Then she smiles now, full and cold. "Don’t you know?" she finishes. "He’sCapo Raffael DeSantisnow."
Donna Margarita’s face doesn’t just fall—itcrumbles. Not a dramatic collapse, no. Just a flicker. A split-second fracture. But I see it. And for one savage heartbeat, it’s exhilarating. She blinks, then inhales sharply. That breath hitches as she shudders, like something cracked deep inside her, and she scrambles to tape it back together. Then the mask slams back into place. Her chin lifts. Her spine straightens. She exhales long and slow, the way a queen might dismiss a subject who dared to disappoint her.
"I see," she says, voice dry as bone.
Her gaze swings toward me. No longer pleading. Now just poison. "You’re really going to throw the title ofDoninto the ashes," she hisses, "just to crawl into bed with her?"
Her lip curls, full of disgust.
"I should’ve known better than toevercount on a man," she spits. "When it wasn’t my husband, or my lover, I thought—surely—asonwould be loyal. Agrandson."
She laughs then—humorless, bitter, cruel. "Bah!" she snaps, turning to spit on the floor like the air itself offends her. "You’re all the same. Every one of you."
Her eyes sweep across me and Sophia like we’re insects she’s grown tired of crushing. "Thinking with the one part of your body that’s never had a single brain cell in it."
With that, she sweeps out of the room, leaving nothing behind but the scent of expensive perfume and the bitter echo of her words. I stand there for a moment, still staring at the door she left through, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles crack. Then I turn, cross the room, and open the balcony doors, letting the night air roll in, cool, crisp, and clean. I breathe it in like I’ve been underwater too long. Behind me, I hear soft footsteps. Then the warmth of Sophia’s arms wraps around my waist from behind. She presses her cheek against my back.
"Are you okay?" she asks quietly.
I don’t answer right away, just stand there, trying to let the cold air sweep the taste of her voice off my skin, trying to find something solid to hold onto.
"I don’t know," I say finally. It’s the closest to honest I can get right now.
She moves beside me, her hand slides into mine, and our shoulders brush. I look at her, and there’s no pity in her eyes. Justpresence. Calm, steady, and most of all, real.
I glance away again, toward the dark horizon.
"When I was a kid," I murmur, "I used to dream about my real parents. Not like… some fairytale shit. I just wanted to know why they gave me away. If they ever thought about me."
Sophia squeezes my hand.
"My adoptive parents…" I exhale slowly. "They were okay. They didn’t beat me. Didn’t scream. Didn’t lock me inclosets or anything. They just… tolerated me. Like I was some long-term guest who never left." Her fingers tighten around mine. "I didn’t realize how much that shaped me until I left. Until I built something on my own. I used to think knowing where I came from would give me answers." I shake my head. "Now? I’m just grateful they weren’t her."
Sophia leans up to kiss the corner of my mouth, soft and slow; her other hand slides up to my jaw, and her gentle fingers caress my skin.
"I’m so sorry," she whispers. "This is so messed up."
I nod once. It’s all I can do.
Then I pull her in, wrap my arms around her, and hold her like she’s the only thing in the world that makes any fucking sense. Because right now… she is.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, shattering the moment like glass hitting tile. I grit my teeth and pull it out.
Edoardo:
Meeting tomorrow. Zanello Tower. Wait outside the conference room for my signal.
I stare at the screen, and my jaw flexes. Of course, there is no peace for us. I show it to Sophia.
"He’s going to make some big, dramatic announcement about me," I say flatly.
She leans in, reads the message, and nods. "Looks that way."
I rake a hand through my hair, feeling the tension coiling tighter in my chest. "All I want is to be alone with you. Hold you. Fuckingbreathewith you. But it seems the world has other plans."
Sophia’s hand slides to my forearm. Her grip is steady and warm.
"This is good," she says gently. "This means he’s choosing to legitimize you. Publicly. It’s a step."
