Chapter 36 #2
We are both just going through the motions, our thoughts distant, focused on those we love who have fled.
Are they safe?
Did they make it?
Were there complications?
Eventually, we find ourselves silent in each other’s arms, simply savoring the much-needed closeness. He presses his lips to my shoulder, gently brushing against the bruises scattered across my back. “That man was sick for you.”
“He’s dead,” I whisper. “They’re all dead.”
Our parents.
Dominic.
Rosa.
Caesar.
Thomas.
They are all gone.
“You lost your business. Your men. Your reputation.”
“Meaningless things,” he says, holding me closer to prove his point.
We dress each other, wincing and occasionally laughing when we aren’t too overwhelmed by the weight of helplessness neither of us can escape as the sun rises, revealing another day.
We struggle to conceal our injuries with cosmetics.
Xavier closes his eyes wearily when I sweep back his hair to dab at a blue bruise near his hairline. The television is set at a low volume, but when we hear familiar names, our eyes dart to the screen.
As soon as the image of Bellarosa and Caesar appears on the flat screen, Xavier is swiftly on his feet, moving to avoid confronting the reality of this. Tears fill my eyes at the thought of their final moments—two of the last people who deserved such an end.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, not quite sure what to say.
His silence speaks volumes. It indicates that this is something he will grapple with for the rest of his life. Isabella. We are both thinking of her now, a world away.
“The warehouse burned to the ground,” Xavier says as he turns off the television.
“You?”
His nod confirms that. “They are broadcasting our deaths, too.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Then we have a chance.”
Years of helplessness pass between us.
He grabs two passports from the desk. “It has to be now.”
My eyes span the skyline, sensing pandemonium beyond these four walls, an immense danger neither of us has ever been ready for.
We tried once four years ago.
It nearly killed us.
In the lingering silence, we grasp the significance of what we’re contemplating—the risks involved in chasing the impossible dream we both had forsaken.
Everything we love—it’s not here.
My hand covers the bandage protecting a patched hole in my body.
Gather any courage you have left, woman.
Run away with him.
“Flight 114. Now boarding group one.”
Morning light filters through countless windows, bathing the airplanes on the tarmac in warm golden and pink tones. Despite his injuries, Xavier clasps my hand firmly, guiding me through the crowded airport. His head is bowed, a cap shielding his famous face from the cameras.
The televisions, all arranged in rows, display the same news coverage—a warehouse on fire.
Business Mogul and Wife Assumed Dead
The sight of our names, and I'm nearly sick.
The countless corpses left in our wake follow.
My father.
Dominic Strata.
The nameless bastards who followed them.
The reporters have linked us all together, unable to deny the world the right to see who we really are.
Criminals .
Curious passengers huddle by the screens, captivated by the collapsing buildings and the profound mystery of the underground.
The last time I was here with him, we had just returned from our honeymoon.
So many memories flood back—the fact that we’re once again running for our lives, facing what we couldn’t overcome four years ago.
In his other hand, Xavier is gripping our boarding passes tight enough to crumple them. With nothing but the clothes on our backs, we navigate through bewildered foreigners, exasperated airport staff, and distracted security guards, pushing our weary bodies onward.
We’re doing this. We’ve made it this far.
At this hour, the queue at TSA is relatively small, yet the staff remains just as assertive, pressuring everyone through security with piercing looks and raised voices.
When Xavier shifts me ahead of him to present my passport first, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s doing it to guarantee my passage, even if he doesn’t make it through himself.
The scanner maps my face, and I can't understand how I stay still, how I don’t break down in tears when the man behind the machine hands me my forged identification card and passport and moves on to Xavier. “Go on,” the attendant says when I don’t immediately leave my husband’s side.
The man squints at his monitor, lips pursed in reaction to a sudden loud beep.
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck .
When he turns to his supervisor and gestures oddly at the screen, I’m faint. Xavier remains nonchalant, the cap in his hands. Even in his exhausted and broken state, he effortlessly attracts attention. Someone is sure to recognize him.
They’re going to ruin this.
“Take off your jacket,” a security officer says. “Put it in the bin with your shoes, miss.”
My heart slams wildly as I unzip my jacket, suppressing a whimper when the movement irritates the raw injury hidden under my shirt. Just as I’m about to ruin everything, Xavier appears at my side, pressing a hand on my back to steady me—in more ways than one.
Without a word, he bends to remove my shoes, ignoring the odd glances from the impatient man waiting nearby. That man doesn’t realize I can barely stand, much less kneel to reach my boots. As we pass through the detector and are cleared to grab our items, I'm visibly shaking.
Get a grip, Sophie.
“Foot,” Xavier says, sliding a boot onto one foot and then the other.
“Sir?”
Xavier’s back stiffens .
My gaze shifts to the ceiling, hiding the horror that courses through me when the man motions for us to wait.
“X,” I breathe. We’re going to get caught.
“It’s okay,” he reassures me, even though his heart must be crashing too. Xavier strokes my back in slow, soothing circles, patiently waiting for the man to return to us.
“We should turn around. Go back,” I whisper.
Remaining still and composed for both our sakes, Xavier softly hums, kissing my hair. When the man returns smiling, his arm outstretched with our tickets, my stomach flips, my mouth drying up entirely while Xavier accepts the boarding passes. “Thank you.”
“Better run or you’ll miss it. That flight already boarded.”
For the first time today, Xavier’s composure slips.
Before the man can complete his sentence, Xavier whirls around and bolts toward the gates, pulling me along through the expansive corridors.
All pretenses vanish. Desperation is all we have left.
It pushes our weary legs into sprints and keeps me running despite the pain.
If the stitches haven’t broken, it will be a miracle.
“Wait!” Xavier shouts as we barrel into the boarding area. A woman has her back turned to us and slams the door shut, a barrier between us and escape. The display blinks red, a signal that our flight is cleared for takeoff. “Wait!”
She turns to see me waving my arm, imploring her to stop.
Xavier crashes into the desk, breathless. “Please, we have to get onto this flight.”
“Sir, I can’t?—”
“Please.” His eyes have never been so desperate. “Please. I know you hear this all the time, but I mean it. We have to make this flight.”
Her eyes shift between us. “The pilot will have to approve it. They might have already pulled off?—”
“Please, call. Ask them.”
With a frustrated sigh and a quick glance at her monitor, she pulls the phone from the receiver.
Please. Open the door. Let us in.
I can’t help it. Tears are brimming at the edge of my eyes, escaping. I’m frozen, unable to catch them.
“Have you pulled off yet?” She squints against the sun that obscures her view of the tarmac. “Yeah, two more.”
With the phone still pressed against her ear, she clears our boarding passes, handing them over. “You’re real lucky.”
She has no idea how right she is about that.
Xavier’s face is ghostly pale as he guides me up the ramp and onto the packed aircraft, our caps concealing our expressions from the curious gazes of the other passengers.
Fortunately, we find ourselves seated near the front, slipping into our spots by the window. The aisle seat beside him sits unoccupied. As the cabin dims and the atmosphere shifts to tranquil, most visors are lowered while weary travelers seize the opportunity for a nap.
During the safety checks, I keep my face down, afraid that at the last minute, we’ll be discovered. Kicked off the plane. Thrown in jail. Separated forever.
The attendant instructs someone nearby to lift their table and fasten their seatbelt. I don’t have to concern myself with that as Xavier is already clipping the buckle for me, functioning on autopilot. My hands tremble uncontrollably in my lap, limp and marked by swollen, jagged nails.
My heart is tight— excruciatingly . It’s too much to take.
The shock. The fear. The awe.
A wave of relief washes over the both of us as the flight attendant recites the safety procedures while the plane taxis down the tarmac, slowly approaching the runway. We remain firmly in our seats, eyes fixed forward, as the cabin lights dim and the pilot readies us for takeoff.
The wheels roar down the runway, the cabin buzzing with excitement as we rapidly accelerate and then suddenly lift off the ground. The world below flattens out as the plane climbs into the sky.
As we level out, the change in altitude dulls my hearing, muffling the sounds of the cabin. I gaze out the window, captivated as the sprawling city fades into the distance, unable to shake off the shock.
“Soph.” His voice is distant… distant but definitely there.
A single tear rolls down my cheek.
The airplane’s wings carve through the clouds, a sight that floods me with emotions.
“Sophie.”
I vaguely hear the seat rest recline before Xavier draws me close, pressing me against his chest.
Our hearts race in sync.
I clutch at his sweater, releasing a shaky breath. “Oh God,” I whisper, feeling the weight of our lives together.
Every heartbreak.
Every sacrifice.
The people we left behind.
The people we’re hoping to find.
Thomas.
The baby we couldn’t have.
Isabella.
I feel it all—the years I spent hating this man and the years I spent loving him. My body convulses with an intensity I can’t control, and I hide against his chest in a desperate attempt to stifle the sobs that surge painfully from somewhere deep within me.
Xavier’s arms envelop me like a shield, his hands tenderly holding my head. I can feel that he, too, is grappling with what we just accomplished as we sit together in this crowded, silent cabin.
“It’s alright,” he whispers. “It’s alright. ”
I gasp his name. “Xavier.”
“I know.” He caresses my hair, nodding against me. “Baby, I know.”
I lift my head to peer at him in the dark. “We’re free .”
The words sink in as soon as I utter them.
He smiles softly, barely composed.
We’re alive. Together. Free .
Our lips meet, soft and cautious at first—then rougher as it becomes more difficult to breathe through my tears. When we break for air, he clasps my face, nuzzling me, exhaling as he tugs me tighter to him. I'm smiling, kissing his chin, his throat, anything within reach. “I love you.”
He breathes it back to me as if he can’t keep it in either. “I love you. God, I love you, Sophie.”
You’ll never be happy.
Vito’s curse doesn’t seem to reach me up this high.
My father. His father. The Mafia.
As New York vanishes completely from our window, the demons fade as well. I’m beaming, savoring the sensation of Xavier’s lips brushing against my forehead, gifting me nothing but love.
It’s as though Xavier can read my thoughts when he says, “We’ll be happy, Sophie.”
And for the first time in a long time, as we leave the past behind, I can genuinely believe it.
My eyes close.
A new beginning.
Yes… We will be happy.