Chapter 4
JUDE
The harsh fluorescent bulbs of the precinct cast a yellow tint over everything.
Around me, officers barked into desk phones.
Others hammered away on clanking keyboards and shuttled stack after stack of thick case files across the scuffed linoleum floor.
A police radio crackled with static-laced dispatch updates.
Punctuated by the clink of handcuffs and the thud of the holding cell door slamming shut down the hall.
I shifted in an uncomfortable chair, eyes on Sofia through the pane of an interview room.
She sat alone at a table, head down, gripping the edges of her denim jacket as she stared at her feet.
The bureaucratic gears were already turning to process her.
I pursed my lips, unable to let go of my worry, lost in thought, concerned she’d be left out to dry.
She was now flagged in the system as a material witness to a cartel using tourist visas to lure young women into the country.
In a few hours, her visa would be invalid, and her stay would be contingent on whether the Feds deemed her account valuable.
My years spent in uniform and around Kian taught me how the state handled witnesses with no permanent address; they dropped them into high-turnover county shelters and detention centers.
Where they slept in mass cages, and the intake workers stopped caring about maintaining discipline by midnight.
The thought twisted in me, and with a curse, I surged to my feet and knocked on Kian’s open office door.
My stepdad sat behind an oak desk, about to stamp Sofia’s forms for her transfer to a holding facility.
She had no sponsors, no money, and no one to turn to in the States.
She also had the mob after her, so returning to Italy was out of the question for now.
I closed the wooden door behind me, cutting off the noise outside.
‘Kian,’ I said, keeping my voice down so it wouldn’t carry through the drywall.
‘Don’t push her into a state lockup. Let me call my attorneys in Nashville.
We can petition to list her as a dependent attached to my name, making me her sponsor and giving her immigration clearance, for now.
Transfer her into my personal custody and we’ll bring her to the house. We can figure out where to from there.’
Kian frowned. ‘It’s your mother’s birthday weekend.’
‘She’s having over thirty to forty people over, think she’ll mind one more?’
We locked eyes, and I arched a brow, knowing Maggie would take Sofia under her wing like a hen clucking over a lost chick.
Kian paused, his pen hovering a fraction of an inch above the green ledger.
He turned his head, his gray eyes scanning my face with the intense scrutiny he reserved for thugs in custody or suspects in court.
He was searching for the reckless ex-con, but only found a man trying to do the right thing.
‘That’s a huge gamble, Jude,’ Kian said, dropping his voice into that slow, solemn tone he used whenever a situation was about to go sideways.
‘You’re putting your own neck on the line to vouch for her.
If whatever she’s tangled with gets into your orbit, it might prove a disaster.
Or you just might be helping a traveler in need, because to be honest, the poor woman has nowhere else to go. ’
‘My legal team handles multi-million-dollar international contracts all before lunch,’ I countered, leaning my palms on his desk.
‘If anything goes south, they’ll handle it.
How about she stays with us this weekend?
We give her a room, food, and 48 hours to breathe without her having to check over her shoulder.
We can assess the situation, and if she’s safe, I’ll then pay for whatever accommodation she needs in Vermont.
Until she’s on her feet at least, or when and if the feds decide to take her on as a material witness.
You’re the one always banging on about helping those in need. Wouldn’t that fly?’
Kian stared at the unsigned affidavit for three long seconds, then threw his pen into the blotter with a sigh.
‘Get your phone out and start dialing those high-priced legal sharks of yours. I’ll tell the intake deputy that her transport to county detention is on hold for now. I can’t do much more; my hands are tied.’
‘More than enough,’ I drawled.
I tugged my iPhone from my pocket and pulled up the contact file for my lead attorney, Brian Waring.
I glanced back through the narrow window at Sofia, who was staring down at her worn leather boots.
She had no idea that a couple of phone calls were about to haul her out of the deportation pipeline.
I took an inhale, arching a brow at the unexpected lightness in my soul.
It always felt good knowing that my hard work and coin helped those in need.
SOFIA
The bottom of the askew door scraped the linoleum floor as the tall stranger walked into the room.
He was a mountain of a man.
When his strong hands shot out to pick me up when I fell in the terminal and pulled me up to him, I’d been thrust up against a wall of solid muscle.
The sensation had been heady then, and his energy and gravitas hit me once again as I studied him now.
I guessed he was in his mid-thirties.
He was handsome, with a brooding, rugged energy, wavy dark hair that fell to his shoulders, a neat beard, and stunning deep emerald eyes.
His jawline belonged on a billboard.
He was also sinewy and fit, his jeans molded over his thick thighs, hiding nothing of his solid physique.
He wore jewelry: earrings, bracelets, and rings, and his ink was impressive.
Intricate ebony patterns covered his neck and corded arms, disappearing beneath the edges of his black hoodie.
He carried himself with contemplative stillness, confidence, and an undeniable authority, as if he were accustomed to commanding troops or controlling crowds.
The only reason I chose to trust him at the airport was that I spotted the Aquila del Bonelli emblem on his gear.
The vinyl sticker near the brass latches of his guitar case stood out, as if calling to me.
For some reason, seeing it had given me a wild sense of peace, that he could be trusted.
Now he eased into a chair across the interrogation table and sat facing me, his posture alert, his lips pursed.
I wondered if he ever smiled; he’d only given me brooding since we met.
He used his forefinger, with a thick silver ring on it, to slide a folder of legal documents across the table.
‘I realize I never told you my name. It’s Bodhi Judah Valenti but most people call me Jude.’
His voice was deep, gravelly, and hoarse like he’d been talking too much.
It also had a rolling Australian rumble that sounded foreign in an East Coast precinct.
‘Hi, Jude,’ I whispered.
‘My stepfather has signed you out,’ he drawled, ‘and my attorneys in Nashville spent the last hour twisting the arms of the feds. You’re now listed as a legal dependent under my name. You’re in my custody now, Sofia, and that of my stepfather, the local Sheriff.’
I stared at the stamped seals on the paperwork, my heart hammering.
‘Custody? I don’t understand, signore.’
‘It means the transport van to the county detention facility is leaving without you,’ he explained, leaning back into the flimsy seat, crossing his hands over his muscled chest. ‘We might’ve let you go, but the threat you outlined forced us to flag it with the feds.
They insisted on your safety, in the custody of trusted agents, AKA us. ’
I attempted to process what they were telling me, even as the fear lanced through me.
I’d heard stories of Italians with valid visas who’d been taken into detention and deported, and I hoped I wasn’t going to suffer the same stress.
Especially given Luisa’s and Dario’s threats that they’d hunt me down wherever I went.
Sheriff Martinez stepped into the room, his khaki uniform crisp, his gray eyes holding a blend of authority and fatherly concern.
‘Is this true? I’m in your guardianship?’ I asked the Sheriff.
‘It is. Incidentally Jude is my step son and we’re partnering on this one.’
‘What of Luisa and Dario? They -.’
‘We’re well aware that they threatened you. Which is why we can’t throw you into a detention center, so that you get deported just to end up in their control again,’ Jude growled with some fierceness.
‘Why?’
This time, the Sheriff responded.
‘Because the Compagni has its fingers in every county jail, lockup, detention center this side of the border.’
I shook my head, my mind whirling.
‘Where did you meet this Luisa?’ the Sheriff asked.
‘In a factory in Milan, she was all very friendly until we crossed the border, then she shoved a gun in my face and told me to play nice.’
‘That’s how they operate,’ the lawman said kindly.
‘If she or Dario tries to reach your cellular device again, you notify Jude or me immediately, Sofia. Don’t answer his text messages, and do not attempt to negotiate.
I made some inquiries. It turns out the Sheriff’s department and the FBI are building a federal case targeting the Compagni family syndicate. ’
‘Which is why keeping you safe is paramount,’ Jude drawled.
A wave of relief washed through my chest, so intense that tears spiked behind my closed lids.
For days, I had been running on pure adrenaline; the last few on fear and terror.
Now these two men, strangers to me, were choosing to shield me from the wolves who sought to destroy my life.
I was at a loss for words, only managing to mutter my heartfelt appreciation.
‘Thank you.’
‘No worries. We’re leaving the precinct now,’ Jude growled. ‘With me.’
I followed him to the foyer where he slung my threadbare backpack over his shoulder and took hold of his duffel handle and his guitar case.
‘I’m taking you to my mother and stepdad’s house for the weekend. We’ve an empty guest room. It’s also my mother’s birthday, so be advised it’ll be busy. We’ll rest, kick back a little, then I’ll get my lawyers to come up with a long-term plan for you.’
I stiffened, first at the thought of crashing his home, then at owing him money, my fists tightening in the pockets of my denim jacket.
‘No, signore, please. I can’t intrude on your family gathering. I’m a stranger. I can locate a women’s shelter downtown.’
‘The inner city shelters are packed to the rafters with people you do not want to associate with,’ Jude insisted, his tone leaving no room for debate. ‘You’re coming with me. It’s already settled.’
‘I’ve no money,’ I whispered, gazing down in shame at my scuffed shoes. ‘But I’m a hard worker. I’ll find a job and pay you back for the lawyers. Every single cent.’
Jude arched a thick brow, a gleam of amusement dancing in his eyes.
‘Sweetheart, I doubt that, given the price tag’s are a tad high, but you can give it a red-hot go.’
I blinked at the unusual phrasing, making sense of the unfamiliar idioms which tugged a small, unexpected smile at the corner of my lips.
He returned the expression, his rugged face softening for a fraction of a second before he gestured toward the exit.
I hesitated to leave, with just one more question on my mind.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I managed.
Jude tilted his head for a moment in thought before speaking with care.
‘Perhaps it’s my fierce sense of duty that refuses to let me look away when someone is in danger.’
‘You deserve protection,’ Sheriff Martinez added as he joined us.
My gaze swung from one to the other as they spoke, realizing they both were good men, and in my world, that was rare.
I blinked, almost undone, refusing to shatter and cry at their unexpected kindness.