Chapter 16
Sophie
The afternoon sun streamed through the windows as I sorted through the nursery catalog Enzo had left on the dresser, its glossy pages full of soft blankets and cribs I couldn’t picture us ever using.
Vittorio had been gone for hours at his family meeting, and the estate felt eerily quiet without his commanding presence.
I placed a protective hand over my now visible baby bump, wondering what kind of world we were creating for our child.
A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.
"Come in," I called.
Lila entered, carrying a tray with tea and biscuits. Her weathered hands moved with practiced efficiency as she set it down on the bedside table.
"You haven't eaten since breakfast," she scolded gently. "The baby needs nourishment."
I smiled at her motherly concern. "Thank you, Lila."
She poured the tea, her movements deliberate as she added a spoonful of honey the way I liked it. "Are you nervous about the meeting?"
"Terrified," I admitted. "Vittorio says it will be fine, but these men followed Antonio for years. They won't just accept change overnight."
Lila's soft brown eyes met mine. "Men like Carbone never accept change. They die fighting it."
The gravity in her voice sent a chill down my spine. Lila had witnessed decades of Ricci family politics, and her insights were never to be ignored.
"Vittorio can handle himself," I said, more to reassure myself than her.
She nodded, but her expression remained troubled. "It's not him I worry about today."
Before I could ask what she meant, a crash echoed from downstairs, followed by shouting in rapid Italian. Lila froze, her head tilting toward the sound.
"That's not right," she whispered. "The guards wouldn't—"
Another crash, closer this time, followed by the unmistakable pop of gunfire.
My blood turned to ice. "What's happening?"
Lila grabbed my arm with surprising strength. "Someone's breached security. We need to move. Now."
She pulled me toward the door, but stopped abruptly, listening. Heavy footsteps pounded up the grand staircase, accompanied by harsh voices issuing commands.
"Too late," she hissed. "Back door. Through the servants' stairs."
We rushed across the room to the hidden door that connected to the service corridor. My heart hammered against my ribs as Lila pushed it open, revealing the narrow passage beyond.
"Go," she urged. "Get to the garage. Take the black Audi—keys are in the ignition. Drive to the safe house in the Catskills."
"What about you?"
Her weathered face hardened with determination. "I'll buy you time."
Before I could protest, she slipped back into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. I stood frozen in the dim corridor, torn between flight and loyalty. Through the thin wall, I heard the bedroom door burst open, followed by Lila's voice, strong and defiant.
"What do you think you're doing in this house?"
A man's voice answered, cold and threatening. "Where is she? The red-headed bitch? Carbone wants her and the bastard she's carrying dead before Ricci gets back."
"No one here but an old woman. The signorina left with Vittorio this morning."
"Liar."
I pressed my hand against my mouth to stifle a gasp as something shattered. Moving silently, I crept back to the hidden door and opened it just enough to peer through the crack.
Three masked men stood in my bedroom. Lila faced them, a kitchen knife clutched in her hand. Despite her small stature, she looked fearless, like a lioness protecting her cub.
"Leave now," she commanded, "before the guards come."
The lead intruder laughed. "The guards are dead or busy. Carbone says it's time to cleanse the bloodline. Make Ricci remember his place in the old order."
Carbone. The name ignited a flash of understanding. This was retaliation for the meeting—a desperate attempt to hurt Vittorio where it would wound him most deeply.
Through me. Through our child.
Lila must have reached the same conclusion. She lunged forward with surprising speed, slashing at the nearest attacker. The knife connected, drawing a line of red across his forearm. He howled in pain, staggering backward.
"Run, Sophie!" she screamed, knowing I must be listening. "Run!"
The leader pulled a gun from his waistband, but Lila was already moving, throwing herself at him with the kitchen knife raised high. The blade sank into his shoulder as they collided, sending both tumbling to the floor.
The third man circled around, heading for the service door—heading for me.
I backed away, heart thundering in my ears. My hand brushed against a decorative vase on a hall table. Without hesitation, I grabbed it and waited.
As the door swung open, I brought the vase down with all my strength. It shattered against his skull, sending him stumbling to his knees. I didn't wait to see if he'd get up. I ran.
The service corridor twisted through the mansion's heart, designed to keep staff invisible to the family and guests. I navigated the turns, heading for the back staircase that would lead to the kitchen and, beyond that, the garage.
Behind me, a gunshot echoed through the mansion, followed by a woman's cry of pain.
Lila.
I froze, my body refusing to move forward while she suffered. The protective instinct that had been growing inside me since learning of my pregnancy suddenly shifted, encompassing not just my unborn child but the woman who had shown me nothing but kindness.
I couldn't leave her.
My hand slipped to the small of my back, where I'd kept one of the steak knives hidden in a makeshift sheath sewn into my clothes. I'd been carrying it for weeks, ever since the first threat from Antonio. The weight of it was familiar in my palm as I pulled it free.
I turned back, moving silently through the corridor toward my bedroom. At the hidden door, I paused, listening. Male voices argued in rapid Italian. Through the crack, I saw Lila lying on the marble floor, blood pooling beneath her. Her chest still rose and fell, but her face had gone ashen.
Rage flooded through me—hot, clarifying rage that burned away fear and hesitation. These men had invaded my home. They had hurt someone I cared about. They threatened my child.
I wouldn't run. Not anymore.
The door to the bedroom stood open, and one of the men left to search elsewhere. The leader knelt beside Lila, pressing a gun to her temple as he demanded to know where I was hiding.
I pushed the hidden door open with deliberate slowness, making it creak. As he turned toward the sound, I stepped into view, knife held low at my side.
"I'm right here," I said, my voice steady despite the terror clawing at my throat. "Let her go."
He rose, blood staining his shirt where Lila had stabbed him. "Carbone wants you alive," he said, training his gun on me. "But he didn't say what condition you needed to be in."
"Did he tell you I was dangerous?" I asked, taking a step forward.
He laughed. "You? The pretty little redhead? "Should've stayed with the other brother. Now you die for corrupting the family."
I thought of everything I'd endured—Antonio's betrayal, Vittorio's captivity, Falco's torture. Each had forged me, hardened me. I was no longer the woman who had run terrified through rainy streets. I was a survivor. A mother protecting her child.
"That's your mistake," I said.
When he moved toward me, I didn't hesitate. I lunged forward, ducking under his outstretched arm. The knife in my hand found the soft spot beneath his ribs that Vittorio had once shown me during a quiet moment of instruction.
"Here," he'd said, pressing his finger to that vulnerable place. "If you ever need to kill a man, this is where you aim."
The blade sank deep. The man's eyes widened in shock as I twisted the knife, just as Vittorio had taught me. He dropped his gun, hands clutching uselessly at the wound as he collapsed.
Blood coated my hands as I pulled the knife free. I felt nothing—no horror, no disgust, only cold determination as I knelt beside Lila.
"Help is coming," I told her, pressing my hand against the wound in her side. "Stay with me."
Her eyes fluttered open. "Sophie… you should have run."
"I'm done running," I said.
Sirens wailed in the distance—Vittorio's security team responding at last. The third attacker appeared in the doorway, gun raised. Before he could fire, shots rang out from the hallway. He crumpled to the floor as Enzo appeared, weapon drawn.
"Medic!" he shouted over his shoulder. "We need a medic here!"
Men in tactical gear swarmed the room, securing the area with practiced efficiency. I remained beside Lila, my bloody hands pressed against her wound until paramedics gently moved me aside.
"Is she going to be okay?" I asked as they worked.
"It's too early to tell for certain," one replied, applying pressure to the wound. "We need to get her to the hospital, but her vitals are stable."
Relief washed over me, quickly followed by exhaustion.
I sat back on my heels, suddenly aware of the dead man beside me, of the blood coating my hands and clothes.
I had killed him. The reality hit me in waves—the weight of the knife in my hand, the moment it sank into his flesh, the way his eyes had gone wide with shock.
My hands began to shake as the adrenaline faded.
I should have felt horror, remorse, something human.
Instead, all I felt was a cold, practical satisfaction.
He had threatened my child, threatened Lila.
He'd gotten what he deserved. The numbness scared me more than the killing did.
He threatened my family. He paid the price.
The security team swept through the estate, room by room, as paramedics stabilized Lila for transport. I refused to leave her side until Enzo approached, his face grim.
"Vittorio is on his way," he said. "Ten minutes out."
I nodded, my mind already shifting to what needed to happen next. This attack proved what I had suspected since learning I was pregnant—there would be no safety for us here, not while enemies like Carbone lived.
When Vittorio arrived, he moved through the chaos with deadly calm, his ice-blue eyes taking in every detail. He found me in the bedroom, still kneeling beside the bloodstain where Lila had fallen.
"Sophie," he breathed, crossing the room in three long strides.
I looked up at him, not bothering to hide the blood on my hands or the knife I still clutched. His gaze moved from me to the dead attacker, understanding dawning in his eyes.
"You did this?" he asked quietly.
"He gave me no choice." I rose to my feet, my decision already made. "Carbone sent them to kill me while you were away. To kill our child."
Vittorio's face hardened into a mask of cold fury. "Carbone is being dealt with as we speak."
"It's not enough," I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my limbs. "We leave. Tonight. I won't raise our child in a world where people try to kill me in my own bedroom. End this war, or I will disappear, and you'll never see either of us again."
I meant every word. I would protect my child at any cost—even from Vittorio himself if necessary.
He looked at the dead attacker, then at me holding the bloody knife, and something shifted in his expression. Recognition, perhaps, of what I had become—no longer his captive, no longer even just his lover, but a mother who would kill without hesitation to protect her family.
"Pack your things," he said quietly. "We're leaving the city."
In that moment, I knew our lives had changed irrevocably. The world Vittorio had built, the power he had accumulated—none of it mattered against the primal need to protect what was ours. We would forge a new path together, or I would forge one alone.
Either way, I would never again be the woman who waited helplessly for rescue.