He paused, his fingertips lingering at his collar.
“It’s a promise.”
Her pulse tripped, and for the first time, the fear inside her trembled… not with dread.
But with trust. And something far more dangerous. “Why would you help me?” she asked, needing—aching—to understand this man. “We are… we are still strangers.”
His mouth curved, slow and knowing, and that dangerous gleam lit his eyes. “The moment I kissed you, we stopped being strangers.”
Her breath trembled. She tried again. “I will repay you one day.”
“I’ll collect,” he said, his voice as dark as sin.
Heat shot through her belly at the way he said it—as if he meant to claim payment from her flesh, from her breath, from her body beneath his. Shockingly, Sofia wasn’t repulsed. Something hot and needy curled between her thighs, so sharp she had to look away.
“Thank you, Tonio,” she managed, her voice low.
“You will thank me properly one day,” he murmured.
And God help her, she believed him.
A dizzying relief washed through her, sweeping the fear away. She wasn't alone anymore. She had an ally. The grim set of his mouth was a promise of retribution, and for some inexplicable reason, Sofia believed in it.
He leaned back, his expression shifting from focus to calculation. “The diary. Where is it now?”
The question was so matter-of-fact it startled her. “In a safe-deposit box. I didn’t want to keep it at home once I realized what it was.”
He nodded once. “Good. It stays there. You don’t touch it unless I’m with you.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. A couple of weeks ago, that tone would’ve made her bristle. Tonight, it felt like armor being fitted to her shoulders.
“We need a starting point,” she said, the old determination stirring again—tempered this time by his presence. “Padre Gabriele. He’s the key. A nun told me he worked at the orphanage back then. She thinks he knows what happened, but every time I call, he’s not around.”
Tonio’s face stayed impassive, but she caught the faint tension around his eyes.
“A priest who disappears right after you start asking questions?” he said. “That’s confirmation that he is involved.”
Sofia nodded. “So we find him. Make him talk.”
“Wedon’t do anything,” he corrected. “I’ll find him. You stay visible but safe. Go back to the usual places you’ve been visiting—the library, the historical society. Let them think you’re still digging. If they’re watching you, I’ll be watching them. It gives me control of the board.”
She frowned. “You’re making me bait.”
He didn’t flinch. “A predictable target is easier to protect than a hidden one. You trust me, or you don’t.”
It was brutal logic—cold, clear, and impossible to argue with. Her faith in him wasn’t blind; it was the kind that comes when fear leaves no other option.
“All right,” she said quietly. The word felt like a contract.
He pulled out his phone, typing fast. “Good. I’m next door to your room. If anything happens, you call. I’ll be there before anyone else.”
As they stood, he rested a hand lightly on her arm. His thumb brushed the edge of the bruise on her wrist—a fleeting, almost involuntary touch. His gaze dropped to the mark on her arm, and when his eyes met hers again, they were dark with a pained intensity that took her breath away.
“From now on,” he said, low and controlled, “you tell me everything—any strange car, any strange number that calls. You don’t decide what matters. I do. Understand?”
She nodded. It didn’t feel like submission. It felt like safety. A strange trust bloomed where her fear had been.
He walked her to her car, a silent shadow under the harsh light. “I’ll follow you back to the motel. The hard part starts tomorrow.”
