I grunt, not ready to believe anything Edoardo does qualifies as progress.
"Or it’s a setup," I mutter. "A chance to paint a target on my back in front of the entire council."
Sophia steps in front of me, placing her hands on my chest. "Maybe. But you won’t walk into it blind. Not this time. Not ever again."
Her eyes search mine. "You’re smarter than him, Raffael. More prepared. And you have people who actuallybelievein you." She rises on her toes and kisses me, slow and anchoring, the way only she can. "And you have me."
I exhale through my nose. It’s not relief, not exactly, but it’s the closest I’ve come to it in hours.
"I love you," I murmur against her lips.
"I love you too," she whispers. "Now let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow’s the beginning of our new life."
I don’t know if it’s the beginning of a war or an empire.
But she’s right.
One way or another…
It begins.
The next morning…
I didn’t want her to come; I assured her I could handle this alone. But Sophia has a mind of her own, which is becoming clearer every day, and I love her even more for it. I love the way she's finding her voice again, the person she used to be. "I know you can, but trust me, a lot less blood will flow if I'm there. I should have called Marcello and met with him before this. This might get ugly."
"All the more reason for you to stay behind," I argue.
"Trust me," she rises to her tiptoes and kisses me, and I'm man enough to admit that this slip of a girl has me wrapped around her little finger. Six of my men accompany us, riding in two separate SUVs. I'm starting to get used to showing off my power, but I miss my Ducati. Just as much, I miss the comfort of my leather jacket, which has been part of me for so many years.
Every conversation dies the moment Sophia and I enter Edoardo’s outer office on one of the top floors of Zanello Tower. They all watch me.Us.Trying to decide if I’m here to stand by her side or to claim something for myself. The air is thick with unspoken things; the glares from the other guards are veiled with challenges and suspicion. Sophia stands beside me, spine straight, chin high, looking regal in a black and white tailored dress, sparkling with diamonds that make her look like a queen on the warpath. The studs in her ears glint under the recessed lighting, but it’s her eyes that catch the room, calm, unreadable, and sharp as glass.
The space is packed with men leaning against furniture or standing in tight knots along the perimeter, watching us with a mix of curiosity and calculation. Some of them I've known for years; others I know only by reputation. Vito Balotelli posts up near the wall, his stance easy but alert. He's Antonio DeLuna's second-in-command, and one of the few in the room I might actually trust not to stab me in the back, at least nottoday.
Luciano, Marcello's seconds, lingers by the floor-to-ceiling windows. His arms are crossed, and his jaw is tight. His eyes haven’t left Sophia since we walked in, like he's been contemplating what his next step should be. He's loyal to a fault; there's nothing he wouldn't do for Marcello. And I expect, by extension, for his sister, Sophia.
Luciano seems to come to a decision and breaks first. He steps forward, his gaze locked on Sophia, and his hand is moving up to where I know he keeps his gun hidden under his jacket. I stiffen.
"Are you okay?" he asks, and I hear the warning under it.
The hair on the back of my neck lifts, but before I can speak, Sophia answers.
"I’m fine," she says softly, and her voice is warm, loud enough for the others to hear. "I’m sorry I worried you. I’ll explain everything."
And she means it. Not to pacify him. Not to manipulate. But because, for the first time, she understands what it means to beloved. To be worriedabout.
It took her a long time to get here.
Sophia grew up in a house where her worth was never seen, only used. Her father, Carlos, treated her like an afterthought. Her older brother, Angelo, barely acknowledged her existence. She lost her mother young, and Marcello—her only real protector—was exiled before he could shield her from the damage. Then came Roberto.The bastard who shattered what little confidence she had left. Who broke her down so completely that she stopped believing shecouldmatter to anyone.
Esther tried to explain to me something about emotional abuse and learned worthlessness. I didn’t catch all the psychology mumbo jumbo, but I caught enough to understand that Sophia didn’t believe she was someone worth worrying about.
That’s what makes this moment matter. Shemeansit. She’s learning that there are people who see her. Whovalueher. Wholoveher. That's why I don't interfere, although I want to rip Luciano's throat out just for breathing the same air so close to her.
Luciano might not say it in so many words, but she knows he’s one of them.
He stares at her a second longer, then nods. Once. Then—unexpectedly—he steps in and hugs her. It’s not polite. It’s not brief. It’s like he thought he lost her and is still trying to believe he didn’t. My hands curl into fists, but I hold the line. I let it happen even though it’s a herculean effort. She whispers something in his ear, too quiet for me to hear. But whatever it is, it works. His shoulders drop. Some of the rage bleeds out.
He still looks like he wants to kill me. But maybe nottoday.
