Before I have a chance to say something, my phone buzzes, a text:
Edoardo:
Now.
"You ready?" I ask Sophia, and she nods. "He’s going to make a dramatic announcement about me," I mutter.
She nods and squeezes my arm. I move toward the doors with Sophia at my side; her steps are smooth and sure, as if she’s done this her whole life.
I open the door and stare into Marcello's raised gun. "Where the fuck is my sister?"
Sophia scoots around me, and I try to hold her back. There's no way I'll allow her to step in between me and a gun. "I'm here."
Marcello rises, his gun still trained on me, "Take your filthy hands off her."
"Put your gun away," I reply calmly.
"Please, don't shoot him," Sophia begs. "I’m okay, I swear. He didn’t hurt me. He—" she glances at me, then back at Marcello, "—he saved me."
His jaw flexes, but his aim doesn’t waver.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"You don’t have to believe it," she says. "But it’s the truth."
I'm still forcing Sophia to stay behind me, while she begs, "Marcello—please. Let’s talk. Let’s sit. I’ll explain everything."
He doesn’t lower the gun, but his arm dips slightly.
And that’s when Edoardo’s voice slices through the silence from the head of the table. "That’s enough."
All heads turn.
The Don stands tall and smug, hands behind his back like this was all just some choreographed prelude to the grand show. "If you’re done making this more dramatic than it needs to be," he says, "perhaps we can get back to business."
"I need to speak to my sister. Alone." Marcello states in an icy, deadly cold voice.
"Marcello, I'm okay," Sophia tries to assure him.
"It's okay," I nudge her. "Go."
Her eyes plead with me. I know that no matter how brave she tries to appear, she's afraid of this conversation with her brother. But I know she can handle it. She needs to handle it, for her sake. I couldn't care less about him, but since Sophia loves him, I guess I should.
"Fine, five minutes," Edoardo points at the oversized Cartier on his arm.
Marcello puts the gun away, grabs his sister's hand, and pulls her out of the hallway into another conferenceroom. "Out!" I hear him snap, and seconds later, five men and two women rush out.
The door closes, and my heart constricts. All my instincts are to be with Sophia. Even though I know Marcello won't hurt her, every fiber of my body is primed to protect her. Emotionally as much as physically.
“Raffael, you have some explaining to do.” Stephano sidles up at my three o’clock, his smile is strained, and his eyes are deadly.
A flicker of guilt slides through me when I clock the missed calls, the voicemails I never returned. I’d been avoiding his shadow. He sent me to Venezuela once upon a time and didn’t hear from me again. I was supposed to be working for him.
“Not out here,” he says, tipping his chin toward a side corridor. “Conference room.”
We walk. His soldiers watch our backs; mine watch theirs. The room is glass and quiet. He closes the door. We stand instead of sitting; neither of us wants to give the other an inch.
“You’re hard to reach,” he says lightly.
