Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Sofia’s eyes swept over him before she could stop herself.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with hair pushed back just enough to show sharp brown eyes that measured her without blinking.
Dark stubble cut along a jaw that could charm—or threaten.
He was shockingly handsome, yet there was something in his eyes that sent a flicker of fear through her senses.
He radiated danger. She couldn’t say what gave her the impression, but it was there, settling deeper into her awareness with every second she remained in his presence.
Her chest tightened. Walk away, the phantom of her mother’s voice warned.
But another voice, which had been feeling the hollowness of loneliness, whispered, “It’s just coffee. We’re in public.”
“Vanilla latte?” he asked, wallet open, his tone casual.
“Yes,” she said.
“Good choice.” He smiled and quickly placed their order. “Tonio.”
“Sofia.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said, his eyes holding hers. “Even if I nearly had to tackle you to do it.”
She arched a brow. “Is that your usual approach? Spill coffee on strangers and hope they take the bait?”
“Only when they’re worth bumping into.”
Heat crept up her neck. Don’t relax your guard around him.
“So, Tonio,” she said, testing the name, “what do you do when you’re not bumping into strangers?”
He leaned back, his eyes glinting. “You want the polite answer or the real one?”
“Which one’s true?”
A small frown flickered on his face before it vanished. “Both are true.”
“Tell me the complicated one,” she said, startling herself with the question. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“Why not? When a beautiful woman asks me to spill my guts, I’m willing.”
A flutter went off in her chest. Sofia’s stomach tightened. Leave. Do not be charmed.
“I’m what you would call a fixer. I make problems disappear,” he said, lips curving. “And you?”
She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I’m a journalist. Freelance. I… I also love art.”
He tapped his fingers against the counter, slow and deliberate, his attention settling on her in a way that made her pulse stir.
“Ah. That explains it.”
“Explains what?” she asked, trying to sound casual even as a quiet awareness of him pressed closer. Sofia did not like it, simply because she had never before felt this intense pull toward a man.
“The way you look at me. Intense. Searching. As if you’re trying to figure out who I am from a few minutes of conversation. A journalist’s eye.”
Her breath caught, just slightly. She hadn’t realized she had been studying him so openly. “How astute of you.”
A faint smile curved his mouth, warm and unsettling at once.
“Admit it. A part of you is thrilled we share something in common.”
She felt heat rise in her cheeks, a response she refused to acknowledge. “Are you saying you’re skilled in observation too?”
“I could be a spy,” he drawled. “I am that skilled.”
She lifted her chin, softly amused despite herself. “How many people are in this café?”
“Nine,” he replied.
Sofia nodded, curiosity stirring. She knew why she guarded herself so carefully… but why did he? Not that she would ever ask a stranger such an intimate question.
He smiled at her, a subtle challenge. “And how many women?”
“Six,” she replied.
The barista leaned over and handed them their drinks.
Sofia guided him to a small table in the corner, the one that allowed her a clear view of the door.
If Tonio noticed, he gave no sign. She took a generous sip of her vanilla latte, and the first warm rush instantly settled her nerves. “You are finally forgiven.”
“How diabolical,” he said dryly, “to let me believe you’d forgiven me the moment you agreed to let me buy you a cup, while secretly plotting my downfall if that first sip failed to impress.”
A startled laugh escaped her, soft and unexpected. Her breath caught as she realized it was the first time she had laughed since her mother’s death.
“You’re staring,” he said lightly.
A small thrill ran through her—warning or temptation, she couldn’t tell. Her gaze stayed locked with his, and for a moment she couldn’t look away. “I was just… never mind.”
“The suspense of not knowing will now torture me for weeks. No, go on.”
A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. “No. It was a private thought.”
“Those are the thoughts I most enjoy hearing.”
She exhaled, the truth slipping free before she could stop it. “I was trying to figure out why I find you interesting. Logically, I shouldn’t.”
“And why is that?”
“Because men like you…” She hesitated. “I don’t know men like you.”
Something flickered in his eyes—there and gone too quickly for her to name.
“I don’t mean that badly,” she added quickly. “I just don’t usually talk to guys who look like mob movie extras.”
“Mob movie extras?” A grin tugged at his mouth. “And yet… here you are. Allow me to express that appreciation by having dinner with me tonight.”
Her pulse stumbled. This… this was moving far too fast. “I… I have other commitments.”
“Ever wonder what it’d be like?”
Her breath hitched. “What would it be like?”
“Being with a man who looks like a mob movie extra.”
She should’ve laughed. Walked away. But she didn’t. There was something in his dry humor that she liked, even as the piercing steadiness of his gaze unsettled her.
“Dinner,” he said again, softer this time. Calm. Certain.
Her fingers tightened on the cup. Don’t be foolish, Sofia.
She held his stare, though a part of her wanted to look away before he saw how tempted she truly was.
Loneliness had been gnawing at her for weeks.
More than once, she had lifted her phone to call her mother, only to remember she was gone.
Each time, Sofia broke down, feeling as if the world had emptied around her.
She wished she had someone she trusted—someone she could call and spill every doubt, every fear, and every ache weighing on her chest. Some nights she even wished she dared to approach another person in a restaurant and ask if she could sit with them, just to feel less alone.
That hunger for connection had cracked something inside her, and for one reckless heartbeat, she almost reached out and accepted what he offered.
But something in his gaze made her hesitate. Or perhaps it was simply the shock of having a man this handsome giving her such focused attention.
Still, she blinked and murmured, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
His smirk deepened. “Okay, maybe next time.”
Something like disappointment flickered in her chest. He slid a card across the counter—just a number.
She traced the edge. “Do you always come this prepared?”
“I like keeping my options open. You never know.”
Of course, he had cards on him. He probably counted this as a slow day.
Sofia pocketed it out of politeness. I won’t call.
“Well, Tonio,” she said, standing, “thanks for the coffee.”
He merely smiled and watched her with his hawk-like intensity.
She stepped into the crisp evening air, telling herself she wouldn’t call. Yet the card burned in her pocket—a reminder she was determined to resist.
A few days later, restlessness followed Sofia north—miles of empty backroads unraveling toward a town time had forgotten.
The place where the orphanage once stood was quiet, hollow, its single road lined with weathered bricks.
St. Agnes had closed nearly twenty years ago, left to rot.
But places like that never really buried their ghosts. Someone always remembered.
She started at the library. Small towns kept records—old newspapers, church bulletins, something. The librarian, sharp-eyed and gray-haired, studied Sofia carefully.
“St. Agnes?” she asked, adjusting her glasses. “Terrible place. Shut down ages ago.” Her gaze lingered on Sofia’s face. “Some of those kids vanished into the system. Never heard from again. Why are you asking?”
“My mother lived there,” Sofia said.
“I knew many of the girls who lived there. Sometimes they were allowed to visit the library.”
“Do you remember a Katya Ivanova?”
The woman’s stern expression softened. “Ivanova… yes. I remember that name.” Her voice dropped. “There was a scandal surrounding her name. The nuns never spoke of it, but the other girls used to whisper among themselves.”
Sofia’s stomach tightened. “Whispered about what?”
“That she wasn’t just running away. She was running from someone terrible, and that place wanted to cover it up.”
That awful, cold sensation that had followed her ever since she learned the truth about her mother’s past stirred deep in Sofia’s chest. The librarian glanced around, then leaned in.
“The local paper did a story when the place shut down. You’ll find it on microfiche—the Blackwater Gazette, probably around summer 2002.
Look in July or August. You’ll know it when you see it. ”
She led Sofia to a dusty machine in the back. Drawers of labeled film canisters lined the cabinet. Sofia spent the next hour in the blue glow of the screen, scrolling through decades-old news. The closure article was ordinary—funding, upkeep, neglect—but one line stopped her cold:
The closure brings a final chapter to an institution long marred by tragedy, including the unsolved disappearance of a teenage girl.
Her heart started thrumming faster. It was nothing. And everything.
She returned to the front desk. The librarian looked up, already knowing.
“It’s not much,” Sofia said.
“It never is,” the woman replied softly. She hesitated, then scribbled a name and address
on a slip of paper. “If anyone might have the rest of the story, it’s Sister Helen. She worked there for decades. Lives at St. Margaret’s retirement home now. Tell her Mildred sent you. She might listen.”