Page 66 of His Assistant

Idon’t say a word the entire ride back to the penthouse. Chiara sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders almost touch, but not close enough to crowd me. She’s trying to be comforting, but I’m not in the mood. I’m too angry to feel anything else.

I’m mad at Dominic for doing this without my knowledge. I’m mad that Tomasso was the one to call me, instead of Dominic or even Rafe. I’m mad at my father for being such a stubborn asshole. None of this would have happened if he’d taken any of my calls.

Underneath all that anger, though, I’m terrified. I stare out the window and see nothing but the street outside the safe house. The covered shapes. The blood. The cigarette on the ground. Dominic’s face when I stepped away from him. A wall has gone up between us that may never come down.

When we get back to the building, the lobby is full of guards. There are men near the doors, men by the elevator, one by the hallway that leads to the service entrance. Chiara leads me into the elevator. Neither of us says anything until the doors close.

“I’m so sorry,” she says softly.

I keep my eyes on the numbers lighting up above the doors.

“I didn’t know, Sofia, I swear.”

I nod.

“Sofia.”

I look at her. She looks genuinely miserable. Her makeup is still perfect, but her eyes are red and her mouth keeps trembling like she’s forcing herself not to cry.

“I wouldn’t have helped him keep something like that from you,” she says.

“I want to believe that.”

“But you don’t?”

“I don’t know what I believe.”

The elevator doors open, saving both of us from whatever comes next.

The penthouse feels different when we step inside. Bigger. Colder. Too quiet for a place full of people. Maybe because I know every person here answers to Dominic first. Maybe because, for the first time since I moved in, I understand that even Chiara could be used as part of one of his plans without realizing it.

This whole place is a machine, and I’m living inside it. Chiara follows me into the living room and hovers near the couch.

“Do you want tea?”

“No.”

“Water?”

“No.”

“Food?”

I look at her.

She grimaces.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m just trying to help.”

I sink onto the couch. My hands go to my stomach automatically, and I hate that I can’t even control that. Every fear I have now drags a second one behind it. What if something happens to Dad? What if something happens to the baby? What if Dominic can’t protect either one of them?

Chiara sits on the opposite end of the couch. “He’s going to find him.”

I close my eyes. “Please don’t.”

“I’m not saying that because he’s my brother.”

“Then why are you saying it?”