Chapter 8
JUDE
The orange light of sunset hit the patio, throwing long shadows across the lawn where the last of my uncles were packing away the garden chairs.
Maggie leaned on the wooden porch railing, her blue eyes fixed on the kitchen window where Sofia was back at the sink.
‘She’s so darling, hon,’ Maggie murmured, setting her teacup down with a small clink on the terrace ledge.
‘She’s also super stubborn and continues to slip past me to clean up despite my forbidding her.
Then again, perhaps, as she said, it keeps her from overthinking her life.
She does it with such sweetness, son, despite what she’s been through.
A woman after my heart, I already adore her.
Maybe this was the plan all along. That grace and providence brought you to that terminal for a reason. ’
I leaned my back against the cedar post, my hands buried deep in the pockets of my jeans.
My gaze traveled across the yard to Sofia.
The dying sunlight caught the edge of her profile, illuminating the highlights in her hair and the delicate bridge of her nose.
She was stunning, no doubt about it, but the realization only made the cold, stubborn knot in my chest tighten.
I didn’t think this shattered, quiet woman fit the plans I’d drawn up for my life.
For more than a decade, I carried a specific picture of what my future was meant to look like.
In essence, an idealized vision of a partner who matched the success I was finally achieving.
If I were honest, my instincts gravitated toward a well-spoken, educated, preferably blonde-haired beauty.
I wanted a woman who resembled the dream I had been mulling for years.
My intentions did not include a pretty yet vulnerable brunette who had just scarcely escaped a trafficking ring.
I chided myself for being so judgmental.
Guilt hit hard as I remembered Sofia’s whimpering and screams in her sleep last night.
Regardless, I was not the man for her.
‘You’re overthinking it, Maggie,’ I rasped as I shifted my stance. ‘She’s a witness in a federal human trafficking case. I’m just the guy who happened to have the legal muscle to keep her out of a detention cell. Let’s not turn a simple rescue mission into some grand cosmic romance.’
I paused, shaking my head.
‘Besides, she’s not my type. She’s too timid, too messed up, with the mob after her. Red flag territory. I’ve no idea what her real story is, and I’m plain not interested.’
Maggie snorted.
‘You’re an idiot sometimes, Judah, my beautiful son, a brooder and dreamer. Wake up honey and open your eyes. The future you seek might be right in front of you.’
She patted my arm and walked into the house, leaving me alone in the gathering dusk.
I slipped my phone out of my pocket and saw another notification from Abby flash on the screen.
I flicked my gaze away from it and stared back at the kitchen window, where Sofia was washing dishes.
I found myself typing into the search bar of my browser, then scowling at the statistics it pulled up at my request regarding the grim reality of modern trafficking:
An estimated 22,191 cases of human smuggling have been documented in the United States since 2007 by the Polaris Project. Globally, women and girls make up more than 70% of the 20 million victims of modern slavery, yet convictions remain devastatingly low.
I shuddered at the thought Sofia might have been on these statistics.
Even more questions flooded my mind.
Why had I been pulled into this situation at all?
Was it, as my mum alluded to, purposed by some grand cosmic design, or a sideshow I could walk away from the second I left Vermont?
In that moment, my heart roiled even as my pride wrestled with a strange, irritating conviction. One that told me I wasn’t as in control of my destiny as I liked to pretend.
SOFIA
The kitchen window at Maggie’s place stood propped open, letting in the cool evening air while I stood alone by the porcelain basin.
Warm water ran over my hands as I scrubbed the grease off a frying pan, trying to keep my mind off the Luisa and Dario’s threats and on what would happen to me in the days to come.
Outside, the wind shifted direction, carrying the distinct sound of voices drifting toward the open sill.
Jude’s and his mother’s.
‘Besides, she’s not my type,’ Jude’s deep voice reverberated.
I froze beside the sink, the soap bubbles drying on my wrists.
‘She’s too timid, too messed up, with the mob after her,’ Jude continued, his tone offhand and casual.
‘Red flag territory,’ he rasped. ‘I’ve no idea what her real story is, and I’m plain not interested.’
A wave of red-hot humiliation flushed through my cheeks, burning straight down to my neck.
I stared down at the gray water, my eyes stinging while I gripped the edge of the counter to keep my balance.
Get it together, I told myself, swallowing the knot in my throat. No man in his right mind would want to sign up for my mess. I’m no longer an A-list stunner on TV screens and on magazine covers. I’m a ghost trying to outrun my problems.
Jude also wasn’t my knight in shining armor; he was merely extending his shield over me until the heat died down.
Still, my pride took a direct hit.
Dio, it stung.
However, obsessing about his opinion of me wasn’t going to save my neck from the Compagni Syndicate.
I took an inhale and forced my shoulders back.
Battling the sting of rejection, I plunged my hands back into the water and slogged through the rest of the dirty dishes.
I was lost in a rhythm when Jude stepped into the kitchen, his colossal presence filling the space.
I jolted, staring, as his inky locks fell over his brow as if he’d been pushing a hand through them.
He was holding a half-empty ceramic coffee mug and radiated gruffness and brooding impatience.
That, along with the words I overheard, made me want to sprint to the next county.
‘Excuse me please,’ he rumbled.
He dipped his tall frame to slide the cup into the sudsy water.
Heart hammering, I shifted my hips two inches to the left to give his broad shoulders a generous berth.
He reached for a damp cotton towel hanging on the oven handle.
I arched a brow in surprise as he picked up an iron skillet I had just finished scrubbing.
He didn’t say a word as he began to dry it.
Neither did I, still unsure of what to even say to someone who clearly wanted the least to do with me.
So why was he lingering?
Still, this was his mother’s house, and he could be damn where he pleased in it.
I kept my eyes fixed on the forks I was washing, my pulse ratcheting at his proximity.
Bodhi Judah Valenti had no idea of his magnetism, his gravitas, and his raw power.
I had met many men in my line of work, flashy actors, demanding producers, arrogant directors, and a few international stars.
None of them had Jude’s unforced dominance.
It almost scared me, yet I was sure that he would never harm me.
That paradox drew me in, despite the fact he’d just rejected me.
He waited for the next plate, taking each wet one from my hands as soon as I rinsed it clear of bubbles.
We fell into a rhythm at the double sink, our shoulders brushing as the mountain of dishes shrank.
Sharing in this mundane chore felt surreal.
At one point, he leaned over the basin, and the collar of his ebony thermal shirt parted.
A silver pendant swung out from his chest, dangling right above the soapy foam.
I froze, the plate in my hand slipping from my fingers and hitting the bottom of the basin with a wet splash.
‘What?’ he growled, flicking his eyes to me, sensing my surprise.
My gaze was on the amulet hanging off his neck chain, blinking at the intricate metal carving of an eagle.
My mind flashed to the same Aquila del Bonelli emblem stamped onto the vinyl sticker near the brass latches of his guitar case.
‘Where did you get that?’ I muttered as I wiped my wet palms down the thighs of my denim jeans.
Jude blinked as he pulled the argent piece away from his skin and showed it to me.
‘I found it on tour in Rome. It’s an Aquila del Bonelli eagle that represents honesty, truth and freedom. Why’re you looking at it like you’ve seen a ghost?’
My heart hammered as I reached beneath the collar of my own linen blouse.
My fingers were trembling as I hooked the thin metallic chain resting on my collarbone, pulling my own small, weathered amulet out into the light.
The metal was smooth from years of my anxious fingertips rubbing the feathers, but the silhouette was undeniable.
It was a similar raptor.
Jude stepped backward as his eyes locked on the matching token.
His expression shifted to astonishment.
‘Heck, Sofia. That’s the same bird. How’s that even possible?’
‘It’s an old talisman,’ I whispered, leaning on the counter in wonder.
‘When I was nine years old, a mudslide destroyed our entire village in Calabria. My parents vanished in the river. I survived by climbing on a branch, and one of these eagles sat right beside me through the freezing mountain rain for hours until dawn when the rescue boats spotted me. A paramedic told me what it was. I found this duplicate in a Calabria market years later to remind me that I wasn’t abandoned that fateful night. ’
Jude fell silent, his chest rising and falling, as he narrowed his eyes on me.
He appeared to be studying the depths of my soul.
His scrutiny flicked over my hair, face, and neck, taking me in, his emerald gaze cutting deep into me.
The hard mask he wore like a shield seemed to dissolve, his broad shoulders relaxing as the stubborn stiffness left his spine.
He reached out, his calloused thumb brushing the edge of my charm without touching my skin.
His touch was tender for a man dedicated to ripping wild guitar solos on stadium stages.
He glanced at me, and our eyes locked.
My heart lurched at the sincerity in his gaze as his lips parted.
‘I’m so sorry to hear about your parents.’
His burred, hoarse rasp sent shivers through me, sending a honeyed warmth all over me.
‘Thank you. It was a long time ago.’
‘Heard of synchronicity and serendipity, babe?’
The words were lush, sentimental, and they surprised me coming out of Jude’s mouth.
I nodded.
His lips quirked. ‘This is synchronous and serendipitous as fuck.’
I glanced up into his face, amazed by how a simple piece of molded silver could dismantle a thick wall of awkwardness.
The defensive posture he used to keep the world at bay eased off.
Replaced by a shared, quiet intimacy as his now-warmed eyes gazed into mine.
A delicious heat seemed to fill the room, bridging the canyon between his wariness and my anguish with soaring emotion.
Without taking his eyes from me, he stepped back.
However, he stayed, asking questions in his baritone burr about my childhood and parents as I finished up, wiping the counters down and putting the last things away.
His former reticence toward me thawed as I warmed to his keen, quiet inquiries.
‘Where did you go to school?’ he asked in his deep timbre.
‘In Calabria. My aunt, Sonia put my cousin Anya and me through school. I worked twelve-hour days at her market kiosk to add what I could to the tuition money She never let us slack off, and she insisted we take night English and Spanish lessons to give us a shot at something bigger. We spent our evenings practicing our vocabulary and conjugations. At the same time, our fingers flew, shaping fresh gnocchi and twisting tortellini to sell at her stall under the street lamps at night. That grind got me into college, where I earned my degree in social work.’
I fell silent, conflicted about telling him about my five-year acting career.
It would change the dynamics between us, and I didn’t want to explain just how much the mafioso and crime gangs had taken control over my life.
So I skipped over a chunk of my life.
I’d tell him in time, perhaps when trust was better established between us.
‘A few years later, there were no jobs in my field, and the bills didn’t care about my degree.
I packed a single suitcase, traveled to Milan, and took the only steady employment on offer.
I did shift work in hospitals and laundromats.
I even spent three months on a loud, hot factory assembly line just to keep my head above water. ’
‘Is that where you met Luisa?’
I nodded. ‘She befriended me, and I was lonely. I guess. She made me all these promises, told me how I’d get easy gigs being a model, and I believed her.’
My voice trailed off in sadness.
Jude lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug of solidarity.
‘Hey, we all make mistakes, don’t be so hard on yourself. It’ll all pan out, it always does.’
We locked eyes as he spoke, and I gave him a tremulous smile. ‘I really hope so.’
As I dried my hands on the kitchen towel, he rose to his feet and escorted me, with old-world courtesy, to the door of my guest room.
We stood outside it for a beat; our eyes clashed as an arc of energy swept between us.
‘You’re too good to me,’ I murmured, meaning it from the bottom of my heart. ‘Thank you.’
His lips quirked, making him even more impossibly handsome.
‘A pleasure,’ he growled as I turned, a shiver threading over my spine as I walked into the room and shut the door.