Chapter 5
Vittorio
Isat in my office, the blue glow of multiple monitors casting shadows across my face.
The surveillance footage from Sophie's room played on loop.
Six weeks of footage—methodically reviewed, cataloged, analyzed.
Something had been nagging at me since yesterday's dinner.
I'd been so certain of my control, my impenetrable security system. But now…
My finger froze over the keyboard.
There it was. Sophie sat at the dinner table, her hand moving casually to her lap, then back to her plate. Nothing unusual—except for the slight change in the angle of her wrist, the barely perceptible shift in her shoulder.
I rewound. Played it again at half speed.
"Fuck."
She'd taken a knife. Right under my nose. I'd missed it completely.
I leaned back in my chair, a cold feeling settling in my gut. If I'd missed this, what else had I missed? Had her compliance been genuine, or had she been playing me this entire time? Calculating, waiting, planning?
The Sophie I thought I knew—the defiant but ultimately trapped woman—dissolved before my eyes. In her place stood someone far more dangerous: a strategist who'd been three steps ahead of me from the beginning.
The intercom buzzed. Enzo's voice filled the room. "Boss, Antonio's men were spotted near the south perimeter again."
"Double the guard rotation. No one gets within a mile of this property."
"Yes, boss."
I closed the surveillance program and stood, straightening my cuffs. It was time for a different kind of confrontation.
I found her in the garden, reading beneath the oak tree. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling her red hair with gold. For a moment, I simply watched her—this woman who'd upended my carefully controlled world.
"You took a knife," I said, stepping into her line of sight.
She didn't startle. Didn't even look up from her book. "I took two, actually."
That caught me off guard. "Two?"
Now, she looked up, green eyes challenging. "You saw me take them."
"I should have been watching more carefully."
A flash of surprise crossed her face—genuine surprise—before she masked it. "Took you long enough to notice."
I moved closer, standing over her. "Where are they?"
"Where you'll never find them." She closed her book, setting it aside. "Unless you plan to strip search me."
The memory of her body pressed against mine flashed unbidden through my mind. I pushed it away.
"Why?" I asked.
"Why what?"
"Why do it if you never intend to use them?"
She stood, brushing off her dress. Even in bare feet, she held herself like a queen. "Who says I never intend to use them?"
"You've had ample opportunity."
"Maybe I'm waiting for the right moment."
"Or maybe," I said, stepping closer, "you just wanted to feel like you had a choice."
Her eyes widened fractionally. I'd hit a nerve.
"You don't know anything about what I want."
"I know you're afraid."
"Of course I'm afraid!" The words burst from her. "I'm being held captive by a mafia Underboss whose brother wants me dead. I'm locked in rooms, watched on cameras, my every move monitored. And the one time I thought—" She cut herself off.
"The one time you thought what?"
"You think because of what happened—"
"That night was the most dangerous thing I've ever done," I said, the admission torn from somewhere deep inside me. "Because I wanted it. Because I still want it. And wanting anything that much in my world gets you killed."
Pain flashed across her face before hardening into anger. "Then why does it feel like you're punishing me for it?"
The question hit me like a physical blow. Was that what I was doing? Punishing her for making me feel something I hadn't felt in years?
"I'm not punishing you, Sophie. I'm trying to keep you alive."
She laughed, bitter and hollow. "By keeping me prisoner?"
"By keeping you safe."
"Safe?" She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the jasmine in her hair. "I took those knives because I needed to feel like I had some control. Some way to protect myself if—" She swallowed. "If things went wrong."
"You think I would hurt you?"
"I think men like you do whatever serves their interests. And the moment I stop being useful…"
The implication hung between us. She was afraid. Not of dying, but of being helpless. I caused this fear. Even after what happened between us, she still didn't trust me not to hurt her.
My phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the tension. Antonio's number flashed on the screen.
Sophie's eyes went to the phone, then back to my face. Something in my expression must have warned her, because she went very still.
I answered, putting the phone on speaker without thinking—old habit from years of taking calls in front of subordinates.
"Brother," Antonio's voice oozed through the speaker. "We need to talk about the redhead."
Sophie's face went white. I moved to end the call, but Antonio continued before I could react.
"My men saw you take her from the alley. She's been in your house for what—over a month now? Sleeping in one of your guest rooms? Or perhaps… elsewhere?"
I watched Sophie's expression change as she realized Antonio knew exactly where she was. Had known all along.
"She's mine, Vittorio. She took something from me."
"As I recall, you took something from her first," I said, my eyes never leaving Sophie's face. "Several things."
Antonio's voice hardened. "You have no idea what you're interfering with. That flash drive contains information that could destroy everything we've built."
"Your side business isn't my business, Antonio. Trafficking women and children—"
"Is profitable," he cut me off. "More profitable than your legitimate enterprises."
Sophie pressed a hand to her mouth, horror dawning in her eyes as she listened to her former lover discuss human trafficking like a commodity.
"You have two choices, brother," Antonio's voice turned deadly. "Give her back to me… or kill her yourself. Today."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll burn everything to the ground. Starting with that pretty little fortress where you're keeping my property." His voice turned silky with threat. "She's listening, isn't she? Hello, Sophie. Miss me?"
Sophie stumbled backward, her breathing becoming rapid and shallow.
"You have until midnight," Antonio continued. "Bring her to the old cathedral, or I'll come collect her myself. And I won't be gentle about it."
The line went dead.
I stared at the silent phone, remembering another call years ago.
"Vittorio, Father's dead," Antonio had said, his voice breaking. "It's just us now. We have to stick together."
We were twenty-three and twenty-five, suddenly inheriting an empire.
"We're brothers," he'd sworn. "That means everything."
When had that bond become this poison?
Sophie stared at me, her face pale as marble. "He's going to kill me," she whispered. "Whether you give me back or not, he's going to kill me."
"Sophie—"
"No." She shook her head frantically. "You heard him. I'm 'property' to him. Property that embarrassed him by escaping. He can't let that stand."
Her breathing was coming in short gasps now. "He knows about the trafficking. He knows I have evidence. Even if you hand me over, he'll—" She swayed on her feet.
"Sophie, breathe."
"I'm going to die." The words came out as barely a whisper. "Oh god, I'm going to die, and there's nowhere to run this time."
She took a step toward me, then another, her legs wobbling. "Vittorio, I—"
Her knees buckled.
I caught her before she hit the ground, her body limp in my arms. "Sophie!" I patted her cheek. No response. Her skin was clammy, her breathing shallow.
"Enzo!" I roared, lifting her against my chest. "Get the doctor! Sophie just collapsed in the garden after a phone call—she's out cold. Tell Dr. Rossi it might be shock or a panic attack. Have him meet us in her room. Now!
Dr. Rossi had been staying at the estate since yesterday—standard protocol when threat levels escalated to this degree.
I carried her through the garden, my heart hammering against my ribs. Her head lolled against my shoulder, red hair spilling over my arm. She felt too light, too fragile.
"Stay with me," I murmured, taking the stairs two at a time. "Come on, Sophie. Stay with me."
Memories of another woman, another collapse, flashed through my mind. Livia, trapped in the flames that tore through our estate. The explosion that came without warning. The funeral where I stood alone, staring at a closed casket.
"Not again," I growled. "Not you too."
I burst through the doors to find Dr. Rossi already waiting, medical bag in hand.
"Put her on the bed," he instructed, all business.
I laid her down gently, brushing hair from her face. Her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, her lips slightly parted. She looked peaceful, but the stillness terrified me.
"What happened?" Dr. Rossi asked, checking her pulse.
"She overheard a threatening phone call. Severe shock. She was hyperventilating before she collapsed."
"Panic attack leading to fainting," he nodded, continuing his examination. "I'll need to run some tests. Has she been eating regularly? Any medications I should know about?"
I thought of the knives she'd hidden, the weeks of captivity, the constant fear. "Yes. Significant stress."
He frowned, lifting her eyelids to check her pupils. "I need to run some tests. Blood work, at the very minimum. This level of physical response suggests her body is under severe strain."
"Do whatever you need to do. Cost is no object."
He nodded, preparing a syringe. "I'll need privacy."
I hesitated, reluctant to leave her side.
"I'll call you the moment I know anything," he assured me.
I stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind me. Enzo stood waiting, face grim.
"Boss?"
"Double the security. No one gets in or out without my explicit permission. And I want hourly updates on Antonio's movements." I paused, the weight of the ultimatum settling on my shoulders. "He's declared war."
"Consider it done."
I leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. Antonio's ultimatum echoed in my mind: Give her back to me or kill her yourself.
She'd collapsed from sheer terror after hearing what awaited her. The fear in her eyes when she'd realized there was nowhere left to run—it had been my fear too. The fear of losing her to my brother's cruelty.
She'd taken the knives because she was afraid. Because I'd made her afraid. I'd taken her freedom, her agency, her dignity—all in the name of protection. But in doing so, I'd become just another man who sought to control her.
Fuck!
If she survived this—when she survived this—things would be different. I would be different.
Antonio thought he was forcing my hand with his ultimatum. But he'd made a critical error. He'd shown Sophie exactly what kind of monster he was. And he'd shown me exactly what I stood to lose.
She was not just leverage anymore. Maybe she never had been.