50
Sophie
The calls started coming in the day after Siena’s birthday.
First the kitchen equipment supplier, then the linen service, then the building management company. Each one saying the same thing: everything had been paid in full for the next five years.
My hands shook as I held the phone, listening to the building manager explain that my rent was settled, that there was a maintenance account set up, that Mr. Demonio had been very clear about ensuring I had everything I needed.
Mr. Demonio.
I don’t remember giving him permission to do any of this, and I don’t want his charity. Not after the way he humiliated me at Siena’s party. Degradation in the bedroom is one thing, but being told “you’re my cumslut” while getting fucked is very different than being told that you are worthless in front of all your friends.
After a few days of depression followed by Siena’s encouragement and a big push to start moving forward, I woke up with a realization: I can’t let this stand.
It took me a few days of harassing Matti and getting Siena to help me harass him more, but this morning, he finally gave up Vin’s location: a warehouse not too far from what will soon be my old apartment.
My GPS takes me through industrial streets lined with shipping containers and chain-link fences. The building itself looks abandoned, but there are too many expensive cars parked outside for it to be empty.
I push through the heavy metal door without knocking.
Vin stands near a table covered in papers, surrounded by men I don’t recognize. Irish, from their accents, with sharp eyes and casual violence radiating off them.
He looks up when I enter, and for just a split second I swear relief flickers over his face. But then it’s gone, replaced by that cold mask he wears so well.
“Sophie. What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.” I keep my voice steady even though it hurts. “Alone.”
One of the Irish men, older, with Vin’s same dark eyes, raises an eyebrow. “This the Italian bird you were—”
“Outside,” Vin cuts him off, grabbing my elbow to drag me out the door. I jerk away.
The air is humid as we step into the alley. Vin pats his pocket like he’s looking for a cigarette, then grits his teeth and stops when it’s not there.
“You can’t just pay for everything,” I say without preamble. “The restaurant, the equipment, the lease. I don’t want it.”
He stares at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. “What do you mean you don’t want it?”
“I don’t want your money, Vin. Take it all back.”
“It’s done.” His tone is final. “The contracts are signed. It’s an apology for Siena’s party and the bomb at your restaurant, and it’s also a thank you. I’m repaying my debt. We’re even.”
We’re even.
“You’re apologizing,” I say slowly, trying to understand. “But you don’t want me back.”
Something flashes across his face, but he just says, “No.”
My throat tightens, tears burning behind my eyes, but I refuse to cry in front of him. “I didn’t think you could hurt me worse than you did at Siena’s party, but treating me like I mean nothing to you is definitely worse.”
“It was a nice distraction.” He says it like he’s discussing the weather. “But I don’t love you.”
The air leaves my lungs. “You don’t.”
“No.” He meets my eyes without flinching. “Good luck with the restaurant.”
He starts to turn away and something in me snaps. I grab his arm, feel the muscle tense beneath my fingers. “I don’t know what’s happening right now, Vincenzo. Or why. Did I do something?”
