Chapter 25
SOFIA
It was over.
We were done.
The sham marriage was dead in my eyes, at least.
I placed my diamond wedding band in the center of the polished walnut surface of the vanity table in our hotel suite.
The gem shards glinted in the glow of the overhead chandelier, casting tiny, fractured beams on the wallpaper.
Clenching my teeth to control myself, I turned my back on it without a second glance.
I pulled my roller suitcase from the closet shelf.
I jammed into it only the clothes I needed and left behind everything I ever bought with Jude’s card or received from him, then zipped it shut with a tug.
My fingers trembled as I opened the Uber app on my phone, summoning a ride to the hotel entrance.
I checked my personal checking balance; a couple of weeks of wages sat inside from The Sanctuary, a modest sum that now represented my entire savings.
I used it to book a multi-hop economy plane ticket back to Tennessee, sighing as a fair amount of money disappeared from my total.
With my handbag slung over my shoulder, I rolled my suitcase, slipping out of the suite.
My heart hammered as I stepped into the carpeted corridor, terrified that Jude would appear without warning to unleash another wave of fury at me.
Or worse, that he’d give me the same piercing glare of freezing contempt he threw at me as he berated me.
To avoid any chance of encountering him, I took the service stairs rather than the elevators.
At the ground floor, I pushed through the revolving glass doors and scanned the quiet street for my ride.
A sedan arrived, and I packed my things in and slid into the backseat just as my phone began to vibrate in my palm.
The screen illuminated with Kian’s name, followed by a string of urgent text alerts from Maggie.
I stared at the flashing icons that made my skin crawl and flipped the device to silent, refusing to answer a single call or text.
My journey to the US was a punishing, disjointed gauntlet of terminals, mandatory layovers, and endless security lines.
I might’ve gone home to Anya in Calabria, or escaped to another European city, but I was worried the Compagni famiglia still had a bounty on me.
Their reach across the continent was undeniable; they would find me much easier in Europe.
I had no choice but to return to the States.
My cheap ticket meant I had to endure a few stops.
Every leg of the trip felt like a test, shuffling through crowded concourses, eyeing departure boards, and enduring the sterile grind of international travel.
There wasn’t a direct flight from Rome to Nashville, forcing me to endure a chaotic four-hour layover at Frankfurt Airport.
I sat on the cold metal bench of the terminal as the bustling noise of the terminal swirled around me, oblivious to my exhaustion.
With a sigh, I pulled out my phone and got into WhatsApp, reaching out to my friends to give them a detailed breakdown of what went down.
Sofia: I had no choice but to leave him. He was so livid that he treated me like a stranger. He also found out about my acting and got angry because he thinks I lied to him or omitted the truth to cover up my past.
Marisa: Are you safe, Sofia? Do you have enough money to get back to the States?
Sofia: I’m unharmed, and I’ve got enough to survive; I’m just shattered. I’m boarding the plane to the United States in a few hours.
Anya: Take a deep breath, chica. Remember everything that man did to secure your safety.
I grimaced and shook my head.
Sofia: It still does not excuse the fact that he chose to believe lies and refused to listen to me.
Anya: Your connection was real for both of you. Perhaps he’ll soon realize he was wrong.
Sofia: I don’t care if he does; we’re done.
Marisa: We understand; you do what you need to for you.
Tina: We’ll be thinking of you as you travel back. You’re never alone while the four of us have your back.
My girls checked in on me at every leg of the journey.
Their love and encouragement became the source of strength I leaned on during my lonely trip back to the US.
However, the physical and emotional strain began to drown me.
Each time I closed my eyes on the aircraft, the image of Jude’s furious face or the glossy prints of the faked photos jerked me awake.
My mind raced in circles until my vision blurred from total sleep deprivation.
I also thought of Luisa, of her working right alongside me at the assembly benches, whispering sweet lies in my ear.
She’d betrayed me over and over.
I rested my head on the plane window as a deep, sickening regret churned in me at the mere memory of ever trusting that woman.
She was a viper, a predator who used the guise of friendship to orchestrate my compliance.
The fact that her and Dario’s poison crossed an ocean to dismantle my life proved how vile and ruthless people could be; they wouldn’t stop until they dragged everyone else down into their own personal hell.
By the time I reached the international customs counter in Chicago, my legs were shaking from sheer exhaustion.
A uniformed officer took my paperwork, his thumb flicking through the pages of my passport before he pressed the entry stamp down with a thud.
Relief washed over me as he slid the documents back across to me and gestured to let me through.
I landed in Nashville by late afternoon, got out cash from an ATM, and took a local bus to Jude’s house in Belle Meade.
My door code still worked, and I let myself in.
I retrieved my old canvas duffel bag from my guest room and found my clean, faded denim jacket, jeans, and worn cotton tees I owned when I met him.
I packed them in with my other things.
When rushing through the room, my eyes fell on his sweatshirt, the hoodie I’d stolen from his room a few weeks ago.
I lifted it to my face and breathed him in again, blinking back tears.
With an inhale, I threw it into my bag, the only weakness I’d allow myself.
I added my diary, notepad, writing pens, and my legal IDs.
I didn’t touch a single luxury item or piece of clothing Jude purchased for me.
I hesitated about the new iPhone he bought me.
It held all my contacts, photos, and WhatsApp messages, and the pain of finding another phone and transferring my details overrode my desire to leave it all to him.
I needed my connections; they were my lifeline, so I kept the device.
But not before disabling the ‘Find My Phone’ feature and blocking Jude and his parents’ numbers.
I spent several moments on my smartphone doing some online research, then I exited Jude’s home, perhaps for good.
I even left the car he bought me and locked the front door behind me.
I took off on foot, got an Uber down the street to the city, and sat in a cafe for a few hours, plotting my next move.
In time, I boarded a coach and vanished into the industrialized underbelly of North Nashville.
Getting off at a deserted bus stop, I followed my map.
I came upon a bleak structure near the active CSX freight tracks.
A small sign over the door read ‘Shelby’s House’.
According to my extensive search online, the shelter was the only one with a vacancy listed in the city that night.
I pushed the door open to a minimalist reception.
Behind a barred window and under a flickering fluorescent light sat a gruff woman.
She had a lined face, a built, muscular body, short-cropped blonde hair, tattoos, and a no-nonsense attitude.
I hesitated, inching into the room.
‘Need something, honey?’ the woman called out, raking me from head to toe.
‘A room? I can pay for a few nights.’
She assessed me with narrowed eyes. ‘You in trouble or running from anyone?’
‘I’ve left my husband. I’m after a cheap place to crash.’
‘Hmm,’ she grunted, not unkindly.
She extended a form to me through the narrow space under the open, barred window.
‘Fill in your details, then see me.’
I took the folder and sat on a hard chair, hit with the irony that I was now not unlike the souls I worked with at The Sanctuary.
Form completed, I handed it to Linda, reading her name off the nameplate on the desk she sat at.
She punched my details into her computer, did a security check on my ID, then finally nodded.
‘Welcome to Shelby’s House. I’m Laura Shelby. I own and run this shelter.’
She went on to give me a list of house rules and the requirement for utter discretion.
‘To protect our other guests.’
‘Of course,’ I concurred.
Emerging from her caged office, Linda resembled a fighter, with calloused hands, bulging forearms, and a scar on her chin that told me she didn’t suffer fools.
She jingled a ring of keys as she led me down a narrow, water-damaged hallway that reeked of ancient mildew and stale tobacco.
‘Ninety bucks a week, cash up front,’ Linda said.
She kicked the bottom of a swollen wooden door until it popped open, revealing a small space with a cramped iron cot, a sink, and a bare wardrobe.
‘Bathroom is at the end of the hall. You block the toilet, you fix it yourself. No visitors after ten. You also help out in the shelter with cleaning and emptying bins on a schedule I’ll slip under your door in the morning.’
‘I won’t have visitors, and all is good with helping out.’
I dug into my purse and handed her a pile of crisp bills.
‘The cash is right here.’
Linda pocketed the money, slid the keys into my palm, and closed the door.
The lock was flimsy, forcing me to wedge the back of a broken wooden chair beneath the handle for security.
Finally, I pivoted, my weary eyes flitting over the bleak, ugly room with the stained walls, peeling paint, and linoleum floor.
With a cry, I slid to the ground, releasing all the sorrow I’d been holding onto for days.
I was never a woman prone to weeping; however, when I did, I turned into the ugliest crier on the planet.
My sobs were guttural; my entire body was shaking, my face contorted.
I huddled on the dust-covered surface for what seemed like hours.
Merde.
I missed the hell out of Jude, while hating his rigid obstinacy.
I loathed that everything we shared, even making love, felt like trash now.
In time, my crying jag ended, and I sat up, scrubbing at my swollen, salty face.
I staggered to the washbasin and threw cold water over my skin, staring at myself in the cracked mirror above the sink.
‘Damn, I look awful,’ I told the glass.
My reflection agreed, the weak light highlighting my bloodshot eyes and blotchy features.
Get it together, Sofia, I thought, gripping the porcelain basin. He’s a stubborn idiot, and you’re better off without him.
I wrenched away and slid onto the thin mattress, weariness settling deep in me.
Every so often, a diesel locomotive roared past the building, rattling the windowpanes.
Despite the profound fatigue, my mind refused to shut down, so I reached for my phone.
I lay beneath the scratchy wool blanket, the blue glow of my phone illuminating the cracked plaster ceiling as I scrolled through online employment boards.
Searching for any cleaning, commercial kitchen, or warehouse gigs close by.
At one point, I went against my will and scrolled through a series of entertainment news feeds, hunting for any updates about the Six Sinners’ European tour.
The gossip columns popped up with headlines of the band performing under the stadium lights in Rome.
Jude’s vocal performance was a highlight, with one journalist going on about how his crooning timbre and heartfelt tracks offered the perfect salve to a broken heart.
I scoffed at the contradiction even as my pain twisted into bitterness.
Our entire marriage had been a ridiculous fantasy, a temporary delusion born of desperation, and I knew I shouldn’t have believed in it for a minute.
I pulled a small, spiral-bound notebook from my backpack.
I used a cheap blue pen to sketch out the neat columns of a crude financial ledger, calculating the estimated cost of his attorneys, my stay at his house, and the flights.
It would take me years to clear the debt.
However, I was determined to free myself from him, reclaim my name, and ensure I owed that man nothing whatsoever.