Chapter 28 #2
My mother stares at her lap for several minutes, oblivious to my growing annoyance in the silence. Realizing that this isn’t someone I plan to invite to Christmas dinner, I think it’s best to ask any questions I might have for her now. “You live in California?”
“Santa Barbara. Right on the beach.”
“Sounds nice.”
Her face lights up at the mere mention of her new life. “It really is. I didn’t know what I was missing. I sip a triple shot on the water every morning. Vito sent a dog I can barely stand. And I’m seeing someone. He owns a marina.”
“Vito is okay with that?”
“Your Papa has his tastes … and those tastes have never been to his marriage bed.” She surveys the room, appearing to have exhausted her words as if she’s counting the seconds to be able to leave. “You know, I didn’t come here to hurt you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Mamma.”
“What I see in you scares me,” she blurts out, rendering me speechless. “I know you’ve suffered. And while you may think I'm as bad as your father, and maybe I am for not taking a stand against him when it mattered, I… I don’t want you to disappear again.”
It’s probably the nicest thing she’s ever said to me.
It’s the bare minimum, yet it strikes me right in the chest, leaving a mark. “Just go.”
She nods, knowing this is over. That there’s nowhere else to go here but out. At least there’s closure. At least she came, even if it was late. She crosses the room until she’s standing in front of me, taking my unresponsive hand with a squeeze.
“If you have any faith in me, get your husband inside,” she urges. “Now.”
She doesn’t wait to catch my expression change, my eyes growing wide as I spin to watch her exit through the terrace, disregarding the friends and family she once cherished dearly on her way out. The world blurs, but my legs are taking flight, my hands shoving the French doors open.
“Sophia!” Bianca grabs my arm, but I push her off, my eyes wild as I search for his tousled curls, his pinstripe vest, emerald eyes that are my only salvation.
When I see my husband at the head of one of the tables, slightly hunched over as he laughs with one of his cousins, I stride right into his embrace, grabbing his arms.
“Come with me.”
Xavier’s cousin Andre grins at me. “Sophia! Listen to this. Tell my cugino he’s wrong?—”
Frantic, my gaze roams the endless grounds, acres and acres of land. I check the guests, the tree line, the front of the house, and the buildings behind us.
Xavier’s fingers seek mine, his eyes narrowing with confusion. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
My hair prickles at the base of my neck, sensing imminent disaster before it reveals itself.
With no time left, and because it’s the only thing I can think to do, I shove Xavier away from the table, using every ounce of my weight to do it, hearing a few shocked exclamations from the guests witnessing the altercation.
Just then, the shrill whine of a bullet whizzes through the air, close enough to deafen my ear, charging right into the chair at the head of the table—right where he had been standing, a fucking inch away from my face.
Screams erupt in the garden. Another gunshot pierces the air, and I’m pinned to the ground beneath Xavier, who shields my head with his hands while shouting commands to his men.
Peering out from his protection, I watch the chaos unfold in slow motion.
The women bursting into the house in hysterics, the men clamoring for their misplaced weapons, disoriented by alcohol, while the children cower under the table.
I eventually spot the gun firing at us, sparks flying from a vehicle just outside the gates, which is positioned against the tree line.
I swing my arm back, clumsily stealing the gun from Xavier’s hip holster, a weapon he hasn’t even moved for to be able to shield me from the gunfire.
Stretching my arm out across the grass, through the spilled pools of champagne, I aim the gun at the tires and fire twice in that direction, risking the safety of those around us to hit the bastards who tried to take him from me.
Bo lands in front of me, the table obstructing him from the bullets.
With shocking strength, Xavier drags me towards him with one arm while using the other to seize the gun from my hand.
Before I can stop him, claw at him to fucking stay , Bo is pulling me toward the house against my will, forcing me to watch Xavier rush right into open fire.
No. No no no .
Even once we’re through the doors, I’m still scrambling to get back into the action. Bo grabs my jaw, examining me with murderous eyes. In the reflection of the wall mirror, I notice the red gash that speared my cheek from that first bullet that nearly blew out my eardrum.
Disoriented, I hadn’t even felt it.
“It’s a graze,” he confirms.
I nod, more focused on the situation outside. “Give me a gun.”
“You were just shot in the fucking face!”
“It didn’t hit me.” I shake him, too frantic to care about anything but Xavier. “If you’re not going after him, I will !”
All noise outside abruptly fades to silence.
The mansion is crowded with women and children huddled behind anything structurally sound.
Even they fall silent, all of us holding our breath until we hear Xavier’s men returning to the lawn.
Some of them are laughing, having enjoyed the commotion.
Others are furious, feeling embarrassed by the chaos.
They filter into the house, searching for their families.
With the coast clear, Bo rushes off to find his brother, not realizing that I’ve lost feeling in my legs, numb all the way to the tips of my fingers.
Our guests scatter—some leaving, some heading back into the yard to find their belongings. And I'm frozen in the living room… long after they all clear out.
The French doors are wide open. Having lost a hinge, one of them is swinging at an angle, banging against the brick exterior.
Chairs lie overturned and broken. One banquet table has lost a leg and is partially collapsed on the ground.
The caterers abandoned their equipment, leaving the food still roasting on the warmers.
I hear the front door slam open, the leather soles of shoes thundering across the central part of the house. When Xavier’s behind me, he breathes my name. “Sophie.”
His voice shatters the shock. My urge to see him safe outweighs this crippling panic. I turn, still trying to comprehend what just happened. My mother’s entrance. Her warning. The single second that spared his heart from that bullet.
Xavier appears before me in a flash, faster than I can blink, gripping my face with an ironlike hold.
His eyes widen in horror as he gasps, “ Oh my God ,” at the sight of the blood dripping down my cheek.
“It missed.” Caught up in his arms, I try to soothe him as he shouts in fear for Dante to call an ambulance. “It missed. I'm okay .”
His face twists and builds like a blustery tempest, seething eyes blazing as his hands grip my hair, yanking me closer. Every shake is imbued with intense, fervent rage. “Don’t ever fucking do that again. Ever . You don’t put yourself in the line of fire for me. That’s not how this works!”
“I had to.”
“No,” he snaps, actually livid. Beautifully livid—and alive . “Promise me, Sophia. Right now. ”
Sophia ? Oh, he’s losing it.
And I don’t care.
My eyes wander over his anguished features with a special kind of awe.
As if time has chosen now to stand absolutely still for us, my fingers delicately brush against his flushed cheeks, still shaking.
He looks ready to kill me himself, rejecting my tenderness entirely until he hears me whisper, “What use is my body without yours?”
Xavier looks utterly horrified—his eyes wide and wild, as though the very ground beneath him has shattered, as if he can’t believe the words that have just tumbled from my mouth with complete ease.
As he stares at me, his chest still heaving with frantic breaths, a sense of acceptance begins to wash over the terror that had previously consumed him.
It doesn’t take him long to let out a raw, agonized sound, pressing his forehead up against mine. “ Cazzo ,” he breathes, stroking my hair. “Jesus, Sophie.”
I nestle into his chest, breathing in his calming scent, and let my eyes drift shut, surrendering to blissful relief.
After a lifetime of nothing, Camilla Marin gave me the greatest gift I’ve ever received—his heart, beating for another day.