Page 13

Chapter Twelve

Sophia

The black SUV pulls up to the curb outside the airport, the hum of the engine filling the silence as I wait for Justine to appear.

I drum my fingers against the armrest, my nerves still frayed from the conversation with Franco and the weight of everything that has happened since I arrived in New York. But the thought of seeing Justine, of having a piece of my old life back, delivers a flicker of warmth to the cold knot in my chest.

And then I see her—tall, blonde, and impossibly glamorous, even after a transatlantic flight. Justine is the kind of woman who turns heads without trying, her presence commanding attention the moment she steps into view. She spots me through the car window and breaks into a grin, waving enthusiastically as she approaches.

“Sarah!” she calls out, using my old name. It makes my heart pang, but I don’t correct her. Not yet. Not when she’s about to be thrown into the middle of everything.

I push open the door and step out to meet her. “Sophia,” I remind her with a smile, pulling her into a tight hug. The familiar scent of her perfume, the feel of her arms around me—it’s like a balm for my frayed nerves.

“Right, right. Sophia Agostini, Mafia Princess,” she teases, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she pulls back to look at me. “God, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” I reply, my voice softer than I intended. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, love,” she says, looping her arm through mine as we turn back toward the car. “Now, let’s get out of here. I need a shower, a drink, and a full update on whatever the hell is going on in your life.”

“You and me both,” I mutter, leading her to the car.

Just as we get close, the door opens, and Franco climbs out. His hawk-like eyes survey the area around us before he places one of his hands on each of our shoulders, and hustles us into the car. Justine makes a very British sound of protest at being handled in such a manner, but I follow Franco without question.

“No loitering about in the open,” he says firmly, sliding in beside me and slamming the door. “Drive,” he says to the man in the driver’s seat.

If steam could come out of someone’s ears, Justine would be ready to boil over. I see her open her mouth to say something particularly direct and cutting, but then Franco turns to look at her. There’s a moment of silence as they stare at one another, and Justine blinks as if she’s surfacing from underwater.

“Hot Italian bodyguard, I see,” she says, recovering neatly.

I giggle. “Something like that,” I admit, glancing at Franco. “He wasn’t wrong. We shouldn’t have been wandering around in plain sight like that.”

“Thank you for rescuing me from certain danger,” Justine says, her English accent soft inviting, delightfully foreign. She bats her eyes a little at Franco, and I roll mine. I’ve seen this song and dance before. It usually works for my friend, but Franco is a totally different kind of man than the guys that Justine is used to flirting with.

“Don’t mention it,” Franco says, his tone civil, and dare I say it…inviting. I glance at him in annoyance. I’ve spent the entire time I’ve been here trying to get into his good graces and Justine seems to have won him over within seconds of her arrival.

“Tell me,” Justine says to him coyly, “do you have time to guard me as well as Sar…Sophia?”

I sigh, shaking my head, but I smile anyway. I can’t help but feel a strange sense of relief. Justine was still Justine, even in the face of danger and uncertainty, and that made everything a little more bearable.

The ride back to the penthouse is filled with chatter, Justine’s excitement bubbling over as she peppers me with questions about New York, the penthouse, and—of course—Angelo. I answer as best as I can, skirting around the more dangerous details. I know it won’t be long before she starts digging deeper.

When we arrive at the penthouse, Justine steps out first, her eyes widening as she takes in the grandeur of the building. “Blimey,” she breathes, spinning in a slow circle to take it all in. “You weren’t kidding when you said this place was posh.”

“It’s something,” I agree, motioning for her to follow me inside. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

“Coming with us, Franco?” Justine asks over her shoulder as we walk into the lobby of the building.

He nods, his expression as stoic as ever, but I catch the subtle way his eyes flicker over to Justine, narrowing slightly in assessment. “Just doing my job,” he replies, his tone clipped.

Justine nods at him. “Just so,” she says to him primly. She snakes her arm through mine. “Is it in the water, or the food they eat here? Do they all look like this?” she whispers sotto voce at me.

I have to bite back a laugh, knowing full well that Franco’s guarded exterior is about to get a serious test.

“This is Franco Pesci,” I finally introduce him. “He’s Angelo’s second-in-command.”

“Franco,” Justine repeats, her voice practically purring as she steps closer, her hand extended. “Pleasure to officially meet you.”

Franco hesitates for the briefest moment before taking her hand, his grip firm but careful, as if he isn’t quite sure what to do. “Likewise,” he says, his voice lower than usual. But I notice the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. It’s the first crack I have ever seen in his otherwise impenetrable demeanor.

He tries to take back his hand, but Justine holds on tighter. I’m no expert in made men, but I know for a fact that if someone was as built and as fucking intimidating as Franco, if they wanted to fling a whole human across the room, it would be a walk in Central Park for him to do so.

Yet, here he was, trapped by the dainty fingers of my best friend and her fluttering lashes. Not that I could blame him of course. I'd seen lesser men fall before Justine’s siren eyes and her sharp as-needles tongue.

He looked so out of his element, standing there with his hand in hers. I thought the tips of his ears might even be turning red.

Justine’s smile widened. “So, Franco, what exactly does a second-in-command do around here? Besides looking, hot as fuck and good enough to eat, of course.”

I watch with amusement as Franco’s jaw tightens, but there’s something else in his eyes—something that had flickered to life the moment she touched him. I knew Franco well enough by now to recognize when he was affected by someone, and Justine, with her boldness and charm, had clearly thrown him off balance.

“My job is to make sure everything runs smoothly,” Franco replies, his tone carefully controlled, though I can hear the hint of tension beneath it. “And that includes keeping an eye on anyone who might be a threat.”

“Oh, a threat?” Justine echoes, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Are you saying I’m dangerous? Will you have to pin me down and make me confess all the bad, bad things I have done? I should let you know that I prefer traditional ropes to handcuffs.”

“Okay, ease up, tiger. You're going to give the man a stroke, and then I'll have to revive him.”

“What? I haven't done anything. I'm simply asking the man if I'm a looming danger.” She turns back to him, her winning smile slipping right back into place.

Franco’s gaze locks onto hers, and for a moment, it feels like the air around us has shifted. “That remains to be seen,” he finally says, his voice dropping.

I have to stifle a laugh, watching the sparks fly between them. Justine, ever the flirt, is clearly enjoying the effect she’s having on Franco. And Franco, for all his coldness, isn’t immune to her charms.

“All right, you two,” I interject, deciding it’s best to intervene before things get out of hand. “Let’s not get carried away. Justine, I’ll take you to the apartment I’ve set up for you, and Franco…I’m sure you’ve got important ‘second-in-command’ things to do?”

Franco’s eyes flick over to me, a flash of something in his gaze before he gives a curt nod. “Of course. I’ll leave you to it.”

Justine pouts playfully, but she lets go of his hand, though not before giving him one last lingering look. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon, Franco,” she says with a wink.

Franco’s expression doesn’t change, but I can see the way his eyes follow her as we walk away, his usual stoicism faltering just a little. Justine got under his skin, and I have a feeling this is only the beginning of whatever is brewing between them.

As we get into the elevator to go to the apartment I’d arranged for Justine, I can’t help but smile to myself. Franco is curious about my friend, that much is clear, but whether that’s a good thing or not remains to be seen.

***

The apartment I had set up for Justine is just a few floors down from the penthouse. It wasn’t as grand as Angelo’s floor, but it’s safe, secure, and most importantly, private.

“This is fantastic, Sophia,” Justine says as we step inside, her eyes lighting up as she takes in the space. “You really didn’t have to go all out like this.”

“I wanted to,” I reply, watching as she explores the living room. “You deserve a nice place to stay. And I wanted you to be close, just in case…”

Justine turned to me, her expression softening. “In case what?”

“In case things get…complicated,” I admit, my voice trailing off. “This isn’t just a holiday, Justine. There’s a lot going on and I don’t want you caught in the crossfire.”

She walks over to me, placing a hand on my arm. “Hey, I’m here because you’re my best friend. And we agreed that you wouldn't patronize me by diluting the facts, right?”

“J…”

“Right, Sarah?” she pins me with a look that is clearly meant to pull at my heartstrings.

“Right. I'm sorry. I don't know the full details yet, but there's a power struggle going on. My father’s position needs to be filled. I'm the one, his only heir, and naturally, the mantle falls to me. But there's someone else who wants it and he's trying to kill me. As long as I'm alive, he will never have a legitimate claim to power.”

She's uncharacteristically quiet for a few minutes before she speaks.

“I'd say that’s all poppycock, but I know you're not one to dick around. Damn, when did our lives slip into a bad remake of The Godfather ?”

My chuckle is light, but it’s nice to feel like laughing about my situation.

“I think the thing I'm most scared of is finding out that my mother lied to me my whole life. She told me that my dad was this monstrous person that she had to get me away from, but coming here and learning more about him…it doesn't seem that way. Also, he apparently knew where we were all those years, yet he never came looking. That must mean something, right?”

“Right. If he was truly a heartless monster, he would've come to drag you both back home.”

“Exactly.” I exhale and plop down on the sofa.

“She was going to tell me something, that day in the hospital. The day she…” I swallow, unable to get the words out. Justine reaches out to squeeze my hand.

“She was going to say something, but she never got to say it. What if she lied to me about this? What do I do then?”

“Honey, I think you have to remember that she was not much older than you are now when she took you and ran. She must've been scared out of her mind and alone. If she went through all of that, she must've had good reason. Your mother loved you and never would've done anything to intentionally hurt you. You know that, right?”

I nod, and she takes my hand in hers.

“Whatever’s going on, we’ll deal with it together. Got it?”

I nodded, grateful for her unwavering support. “Got it.”

She gives me a reassuring smile, then glances around the room again. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a long, hot bath, during which I may or may not be thinking about a certain made man.”

“Oh, my goodness Justine.”

She rolls her eyes and goes right on talking.

“And then I’ll settle in. Maybe have a drink or three.”

I laughed, feeling some of the tension ease. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll leave you to it.”

Justine pulls me into another quick hug before heading to the bedroom. I watch her go, a small part of me wishing I could stay here with her, away from the chaos that awaits me back at the penthouse.

But I can’t. I have to go back, and I have to face whatever is waiting for me there.

***

When I return to the penthouse, the atmosphere has shifted, the air thick with tension. I barely have time to process the change, before Angelo appears in the doorway, his eyes wild. My stomach does a flip.

“Where on earth have you been?” he demands, his voice low and dangerous.

I blink, taken aback by the intensity in his tone. “I was taking Justine to her place. What’s…”

“Everyone, out,” Angelo barks, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. The few men who are in the room scatter.

I don’t have time to react before Angelo crosses the room in a few quick strides, grabbing me by the arms and pulling me close. His lips crash down on mine with a ferocity that leaves me breathless, his grip bruising as he kisses me hard.

I gasp against his mouth, my mind reeling from the sudden onslaught of emotions—anger, fear, desire, all tangled together in a chaotic mess. I try to push him away, but his hold on me is unyielding, his body pressing against mine, demanding.

When he finally pulls back, we are both breathing hard, our foreheads pressed together as he holds me close, his hands still gripping my arms.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” he growls, his voice rough with anger. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”

I stare up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. “I’m not your prisoner, Angelo. I can take care of myself.”

“Not when Costa is out there, waiting for an opportunity to strike,” he snaps, his eyes blazing with fury. “You don’t get it, Sophia. You’re not safe out there. Not without me.”

I glare back at him, refusing to back down. “I’m not some damsel in distress, Angelo. I’m not going to sit around and let you control my every move.”

“You don’t have a choice,” he shoots back, his grip tightening. “You’re in my world now, and in my world, there are rules. Rules that keep you alive.”

“Is that what this is about?” I demand, my voice rising. “Keeping me alive so you can control me?”

“No,” he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “It’s about keeping you alive because I can’t lose you.”

The words hang between us, heavy and raw, and for a moment, the anger between us shifts into something else—something darker, more primal.

His eyes lock onto mine, and I see the storm of emotions swirling there—fear, desire, possessiveness. I know what is coming before it even happens, and I brace myself for the impact.

With a low growl, Angelo’s lips find mine again, his hands roaming over my body with a desperation that matches the fire burning inside me. I can’t think, can’t breathe—there’s only him, his touch, his taste, the way he consumes me completely.

He backs me up against the wall, his mouth never leaving mine as he tears at my clothes, his hands rough and demanding, groping and squeezing. I meet his intensity with my own, my fingers clawing at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine.

He lifts me against the wall, and I hike my legs higher around his waist, my already short dress hiking higher up my body.

“You fucking torture me Tesoro mio.” He strokes a path up my inner thigh, igniting flames on my skin, and when he presses two fingers against my hot center, I move against him, grinding my pelvis against his, feeling his hardness.

“I can't think straight with you near. I should leave you like this now, dripping. Maybe then you'll understand a small bit of the frustration I feel.”

He tries to withdraw his fingers, but I grab hold of his hand.

“Stop now, and I’ll kill you before Guiseppe gets the chance.”

“My ferocious beauty, you will make an astounding leader.”

Hearing that from him, especially when I've been doubting myself all week, does something inexplicable to me. I guide his fingers back to where I crave them the most, and he deftly shifts my underwear aside and unceremoniously thrusts two fingers inside of me.

“Fuck, yes.” My voice is a husky rasp as I move against his fingers hungrily, desperate for him, wanting to be filled with him.

“You're always so ready for me. So deliciously tight.”

He pulls down the sleeves of my dress, taking my flimsy lace bra with it. The chill puckers my nipples, turning them to hard beads, which Angelo rolls between his thumb and forefinger. I barely have time to realize what is about to happen before I come with a staggering intensity.

I feel a spatter of moisture drench my thighs as I writhe against him, gasping, clawing for purchase, nearly dizzy with pleasure.

He doesn't give me a break as his mouth latches onto my breast, sucking, biting, squeezing, and molding.

“More, please,” I manage to say when coherent thought returns.

I find his belt buckle, undoing it and opening his fly, smiling when his cock springs free in my palm, heavy and hot. He makes a low sound in his throat as I fist it and pull a little.

“I should be scared of this thing,” I say and press a kiss to his neck and down his exposed neck. “It destroys me, but heaven help me, I can’t stop wanting to be torn apart.” And then I guide him into me.

“Angelo,” I gasp as he fills me, stretching me painfully. His name is a plea on my lips as he lifts me, wrapping my legs around his waist more tightly.

He makes a guttural sound that sends shivers down my spine, his hands gripping my hips as he drives into me with a force that takes my breath away.

We move together in a frenzy of need and frustration, every thrust a wordless declaration of the emotions we can’t put into words.

“Oh God, Angelo!” I cry as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter within me. I held on to his shoulders for dear life as his thrusts increased in pace and velocity. My second orgasm crashes into me, making my legs shake and quiver.

“By God, you’re beautiful,” he grinds out, and then I feel the heat of his release inside of me. He presses his forehead against my shoulder as he comes apart, managing to support us even as he twitches and jerks with pleasure.

“Fuck,” I murmur as my pussy clenches a few more times around his thickness. “Holy fuck.”

For a moment, there’s only silence, the room filled with the aftermath of our passion. Then Angelo’s grip on me loosens. He allows me to slip down his body, and I feel a momentary pang of sorrow when his dick slides out of me. His hands slide to cradle my face as he presses his forehead against mine.

“Sophia…” He caresses my cheek, running his hand down my face tracing the angry red marks of a sharp, biting kiss that he placed on my neck.

“I hurt you.” His voice is whisper soft and so pained that it tugs at my heartstrings.

“No, you didn't. If I had wanted you to stop, I would've asked you to, and you would have.”

It surprises me how strongly I believe that. Angelo would never hurt me.

“If I wasn't deeply exhausted, I would be begging you to do it again.”

I press my mouth softly against his, and his tongue darts out to stroke my lips.

“I’ll be gentler next time,” he says.

“Only if I want you to be,” I retort, and he chuckles.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion.

I nod, too spent to argue, my heart still racing as I try to catch my breath. “I’m sorry,” I whisper back, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

I don’t know what’s happening, but we are moving into uncharted territory. This is clearly a business arrangement made to benefit us, but the lines are beginning to blur uncomfortably.

He kisses me again, softer this time, his touch more tender as he pulls me close. “I just need you safe, Sophia. This isn't going to work if I’m worrying about your safety every minute of the day.”

That makes me roll my eyes, and I step away from him.

“Tell me what happened,” I say finally, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “With Costa.”

Angelo’s expression darkens, the tension returning as he recounts the events of the day—the discovery of Luca, the condition they found him in, and the retaliation that followed. As he speaks, I see the cold, ruthless side of him that I have only glimpsed before. This is the part of him that will stop at nothing to protect what is his.

And as much as it scares me, I can’t deny that part of me that is drawn to it, to him. It’s never fun to discover that you might be deeply psychologically damaged. Being this strongly attracted to the darkness in another human must mean something negative about me. I briefly wonder if the problem is in my DNA. Maybe this was always inevitable.

When he finishes, I nod, processing everything he has said. “He won’t stop,” I say quietly, more to myself than to him. “Costa won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”

“Neither will I,” Angelo replies, his voice hard as steel. “But I promise you this—he’ll regret ever coming after us.”

It only makes sense at this point to give Costa what he wants and I said as much to Angelo. He narrows his eyes.

“We can’t, Tesoro mio. If we give in even once, everyone will suspect that we are weak. We will never stop fighting them off. Costa will just be the first of many people who want to topple you off your throne.”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose with two fingers. “A throne I don’t even want,” I mutter. I pace around the room, thinking.

“He wants us to show up to fight him. We'll do that. He expects a dainty little princess who doesn't know anything about defending herself, but I haven't lived the last twenty years of my life like a fugitive without learning how not just to survive, but to thrive.” I stop and turn to face Angelo.

“If it’s a war he wants, let’s give him one. If my people are asking where their leader is, let’s show them. I'm done hiding, Angelo. I'm done letting other people call the shots for me.”

He watches me for a minute without saying anything, and then he steps forward, touching me in a way that feels like he isn't even aware that he is touching me.

“Good. They won't see the hell coming.”

I believe him. And for the first time since all of this started, I feel a flicker of hope. We are in this together, and whatever happens next, we will face it side by side.

Because in this world, he’s as much a weapon as any gun. And I have every intention of wielding him to the fullest.