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Chapter Fourteen

Sophia

The sound of the shots I fired rings in my ears long after the contest has ended. I can still feel the weight of the gun in my hands, the recoil, the cold satisfaction that settled in my chest when Guiseppe missed his first shot. This wasn’t about proving him wrong. This wasn’t even about winning. It was about survival.

I’d stood in front of the men who had once followed my father and demanded they follow me. And they had. Well, most of them. For now, that was enough.

But the real victory came when I saw the flash of fear in Guiseppe’s eyes, even if he tried to mask it with arrogance. He’d underestimated me. They all had.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my room, staring at my reflection. I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me. There’s a sharpness in her eyes that wasn’t there before, a hardness that I’m not sure I like. But this is who I have to be now.

My mother had always warned me, “Never let them see the cracks”. But cracks were inevitable when you were holding this much weight on your shoulders.

I glance at the engagement ring Angelo had slipped onto my finger earlier. It feels foreign on my hand, like it doesn’t belong to me, a symbol of a life I haven’t chosen. And yet here I was, wearing it, playing a part I don’t fully understand yet.

I feel faint suddenly, and I press and hand to my chest. I sit down clumsily in the chair near the mirror, the room spinning a little as I try and collect myself. My stomach turns a bit and I hunch forward, closing my eyes.

What’s wrong with me? Is this some kind of delayed reaction to the stress of the day?

I hunch over and wait for the wave of discomfort to pass. It’s been a stressful few weeks. Surely that is all that is wrong with me.

A knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts. I already know who it will be. Feeling slightly less peaked, I rise cautiously and go to open the door.

Angelo stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable as always, but his eyes…they soften when they landed on me. It’s subtle, but I’ve spent enough time around him now to know his tells. There’s something comforting in that, even if I’m not ready to admit it.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “I’m fine. That went…better than I expected.”

“You did better than they expected,” he corrects, his voice low, his gaze lingering on me for a moment too long. “You handled yourself well.”

The compliment feels strange coming from him. I wasn’t supposed to care what he thought. But I did. Maybe too much.

“All those years in the shooting club, all the competitions,” I say, shaking my head. “I thought my mother was just promoting interests that our wealthy friends enjoyed.” My mouth twists a little. “Turns out she was making sure that I could protect myself.”

“She was a wise woman,” Angelo says.

I nod, and pace away to look out the window. I can’t think of my mother. Not right now. The thought of her feels like holding my hand too close to an open flame. At a certain distance, the thought is comforting and brings joy, but the moment my fingers move too close, the pain is there, sharp, staggering and permanent.

“Costa’s not done,” I say, avoiding the weight of Angelo’s stare by turning toward the window. The city skyline stretches out before me, a reminder of how far I am from the life my mother and I built. “He’s going to come at me harder next time.”

“I’ll handle Costa,” Angelo replies, his voice taking on that hard edge I’d come to recognize. “You don’t need to worry about him.”

I turn to face him, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “That’s the problem, Angelo. I’m not here for you to handle things for me. I can’t lead this family if you keep swooping in every time someone threatens me.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he steps closer, his hand brushing against my arm, a touch that sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re right. But you’re not alone in this. You don’t have to be.”

There it is again—the softness, the vulnerability he tries so hard to hide. And it’s always moments like this that make it harder to keep my walls up. I want to believe him. I want to let him shoulder the weight with me. But I can’t shake the feeling that letting him in means losing some of myself in the process.

“I’m not used to relying on anyone,” I say quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve spent my whole life running, taking care of myself, handling things on my own. It’s hard to just…let that go.”

His hand slides down to my wrist, his fingers wrapping around it in a way that isn’t possessive, but grounding. “You don’t have to let it go, Sophia. Just don’t carry it all alone.”

I close my eyes, letting his words sink in. There’s a part of me that wants to fight him on this, to push him away. But the truth is, I’m exhausted. I’ve been carrying this burden—this fear—for too long. And for the first time in a long time, someone is offering to share it with me.

When I open my eyes again, he’s still watching me, his gaze intense but gentle. And in that moment, I make a decision.

I step forward, closing the space between us. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

The words come out before I can stop them, and I see the flash of surprise in his eyes. But it is quickly replaced by something else—something darker, more primal.

His hands move to my waist, pulling me closer, his body heat seeping into mine. “You won’t be,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.

I reach up, my fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down to me. His lips meet mine in a kiss that isn’t gentle, isn’t soft. It’s fierce, demanding, filled with all the things we haven’t said, the things we can’t say.

His hands are everywhere, sliding under my shirt, gripping my waist, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. His kiss is bruising, and I give as good as I get, my fingers clawing at his shirt, desperate to feel more of him.

“Angelo,” I breathe, his name a plea on my lips as his mouth moves to my neck, his teeth grazing my skin in a way that makes my knees weak.

He doesn’t say anything, just presses me harder against the wall, his hands slipping under my waistband, tugging at the fabric until it slides down my legs.

I tug at his belt, and he curses under his breath, his hands working in tandem with mine until his pants hit the floor. He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping as he pushes inside me in one swift motion.

There’s no gentleness between us, no hesitation. We move together with a raw, desperate intensity, each thrust pulling us deeper into the storm of our emotions.

I moan into his mouth, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he drives me closer and closer to the edge. His lips are on my neck, my shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against my skin.

“Fuck, Sophia,” he groans, his voice thick with need as he buries himself deeper inside me.

I cling to him, my body trembling as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak. And when it finally crashes over me, I shatter in his arms, my head falling back as I cry out his name.

Angelo follows me over the edge, his body tensing as he finds his release, his arms tightening around me as though he can’t bear to let me go.

For a long moment, we stay like that, our bodies pressed together, our breath mingling in the quiet aftermath of the storm. And for the first time since this whole nightmare began, I feel something other than fear.

I feel…safe.

Later, I lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling as the events of the day replay in my mind. The contest with Guiseppe, the engagement announcement, and the way Angelo’s touch burned away the tension in my chest.

But the calm is temporary. I know that. Guiseppe isn’t done, and neither are the men who still doubt me. This victory is only the first of many battles I’ll have to fight to keep control of the Agostini family.

But I wasn’t the same woman who’d arrived in New York, terrified and unsure of her place. I had proven myself today. And I would prove myself again.

I turn to look at Angelo, his face relaxed in sleep beside me. His presence, once something I’d resented, has become something else. Something I’m not sure I want to define yet. But I know one thing—he’s right. I don’t have to carry this burden alone anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, that isn’t such a bad thing.

***

I pace the room, glancing out at the city that stretches out far below the penthouse. It should feel so foreign—New York, this world, the role I’m now playing. But it doesn’t. It scares me that this all feels so natural to me.

The engagement ring on my finger feels heavier than it should, the metal cool and unfamiliar against my skin. Fake engagement, real consequences. Angelo had announced it like it was no big deal, but the ripple effect was already happening.

I could feel the shift among the men, the way they watched me more closely. I was sure that some of them were calculating, waiting to see if I could hold my ground. Others, like Costa, were biding their time, waiting for me to slip up.

Vertigo washes over me, and I put a hand against the window frame to steady myself. The spells of discomfort have been getting worse over the past couple of days.

I swallow heavily, tasting bile in my throat. I whirl abruptly, running to the bathroom to slump over the toilet, violently sick.

Maybe I’m getting the flu. I lean back against the tub, feeling shaky and spent. This is all I need. Being sick when I’m in the throes of taking over my father’s empire is not ideal.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been crumpled on the bathroom floor when I heard Justine’s voice echoing down the hall. I straighten up with effort forcing myself to breathe deeply. My stomach still felt questionable and my head didn’t feel like it was attached to my shoulders.

“Sarah!” Justine’s voice is a sing-song chant as she enters the room, her usual grin firmly in place. Of course, she hadn’t switched to calling me Sophia yet. To her, I was still the girl she’d grown up with, not some mafia princess.

She frowns when she sees me curled up on the bathroom floor. “Oh, love,” she says, rushing to my side. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’ve been feeling sick on and off for a few days now.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Justine says. “I’ll make you some tea. If I can find the kitchen in this palatial apartment.”

I smile a little. Tea was the British way of solving everything. Bit tired in the morning? Have some tea. Your favorite football team lost a game? Have some tea. You’re sick as a dog and have to take over a mafia family? Have some tea.

“I don’t need tea, but thank you,” I say to her, my voice thin. I idly swing open the cabinet under the sink. “Maybe I’m just about to start my period,” I muse. “Sometimes I feel icky the couple of days before.”

Justine gives me a stern look. “Not like this,” she insists. “Let me make you some tea. You’ll feel better as soon as you’ve had a few sips.”

“Are there tampons in any of those cabinets?” I ask her, ignoring her advice.

She rolls her eyes and starts rummaging through the fancy bathroom.

“Nope,” she says with a little shake of her head. “Angelo seems to think of everything. Maybe he forgot you were a real, human woman.”

I gave her a tight smile. “Trust me, this isn’t exactly how either of us pictured things.”

“Oh, come on,” she teased, resting her chin on her hands. “Living in a mansion with a big, brooding man who is obsessed with you? It’s pretty terrible, you’re right.”

I giggle with her, despite how terrible I feel.

“And, dear God, have you seen Franco? What’s in the water here? It’s ridiculous.”

Her eyes sparkle, but I can see the questions bubbling just beneath the surface.

“It’s not exactly a fairy tale, Jus,” I say “None of this is. This engagement…it’s not what it looks like.”

She tilts her head, her smile faltering for the first time since she’d arrived. “What do you mean?”

I take a deep breath, staring at the ring for a second before slipping it off my finger and dropping it onto the floor between us. The metal clinks softly against the wood and Justine’s eyes widen in surprise. “It’s fake,” I say, shrugging. “All of it. The engagement, the relationship—everything.”

“What?” she straightens up, her brows pulling together in confusion. “But why? Angelo…he seems…”

I shake my head. “It’s complicated. Angelo’s using the engagement to solidify my place in the family, to make sure no one questions my leadership. But it’s all just part of the plan. Nothing is real.”

Justine is quiet for a moment, her gaze fixed on the ring. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Doesn’t matter if I am or not,” I reply, my voice harder than I intend it to be. “It’s what I have to do. If this is what keeps me alive—keeps us alive—then I don’t have a choice.”

There’s a long pause before Justine sighs. “I get it,” she says softly, her teasing gone. “But still, it’s shit, isn’t it? Living a lie.”

I nod, my throat tightening. “It is.”

Suddenly, I know I’m going to be sick again and I lunge toward the toilet, barely managing to throw up without making a huge mess.

I hear the sink running, and then Justine is pressing a cool hand towel to my forehead. She tsks softly as she helps me lean back against the wall again.

“Babe,” she says to me gently, “what if you don’t need tampons?”

I crack one eye open and look up at her in confusion. “What?” I manage to croak.

She’s giving me a sad, motherly look and I feel alarm tighten my insides.

“How long have you been here in New York?”

I do some quick math. “I don’t know, about four weeks?”

She looks down at the floor for a moment, then meets my gaze again. “Have you been sleeping with Angelo the whole time you’ve been here?”

I feel like a boulder has been dropped into my stomach.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, pressing a hand to my belly. “But, I’ve been taking my pills.”

“On time?” she asks me.

I wince. “I mean, mostly,” I admit. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall. This cannot be happening.

“Well,” Justine says, “these things do happen, even when people are on the pill.”

I feel a tear slip down my cheek. This is not how I wanted to find out I was pregnant. This is not how I wanted to become a mother.

“Let me have Franco take me to get some tests. Or maybe I can send him out for us.” She giggles.

I grab her hand before she can move. “No!” I cry out, making her stop abruptly. “No, you can’t do that. No one can know.”

She frowns at me, confused. “Babe, we need to know if you really are pregnant. You need to stop taking the pill, you need to go see a doctor…”

I shake my head, despite how it makes my nausea ratchet up. “No, Justine, we cannot, must not, do that. No one can know about this. It will make me seem weak, vulnerable, like I can be taken down. And,” I grimace as a new thought occurs to me, “everyone will want to kidnap our child to try to force Angelo’s hand, or even my hand.”

Justine sighs, coming to sit down next to me. “Well, fuck,” she says.

I laugh despite the fear coiled within me. “Indeed,” I agree.

She takes my hand, squeezing it. “We’ve kept secrets before,” she says softly.

I look over at her and meet her gaze. There are tears standing in her eyes and I feel my own eyes prickly with moisture.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“I’m going to be the best auntie ever!” she whispers fiercely before a tear slides down her cheek.

We share a sisterly smile, and she leans over to hug me.

As we pull apart, I realize that I’m feeling a little better. “I think I want that tea now,” I tell her.

Justine smiles primly at me. “If you would have just let me get you some to start with you would have been right as rain by now.

I laughed, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” I tell her.

We walk toward the kitchen, Justine prattling on about the handsome mafia men all over the place and how she wants to see the museums in the city.

“Please, Jus, don’t start with Franco,” I plead at one point as I rummage through the kitchen looking for tea.

“Oh, once I’ve started, you know I can’t stop.” She winks at me “I’m not blind, babe. I saw the way he looked at me when I got here. He’s stoic, brooding, completely infuriating... but hot as hell. And I like a challenge.”

“I don’t think Franco is the type to…”

“To what? Be swayed by my undeniable charm?” she shoots me a grin as she grabs some mugs from a shelf. “Watch me work my magic.”

I sigh. Justine is incorrigible, but I’m glad she’s here. I know she still has no idea what we are up against. And as much as I want to believe her words, this isn’t a game I can win with a little charm.

The weight of the situation settles back on my shoulders as we sip our tea. The house is too quiet. It’s the kind of silence that makes you think too much—the kind of silence that makes you question everything.

I glance over at Justine, opening my mouth to say something to her, when I realize that she’s scrolling through the Instacart app on her phone.

“What are you doing?” I ask her.

“Just a minute,” she says distractedly. “This looks so different than the version we have in the UK,” she mutters, scrolling quickly.

I watch her type in payment info and hit confirm before she turns to grin at me.

“What are you up to?” I ask her.

“Solving a problem for you. I have a delivery arriving in about an hour,” she says with a grin. “No need to tell anyone about our little secret due to the magic of technology.”

“You ordered?” I start to say, then fall silent as Franco wanders into the kitchen.

“What are you two whispering about?” he asks us, but there’s a smile nestled into the corner of his lips.

“Oh, you know, just having a little hen do here in the kitchen,” Justine says, her accent front and center.

“A hen…what?” he repeats, looking genuinely confused.

We both laugh. “A hen do is a bachelorette party in the UK,” I explain. “But sometimes it’s used as a bit of a joke about when women are gathered together gossiping and stuff.”

Franco shakes his head. “You English are strange folk.”

“You mean sexy folk,” Justine says with a sultry smile.

I tune them out as they banter back and forth, worrying over the idea of being pregnant. I don’t even know how I feel about such a thing coming to pass. I had never actually even considered having children. I had been too scared of exposing them to the risk that my mother and I lived with every day.

But it didn’t matter now. If I was actually pregnant, then all of those desires, worries, or concerns didn’t really matter anymore. Now I would have to figure out what to do about this new life. How would I protect it? Would I tell Angelo? Would I keep it?

As soon as I think about any option other than keeping my baby, my mind immediately rejects that choice. There is no way that I’m not going to have this baby.

“Oh! My delivery is here!” Justine announces abruptly. “I’ll just pop down and make sure I grab it, then I’ll be back.”

Franco and I watch her leave. My heart is pounding in my chest. Now that I can find out the truth, I feel terrified.

Franco gets a call and leaves the room. I sigh in relief. I don’t think that I can hide my panic for much longer. It feels like Justine hasn’t been gone for even a moment before she shows back up with a plastic drugstore bag in her hand.

She looks around, sees that Franco is gone, and gestures for me to follow her. Like a sleepwalker, I go with her into my bedroom.

She’s talking about how to take the tests, and saying she got three, just to be safe. Her words wash over me. I feel nothing as I take the tests. Even the tips of my fingers are numb.

We wait for the little window to reveal the truth I’m dreading. The minutes tick by, slow and torturous.

When the results appear, I stare at them, my stomach lurching.

Pregnant.

For a moment, everything is still. The world stops spinning and all I can hear is the sound of my own breathing, too fast, too shallow. This wasn’t part of the plan. This changes everything. Justine’s hands come to rest on my shoulders.

“I know,” she says soothingly, stroking my hair back from my face. “But it’s going to be okay. You’ve handled everything else so far. You’ll handle this, too.”

I press my hand against my abdomen, the reality of it sinking in. A baby. Angelo’s baby.

Fuck.