. Time has now made all of our memories together—even our darkest moments—beautiful.
Walking into the bathroom, grazing the items that make it seem like I never left his side, I ready myself for the day with a rush in my veins and an insuppressible smile that always fights to free itself on my face.
I'm here. We’re together.
My wedding ring catches the light as I pull the bedroom door open, tucking the gun into the back of my jeans. Jeans that I wore on our honeymoon, paired with a blouse I bought during a shopping trip with Mimi and Courtney… months before …
No. I block the thought, especially as I take the staircase, scanning this eerily familiar home.
I can do this. I can be here.
Arturo is gone. Giulia isn’t coming around the corner.
No one’s out to get you.
No matter how many times I say it, repeat it like a mantra over and over again, a part of me still checks the empty halls, anticipating that every natural noise this creaky old mansion makes is someone sent to disrupt this dream.
I’ve come to expect the worst. I'm not sure if I’ll ever feel as if the rug isn’t about to be pulled out from under me.
I find Dante on the terrace, a couple of brown paper bags on the patio table. The overwhelming scent of fresh bread and coffee replaces the unsettling nervousness of being outside on these grounds.
Focus on your friend.
Whatever you do, don’t look at that building…
“Well, this feels like old times,” I remark, gently closing the living room door.
The terrace is luxurious. One of those additions to a home that you find plastered on the cover of an interior design magazine for everyone to see.
It has it all. Lush greenery, terracotta molding, wild rose bushes nestled around a cobblestone deck.
It even has a cherub fountain that robins can’t resist.
This kind of beauty hides many sins.
“Let me tell you, I feel good,” Dante says, grabbing a coffee cup and extending it to me. “I wasn’t made to chit-chat with pensioners all day. These old bastards are never satisfied.”
“I can’t even imagine you doing that.”
“Yeah, well, X hasn’t let us anywhere near this place since you. It’s been a full-time job finding time to see the guy and keep him somewhat in check. We’ve made good money in the cushion job, but I like it better here with you guys.”
I smile, removing the lid on the cup. “I like it, too. ”
“You look better today,” he says, leaning back to get a good look at me. “Rested.”
“It’s been a rough couple of days… Months.” I let out a chuckle. “Years.”
He fails to hide a wince. “I can… only imagine.”
Rather than get into the deep, dark stuff, I gesture towards the greasy bags, raising my eyebrows in question.
“Donuts in one bag,” he divulges. “Bagels in the other.”
“Cream cheese?”
“What am I? An amateur?”
While I slather the bread with it, Dante sets down his cup. “X called a few minutes ago. They located Vito. He wanted me to tell you.”
“Already?” He nods. “Where is he?”
“Chicago. Strata’s playground.”
“Maybe he knows about Victoria.”
“Possibly. Mimi told me a little bit of what she overheard last night.”
If she heard it, Xavier did, too. I was rambling so much that I'm not even sure what I said. “I'm not hiding anything.”
“Good. I think it’ll only help you to lean on others right now.
You know a storm is coming with your return, right?
” Dante tilts his head at my silence. “Your family alone will be stunned to learn you’re alive.
Vito has been running for years. X merely wanted revenge then.
Now he’ll want to protect you. He will catch your father. ”
“I'm counting on it.”
He smirks. “You sound a bit like us, you know.”
“That man ruined my life. I plan to make him pay for it.”
“I’ll be more than glad to watch you do it.” He dips into the bag for a powdered donut. “Bo’s coming over later. I wanna see where your skills are. He doesn’t believe you can beat him.”
“I'm not sure if I can either. ”
“Well, I've bet my hard-earned money,” he says with a grin, “so you knock him flat .”
“Holy shit .”
Dante’s voice echoes through the gym as Bo picks himself up from the ground, rubbing his busted lip in disbelief.
Hawk-eyed, I watch every movement he makes, even the insignificant ones.
“I… I just need to warm up,” Bo grunts.
Taking way too much pleasure from this, Dante counters, “Keep telling yourself that, bro.”
Although my surroundings have changed from a decrepit warehouse to an ultramodern facility, where weapons glint from the walls, and loud music pulses through the speakers, my body stalks the same.
I’m navigating this new environment with the same calm and precise footwork, prowling like a predator ready to strike.
When Dante stepped into the room thirty minutes ago, he told Bo, “X will have your head if you make her bleed.”
While he was right, what began as a mere sparring session has evolved into something much more complicated.
Their inability to see me as a worthy opponent has ignited the thread of rebelliousness I always find myself suppressing.
It makes sense that they wouldn’t know how hard I’ve worked. The blood I’ve spilled from others and myself just to watch Bo recover from one of my strikes. To see Dante’s eyes widen with disbelief from the sidelines, studying my learned behavior.
“Don’t insult me,” I retort irritably. “Don’t hold back for Xavier’s sake.”
Dante quickly realizes his poor choice of words. “I didn’t mean it like that, Sophie. ”
Bo’s tongue flicks through the gap in his lower lip as he rolls his shoulders back, extending his arms in front of him.
“And when he tears my head off?”
“Let me handle him.”
With renewed determination, Bo charges at me.
My forearms can only absorb so many of his strikes before I feel him grip my wrist, yanking it into the small of my back.
It comes naturally how my leg swings back, targeting the vulnerability of his knee, disrupting his balance just enough for me to break free from his hold and land a punch in his gut.
And I don’t wait for him to recover, as one should when you’re fighting a friend.
He catches most of my hits; he’s definitely the better fighter, but he’s on the defense.
Most people I brawl with can’t match my rage or my sheer determination to win.
The possibility that he might be holding back pushes me to extend my limbs harder, forcing him to confront me.
“Shit,” Bo gasps, stumbling backward over an upturned mat.
We’re both battered, struggling for breath.
“You gonna call it?” I say with a grin.
“I might," he laughs, casting a knowing glance at Dante. “I didn’t expect to go home today with battle scars... You’re fast.”
“You’re strong,” I counter.
“You learned this in a year?”
“Day and night. A year doing nothing else, yes.”
He watches me position myself for the next round, examining my form. “It’s definitely different than street fighting. More calculated than brutal.”
Calculated is right. He doesn’t expect that when he grabs my arms and swings me onto the mat, I let it happen so I can seize the nape of his neck, using all of my strength to send him into the cushion while swinging my legs up with the power of the move.
Dante yells from across the room as I drive my knee into Bo’s spine, fighting to keep him pinned. With another knee placed firmly, I gain a firmer grip, my blunt nails sinking into his wrists.
“Call it.”
Bo lets out a disbelieving chuckle, his bruised hand flaring in defeat.
I release him, still second-guessing the validity of this fight as I watch him strain to stand.
But Dante is losing his mind, rambling on about the hundred bucks he’s going to collect and how Mimi will freak out about this as Bo draws me into a crushing embrace.
And it hits me.
I won, fair and square. No tricks. No deceit.
When Bo says, “I'm proud of you,” I let myself feel the victory.
“Pay up.”
As we stroll across the lawn, Dante, still reveling in his personal victory, reaches out for his gambling recompense. Bo brushes him off until I jump on his back, hearing Dante laugh heartily as I manage to put Xavier’s best man in a chokehold.
Laughter surrounds us while Bo rummages through his pocket for the cash—until I slip up, forgetting where I am, letting my gaze drift around the area.
My smile disappears at the sight of the prison in daylight.
A foreboding place even at this distance. It evokes something inside me that brings clamminess to my skin, the feeling that all of my food is about to be expelled from my body. Bo’s hands loosen their hold on my legs, allowing me to slide down onto the grass.
The construction surrounding the building was not there previously. My two companions are dead quiet.
“Is it being updated?” I ask, my chest tightening .
“No,” Bo says, dropping down next to me. Four years ago, he wouldn’t have touched my shoulder to comfort me like he does now. “X wrecked that place years ago.”
“Why is it still standing?”
“He ordered the demolition a few times. I'm not sure why he’d always pull out last minute.”
Dante sighs, placing his hands on his hips, surveying the ominous building with disdain. “It’s about his father. That’s where he…”
Where he killed him—exactly where his father tried to kill me.
A heavy silence hangs in the air, one I'm not comfortable enduring for long, and thankfully, I don’t have to.
The creaking of the front gate parting draws all our attention to the side of the main house.
My eyes absorb the sight of the massive six-foot-three Italian gangster moving through the garden, the sunlight catching the softer colors in his mass of curls.
Xavier’s features are stoic and strained, as if he’s worn that expression for so long that he can’t shake it off…
until he catches sight of us on the lawn.
And the scowl eases.
Gravity naturally draws me into his embrace, held tightly against his chest as he declares to everyone above me, “In two days, at the Senator’s reelection gala, we’ll show the world who we are… together.”