Chapter 50 Sophie
Sophie
The calls started coming in the day after Siena’s birthday.
First the kitchen equipment supplier, then the linen service, then the building management company. Each one saying the same thing: everything had been paid in full for the next five years.
My hands shook as I held the phone, listening to the building manager explain that my rent was settled, that there was a maintenance account set up, that Mr. Demonio had been very clear about ensuring I had everything I needed.
Mr. Demonio.
I don’t remember giving him permission to do any of this, and I don’t want his charity.
Not after the way he humiliated me at Siena’s party.
Degradation in the bedroom is one thing, but being told “you’re my cumslut” while getting fucked is very different than being told that you are worthless in front of all your friends.
After a few days of depression followed by Siena’s encouragement and a big push to start moving forward, I woke up with a realization: I can’t let this stand.
It took me a few days of harassing Matti and getting Siena to help me harass him more, but this morning, he finally gave up Vin’s location: a warehouse not too far from what will soon be my old apartment.
My GPS takes me through industrial streets lined with shipping containers and chain-link fences. The building itself looks abandoned, but there are too many expensive cars parked outside for it to be empty.
I push through the heavy metal door without knocking.
Vin stands near a table covered in papers, surrounded by men I don’t recognize. Irish, from their accents, with sharp eyes and casual violence radiating off them.
He looks up when I enter, and for just a split second I swear relief flickers over his face. But then it’s gone, replaced by that cold mask he wears so well.
“Sophie. What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.” I keep my voice steady even though it hurts. “Alone.”
One of the Irish men, older, with Vin’s same dark eyes, raises an eyebrow. “This the Italian bird you were—”
“Outside,” Vin cuts him off, grabbing my elbow to drag me out the door. I jerk away.
The air is humid as we step into the alley. Vin pats his pocket like he’s looking for a cigarette, then grits his teeth and stops when it’s not there.
“You can’t just pay for everything,” I say without preamble. “The restaurant, the equipment, the lease. I don’t want it.”
He stares at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. “What do you mean you don’t want it?”
“I don’t want your money, Vin. Take it all back.”
“It’s done.” His tone is final. “The contracts are signed. It’s an apology for Siena’s party and the bomb at your restaurant, and it’s also a thank you. I’m repaying my debt. We’re even.”
We’re even.
“You’re apologizing,” I say slowly, trying to understand. “But you don’t want me back.”
Something flashes across his face, but he just says, “No.”
My throat tightens, tears burning behind my eyes, but I refuse to cry in front of him. “I didn’t think you could hurt me worse than you did at Siena’s party, but treating me like I mean nothing to you is definitely worse.”
“It was a nice distraction.” He says it like he’s discussing the weather. “But I don’t love you.”
The air leaves my lungs. “You don’t.”
“No.” He meets my eyes without flinching. “Good luck with the restaurant.”
He starts to turn away and something in me snaps. I grab his arm, feel the muscle tense beneath my fingers. “I don’t know what’s happening right now, Vincenzo. Or why. Did I do something?”
He laughs, bitter and sharp. “Why is this so hard for you to believe, princess? You had to know we were never going to work.”
Princess again.
“It seems like we worked pretty well,” I say quietly.
“Fucking doesn’t translate into real life.” He’s looking at me the way you’d look at a child who doesn’t understand basic math. “I’m the boss of a family. I need someone who’s a better fit for the position of being with me.”
The words shouldn’t hurt. I’ve heard versions of them before from other men, but this is Vin.
Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe I imagined all of it, saw what I wanted to.
“Why?” I genuinely want to know what it is about me that is never enough. “I thought I was the total package. Isn’t that what you said?”
“I was trying to fuck you, princess.” His smile is cruel. “I’m sure I said a lot of things. You haven’t had men lie to fuck you? Maybe you haven’t. They probably didn’t have to.”
My hand moves before I can think, my palm slashing across his cheek. He grabs my wrist, fingers bruising.
“That’s for lying to me,” I say, my voice shaking.
He laughs again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. They are dead. “I don’t love you enough to lie to you, princess. Just take your parting gifts and get the fuck out of here.”
He yanks me closer, his other hand gripping my hip. I can smell a hint of whiskey on his breath.
“Unless,” his voice drops lower, “you want to talk about a chef with benefits situation. Where I fuck your ass while you cook for me.”
The tears finally spill over. I stare at him, this man I fell in love with, offering me scraps like I was nothing more than a convenient hole and a good meal.
I pull my wrist free from his grip and brush the tears away with the back of my hand, painting on a steady smile I don’t feel.
Reaching up, I cup his cheek with my palm.
His eyes widen in confusion as I trace my fingertips along his cheekbone, the arch of his eyebrow, the sharp line of his jaw.
Memorizing the scratch of stubble, the warmth of his skin, the way his pulse at his throat jumps beneath my touch.
“What are you doing?” His tone wavers, uncertain.
I meet his eyes, open, honest. “I’m memorizing everything about this moment,” I say simply, “so the next time my heart tries to fool me and tell me I’m yours, I’ll remember all the reasons I’m not.”
The color drains from his face, his jaw working like he wants to speak but can’t find the words. For a second, he looks like he is going to be sick, then the mask slams back into place.
I drop my hand and step back. The humidity wraps around me, an extra layer of protection. Everything hurts.
“Keep your restaurant, Sophie.” His words are carefully controlled now. “You earned it.”
I turn and walk away before he can see me break completely.
Behind me, I hear the metal door screech open, voices with Irish accents drifting out along with Vin’s.
I keep walking.
My car is a block away and I make it into the driver’s seat, door shut, before the sobs overtake me. I cry and cry until I have nothing left, and then I wipe my face, take a deep breath and pull away from the curve, leaving Vin behind me forever.