Chapter 35
Sophie
The sun did not rise.
Night flowed into day with vast cumulus clouds stretching across the sky, enveloping the restless world in gloom.
Horns blare nonstop as pedestrians curse at the constant near accidents as if everything around me is also consumed by the same rage festering within.
My boot applies more and more pressure to the accelerator until I’m screeching onto the tight ramp leading to the warehouse district. I’m straining my eyes to keep them open, battling against the burn. It’s fitting when the sky opens, punishing the world with a torrential downpour.
This goddamn night hasn’t relented, but there’s nothing left to take. It’s all gone. And the feeling of isolation I once barely survived in has returned with a vengeance, seeping hate into my veins like a fatal poison.
That hatred fogs everything I lay my eyes on.
And it’s exactly what I need—to shut down. To forget that I have a heart that can somehow still be broken further. There shouldn’t be an ounce of anything good left in me, and if they kill him—if he’s already dead—there won’t be.
As I park, rain thundering against the pickup truck, my bloodshot eyes fix on the imposing concrete structure that looms over the river. A river I was thrown into just hours ago by the man I love.
The woman I once was would be absolutely terrified. A naive girl in Greece, fighting for her life by striking a man with a pocket knife. The hardened woman who fired a lethal shot into her sister’s skull. Even the woman I was last night, when I wished to die for what I did to those men.
She still longed for peace.
As my hands meticulously check my weapons, my cutting gaze pinned on the building, I'm convinced she died last night, as there is no overwhelming panic now. No trembling fingers. Just blind rage.
Fuck peace.
This is war .
They shaped me into who I am. For an entire year, from dusk to dawn, I endured every beating, each time becoming bolder and stronger, until my fist was swift enough to strike and inflict damage, preparing me for this.
Dominic Strata will regret the day I entered that hideout.
He doesn’t understand that no one can endure pain like I do, functioning through what would incapacitate others. I’ve always been running, pleading for my life. They’ve never seen me in pursuit, tracking them like animals.
While it may seem like a foreign concept at first, the thought of my husband in that building slows my veins to a controlled stream. The revolver satiates the emptiness in my palm, an extension of my fury with which I’ll punish anyone in my way.
It should concern me how composed I am as I maneuver through the peeling sheds, abandoned construction sites, and deserted buildings to avoid detection, unraveling the world around me like a labyrinth I’ve already mastered.
Any unexpected noise causes me to retreat into the shadows, letting the rain rinse the sweat off my skin before I quietly approach the pathway next to the warehouse.
The crashing waves against the dock become louder as I stealthily circle the back of the building, looking for an entrance.
The majority of windows are inoperable. All entrances are heavily guarded, and the men are armed, a sure indication of unrest. While my body initially suffered from the plunge into the Hudson, every step I take is carefully calculated, executed with precision to get me from one place to another without drawing attention.
Lifting my arms above my head, summoning strength I shouldn’t even have, my hands grip a cracked window, pulling myself up only to discover that the glass won’t budge any further. A dead end, and there’s nothing to land on except the ground or the slanted metal roofing.
My boots skim the edge of the roof as I grip the slick walls to avoid slipping.
While down below, a guard shouts to one of his comrades, I sneak across the rafters and slip through the bars in the stairs, ducking to avoid being seen.
The door ahead—I can reach it. But the lock chain tethered around the silver handles tells me I can’t.
It doesn’t slow me down.
Another entry. I just need another way?—
My gaze locks in on a cellar door situated on a raised hill that slopes down to the docks. The double doors are closed, but there’s a window carved into the sloping exterior, and it’s banging against the gusts.
That’s it.
I slip down and crawl through the dense hedges, making a dash for the doors.
I carefully inch the window open and grasp the edge, hoisting myself through the narrow opening feet first. As my boots make contact with the ground, the sound resonates loudly in the void, but nothing happens. I’m greeted only by calm darkness.
With my gun leveled at my eyes, I plunge into the depths of obscurity, past caring what happens to me. I want to kill. I want to make them suffer. Any of them. Innocent or not.
The further I walk, the more I recall. I’ve been here before. Years ago, when this particular part of the warehouse housed rooms to rent. Knowing my father and how cruel he did business, I have no doubt there are horrors these walls could tell.
Rodents squeak in the darkness I navigate, scurrying at my heels. The only source of light comes from that damn window. It casts my shadow onto the walls as I stalk through the empty basement, trying to find a way out from below ground.
Piercing through the silence like splintered glass, a smothered scream of agony echoes through every empty corridor. It lasts only seconds, but in them, my legs have taken flight. I’m running. Goddamn sprinting toward that haunting sound.
Oh, God.
Oh my God .
My hands test doors recklessly, finding only emptiness. Abandonment. I’d been calm, but that scream—from the only voice that matters—it unravels me swiftly.
My once steady hands tremble uncontrollably as I wrench desperately at doorknobs. Carried on a chilling draft, another muffled cry pierces the air and sends me hurtling through the darkness, crashing against a wall, clawing for an escape.
Some way to reach him.
And then I see it. A door swinging, shining storm light into the room as thunder echoes across the distant city skyline.
One step into the storm, and concrete stairs are leading me to the upper levels.
I'm sprinting at full speed, climbing the winding flights.
The storm lashes against me with rain and wind strong enough to sting, forcing me to clear my eyes.
When they reopen, I have just enough time to glimpse the silhouette of a man in the shadows before raising my weapon to fire.
A silencer muffles the gunshot, concealing the act from the unsuspecting guards on the docks.
In seconds, another one rounds the corner, freezing when he spots the corpse sprawled on a flight of steps before he’s confronted with the muzzle of my gun, losing his life, too.
And I feel nothing .
No pleasure. No shame. I'm moving on as if I never saw them, as if their lives held no importance at all.
When I reach the top, gasping for breath, I lean against the wall to glance through the windows dewy with condensation, drawn in by the sounds of laughter from within.
Laughter.
My eyes twitch.
They laugh while my husband suffers.
It’s enough. Enough to pull at the last strings of my sanity.
Reaffirming my hold on the revolver, slipping a fighting blade from my harness with the other hand, I lodge my foot into the door, kicking it open.
The room contains several tables, serving as some kind of break room. The moment I reveal myself, three men instantly spring from their seats.
Utilizing the one skill Isaac—no, Dominic —left me with, I fire two rounds at the man advancing toward me, dodging the other guard’s closed fist. One of them does his best to alarm the others with a yell, but I lodge a bullet into the crook of his kneecap as I'm lifting from the floor, shooting one into his chest that will ensure the kill.
The third soldier, realizing I'm no ordinary woman, bolts toward the fire alarm hidden in the corner of the room.
My teeth grind painfully as I power my legs faster until I'm right on his heels.
His hand slips from the silent alarm as I pierce holes into his back, using the blade to surge it through him for good measure.
When he drops to the ground, not quite yet dead, I bend down, sliding the bloody weapon through his kidneys as well, just eager to feel the cutting of skin, so hateful I think nothing else could give me solace but that.
My life is destroyed. The chances of making it out of this place alive are unlikely.
I’ll wage my war until I can’t.
As I tread cautiously past occupied rooms, I’m straining to catch the raw, guttural sounds of a man stifling a scream.
It’s all I can hear, reverberating through every debilitated corridor.
The call of my husband’s suffering beckons me closer, guiding me through the darkness until I encounter the irritating odor of gunpowder, rust, and damp hay.
I see the remains of a factory. Twisting staircases leading to assembly lines that snake around the upper floors like a maze.
My frigid eyes narrow, drawn to a whisp of movement at the bottom level—a stark silhouette sprawled flat against one of those conveyor belts.
My insides strain to the point of pain, and my eyes bulge with rage when I notice my father hunched over my husband, unwinding a corkscrew from the flat area of his palm.
“It didn’t have to end this way, Marcello,” my father gloats, his voice laced with pure menace. “You were free to go. Fuck, you just don’t quit, do you? She’s gone now. Left you again, and you still don’t get it. Own up to your mistakes. Falling for Sophia Marin was one of them.”
Xavier can barely muster a word, but when he does, he ensures it carries weight. It slips from his lips after a faint laugh. “Marcello.”
“What did you say?”
“Her name is Marcello .”
Vito’s initial silence speaks volumes.
The man cannot comprehend love. Real, undying love.