Chapter 3 Angelica
ANGELICA
Sofia sleeps beside me on the guest bed, curled into a tight ball with her thumb in her mouth.
She stopped sucking her thumb two years ago, but tonight she's regressed.
Her face is puffy from crying.
Her breathing comes in small hitches that tell me she is not deeply asleep yet.
I stroke her hair and watch her chest rise and fall, trying to calm the panic that claws at my throat.
I can't rest.
I've tried, but this expensive cage he's keeping us in doesn't feel like home.
We're trapped here, locked in this room like prisoners.
Dante said we'd be safe, but safety means nothing when it comes with chains.
And safe from whom, exactly?
He's one of the men I've been hiding from the past six years.
I slide off the bed carefully so I don’t wake Sofia.
My legs feel shaky, but I force myself to stand.
I need to think.
I need to find a way out of here before this situation gets worse.
Dante knows about Sofia now.
He suspects she's his, and the way he looked at her confirms that he won’t let us leave easily.
I pace the length of the room so many times, I start counting my steps.
Twelve steps from the door to the window.
Eight steps from the bed to the bathroom.
The bathroom is small but clean, with marble counters and a glass shower.
There are no windows, no other exits.
I return to the main room and examine the door.
The lock is heavy and bolted from the outside.
I press my ear against the wood and hear nothing except the faint hum of voices somewhere below.
It's killing me not knowing what's going on out there or what's being said about me.
Whoever took me from that street in Naples figured out my past with Dante and made very strong assumptions about Sofia, or at least that's what Dante wants me to believe.
It's logical, but it doesn't make sense.
I never told a soul what I did with him that night.
He's the only one who knew, and if he didn't have his men steal me from the street, I don't know who did.
I move to the vent near the floor along the far wall.
It's small and covered with a metal grate held in place by four screws.
I pull a hairpin from my pocket, the one I use to keep my hair out of my face during work calls.
The metal's thin but sturdy, so I bend it into a makeshift tool and work at the screws one by one.
The entire time, my mind is working feverishly to figure out why I'm here, of all places.
The first screw comes loose after several minutes of effort.
The second takes longer.
My fingers ache and the hairpin bends farther with each twist, but eventually, all four screws sit in my palm.
I pull the grate away and set it aside quietly.
The vent is dark and narrow.
I lie on my stomach and press my face close to the opening.
Cold air drifts up from below, carrying voices with it.
They are distant and muffled, but I can make out fragments of the same conversation that's too muffled to hear through the door.
"The port cleanup needs to happen before the Turk's deadline." The voice is male and unfamiliar. I strain to fully understand him. "We can't afford another delay."
"Dante wants every contact questioned again." Another voice, deeper than the first. "Someone's lying about the shipment. We just need to figure out who."
"Six weeks isn't enough time. If we don't find it, Kemal will leak everything. The Sicilians will move against us the moment they hear about the hit."
The voices fade as the men move away, and I strain to hear more, but they're gone.
I sit back on my heels and process what I just heard.
Dante's in trouble with someone named Kemal.
There's a missing shipment and a deadline that expires in six weeks.
Something about a hit that could destroy his alliances.
This is bigger than I thought.
It's not just about me and Sofia.
This is about Dante's entire organization collapsing around him, and we're caught in the middle of it.
All of it makes me feel less and less safe the longer I think about it.
I replace the grate and tighten the screws back into place with my fingers.
Then I return to the bed and sit beside Sofia.
My mind drifts back to that night six years ago that started all of this.
I was twenty-one and desperate.
I owed money to a crime syndicate that ran a casino in Trastevere.
I'd gambled away everything I had, chasing the high of winning and ignoring the reality of losing.
When I couldn't pay, they put me to work at their club.
I stripped for men who looked at me like I was meat.
I smiled and pretended I didn't hate every second of it.
The boss was Antonelli.
He was tall and blond with the blue eyes of a predator even when he smiled.
He liked to watch me work and make comments about what he'd do to me if I didn't pay off my debt fast enough.
The other girls warned me to stay away from him.
They told me stories about women who disappeared or ended up working in worse places doing worse things.
One night, Antonelli called me into his office after my shift.
I knew what he wanted.
I'd seen the way he looked at me all week, the way his gaze lingered on my body when I walked past him.
He told me my debt was taking too long to repay.
He told me there were other ways I could work it off and then reached for me, grabbing at my waist, pulling me closer.
I froze.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't breathe.
His breath smelled like alcohol and cigarettes.
His fingers dug into my skin.
And he did it right in the open too, where everyone surrounding us could see him groping me and watch my humiliation.
Including the charming and devilishly handsome man who came to my aid.
He waltzed right up to us and spoke to Mr. Gerard like he was in charge.
"Get your hands off her," the man said, and it made Antonelli step back immediately.
"This is none of your business, Santonelli," he said.
But the look on his face was frightened, pale skin and sweaty forehead.
"I'm making it my business." The man pulled an envelope from his jacket and tossed it onto the desk. "That covers her debt. She's done here."
My boss stared at that envelope, then at me, then back at the man.
His jaw tightened with anger, but he didn't even argue.
He knew better.
Everyone in that room knew this man was more dangerous than Antonelli could ever be.
The man gestured toward the door and spoke directly to me. "Let's go."
I gave him my virginity that night after a lot of wine and good conversation.
I let him touch me in ways no one had ever touched me before.
Maybe it was the wine or maybe I saw something in him.
Who knows?
I woke up the next morning alone.
He'd left money on the nightstand with a note that said I should find a better job.
I took the money and left the hotel and a few months later, I discovered I was pregnant.
I panicked.
I didn't know how to find Dante besides the fact that I knew he was dangerous and powerful and connected to people like my boss.
I knew bringing a child into that world would destroy any chance of a normal life.
So I left Rome, changed my name.
I moved to Naples and built a quiet life where nobody knew me.
I convinced myself that I'd made the right choice, that keeping Sofia away from that world was the only way to protect her.
Now I'm sitting in his house with his guards outside the door, and I realize I protected her from nothing.
I only delayed the inevitable.
Sofia coughs in her sleep, a wet sound that pulls me back to the present.
I lean over and check her forehead with the back of my hand.
She feels warm but not feverish.
The stress of today is catching up with her small body.
I pull the blanket higher over her shoulders and tuck it around her gently.
She stirs and opens her eyes halfway.
They're unfocused and drowsy.
"Mama?" she whispers.
"I'm here, Amore."
"Who was that man?"
I smooth her hair back from her face. "Just someone Mama used to know. Don't worry about him."
"Are we going home soon?"
"Yes," I lie. "We'll go home soon."
She closes her eyes again and drifts back to sleep.
I sit beside her and try to steady my breathing.
I shake with a mixture of fear and rage.
Dante thinks he can keep us here.
He thinks he has the right to make decisions about Sofia's life just because he's her biological father.
He doesn't know her.
He doesn't know what she likes or what makes her laugh or what she's afraid of.
He's a stranger to her, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.
I look around the room for anything I can use as a weapon.
The lamp on the nightstand's too heavy to swing effectively.
The decorative vase on the dresser might work if I smash it and use a shard of glass.
There is a metal coat hanger in the closet that I could bend into something sharp.
I make a mental inventory of every object that could hurt someone if I swing it hard enough.
When Dante comes back, I'll be ready.
I won’t let him take Sofia from me without a fight.
A knock on the door interrupts my planning, and I stand and move toward it cautiously.
The lock clicks and the door opens.
The housekeeper from earlier stands in the hallway with a kind expression on her weathered face.
She looks at me with gentle eyes that remind me of my grandmother.
"Did you enjoy your dinner?" she asks quietly, glancing at Sofia sleeping in the bed.
Her voice carries a maternal warmth that feels out of place in this situation.
"It was fine," I say. I cross my arms over my chest indignantly, feeling a bit ashamed of myself for not liking this woman already. "Thank you."
"Is there anything else you need? Extra blankets? Something for the child?"
"We need to go home."
Her expression shifts to something that looks like pity.
She glances over her shoulder at the guard standing behind her, then back at me.
"I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I can't do that."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both." She hesitates. "But I can bring you anything else you might need to be comfortable while you're here."
"I don't want to be comfortable. I want to leave."
She nods slowly, as if she expected this answer.
"I understand. But that decision isn't mine to make."
"Then whose decision is it?"
"You know whose decision it is."
There's sympathy in her eyes as I glare at her, but also resignation.
She's worked for Dante long enough to know that arguing with him is pointless.
"If you need anything," she says again, "just knock on the door. Someone will hear you."
She steps back and closes the door.
The lock clicks into place, and I stand there for a long moment, staring at the wood and feeling the walls close in around me.
I want to rage and scream and pound on this door, but Sofia sleeps so soundly, I'd feel bad waking her.
I return to the bed and lie down beside her, wrapping my arm around her small body and pulling her close.
She shifts in her sleep and curls into me with utmost trust that breaks my heart.
I can't keep her safe here, and I can't trust the man in charge to do it either.
I close my eyes and try to think of a way out.
There has to be something I can do.
Some weakness I can exploit.
Some opportunity I can seize.
But right now, all I can do is wait.