She grins and slides off the chair.
"I'm going to tell Mama," she shrieks as she runs out of the room before I can say anything else.
I sit back in my chair and stare at the cookie in my hand.
The red sugar glitters under the light.
It’s such a small thing, a cookie made by a five-year-old girl who barely knows me.
But it feels like more than that.
It feels like trust.
I think about the shouting match she walked in on.
The anger in my voice.
The way she looked at me like I was someone to be afraid of.
Angelica's right.
Raising a child in this world isn't a good idea.
Sofia shouldn't have to hear me screaming at my sources.
She shouldn't have to live in a house surrounded by armed guards or wonder whether her father's a good man or a dangerous one.
But I don't want them to leave.
I want Sofia here making cookies in my kitchen.
I want Angelica here in my bed.
I want mornings where I wake up and know they're safe under my roof.
That means ending this war, eliminating Antonelli Gerard and securing my position before Kemal's deadline so that Rome is safe enough that Sofia can grow up without fear.
I walk to the window and look out at the garden.
Sofia's out there now with Angelica and Marta.
They're sitting on a bench near the fountain, and Sofia's showing them something in her hands.
Probably another cookie.
I watch them and feel such a deep longing.
This is what I'm fighting for now, not power or territory or reputation.
I'm fighting to keep them safe, to give Sofia a life where she will grow up knowing both of her parents and getting only the best things in life.
Angelica looks up and sees me in the window.
She doesn't smile, but she doesn't look away either.
We hold each other's gaze for a moment.
Then she turns back to Sofia.
