Tonio didn’t hesitate. He pulled out a chair, flipped it around, and sat. “I’ll contact my
guy, Marco Sienna. He was in Young’s inner circle.”
“How did he get burned?”
“He was protecting Young’s biggest donor. The guy was running a Ponzi scheme. Marco blew the whistle, thinking the law would protect him.” A humorless chuckle. “Young made sure he was blacklisted. Overnight, he lost everything—his career, his pension.”
“So he went underground.”
Tonio gave a sharp nod. “Now he takes off-the-books jobs. And he’s got a score to settle. Young didn’t just ruin him—he created a monster. When Marco decides to settle… he burns it all down.”
Sofia’s pulse quickened. “He’ll help?”
“If he gets a shot at Young, he’ll take it.”
She studied him. “You know this because…?”
His expression darkened. “I helped him disappear when Young’s people came to clean up the loose end. He owes me.”
The statement hung in the air—a loyalty born not of money but of survival.
“I’ll reach out,” Tonio said. “Ensure your guy is ready to move as soon as we have that access.”
Sofia nodded. “The second we have it.”
Tonio stood, the simple action feeling like a verdict. “Then we'd better make sure Marco’s
in.”
The simple pastadinner had been surprisingly good, and a comfortable silence settled over the safe house. The frantic energy of the day had finally bled away, leaving a profound quiet in its wake. But as one tension receded, another quietly took its place—thicker, more personal, humming in the space between them.
Sofia nursed the last of her wine, watching Tonio over the rim of her glass. He was leaning back in his chair, studying her with a quiet intensity that had replaced the day’s operational sharpness. This gaze was slower, more deliberate.
“You’re quiet,” he observed, his voice a low rumble that fit the evening’s calm.
“Just… decompressing,” she said, setting her glass down.
“You did well today,” he said, his voice low and warm.
Sofia shook her head. “It feels good to finally start fighting back.”
A slow smile touched his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Then it’s a good thing you’re not fighting alone.”
A flicker of warmth cut through her fatigue. “Even if it is terrifying,” she admitted.
“It is.” He got up from his chair and stepped around the table, closing the distance between them. He didn’t crowd her, but his presence filled the space. “But you handled it. Better than most.”
She looked up at him. The lamplight carved shadows across his face. She saw something new there—not just approval, but a raw admiration that quickened her pulse. “Coming from you, that means something.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Yeah? What does it mean?”
She stood, the chair scraping back. The movement brought her close enough to feel his body heat. “That I’m not just along for the ride.”
His eyes darkened. “You never were.”
The words hung between them. Sofia’s breath caught. She reached out, her fingers grazing the sleeve of his shirt.
He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand covered hers, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. The touch sent a spark through her. She stepped closer, drawn by a pull she’d fought for days. His free hand came up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her jaw.
