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Chapter Two

Sophia

We stay by the grave until the rain lightens to a drizzle.

The cemetery grew quieter, and the mourners dispersed. The stillness around us felt heavy, pressing down on me as I stood, my legs stiff from kneeling on the wet ground.

Justine rose with me, her hand on my back, guiding me away from the grave. “Let’s get you home,” she says softly, her voice a balm to my frayed nerves. “You need to rest.”

Rest. The word felt foreign, impossible even. My mind is too full, spinning with thoughts of my mother’s death, of Angelo Castiglia, and of the dangerous past I had thought was buried forever. I want to protest, to tell Justine that rest isn’t something I can afford right now, but I’m too exhausted to argue.

She leads me to her car, a small, reliable hatchback that has seen us through countless late-night drives and spontaneous road trips. Today, it’s a sanctuary, a small bubble of warmth and familiarity from the cold, uncertain world outside.

Justine drives in silence, the hum of the engine the only sound between us.

I stare out the window, watching the rain blur the cityscape into a wash of gray and black. London has always felt like a safe haven, a place where I can blend in, disappear. But now, with the weight of Angelo’s words hanging over me, it feels as foreign and dangerous as the life I left behind.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Justine asks, her eyes flicking toward me before returning to the road.

I hesitate, unsure of how much I could tell her. Justine doesn't know anything about my past. My mother forbade me from saying a word. She always said that I couldn't trust anyone, not while he was still around.

“I’m not sure what there is to say,” I reply finally, my voice strained. “It’s just…overwhelming.”

Justine nods, her lips pressing into a thin line. “That man—Angelo Castiglia—do you know him?”

“Not personally,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “But I know of him.”

“And you’re going to meet him?”

I sigh, rubbing my temples as the headache that has been brewing all day finally begins to surface. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

Justine glances at me again, her eyes filled with concern. “Sarah, what does he want with you?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, and that’s the truth. I can guess, of course—Angelo Castiglia wouldn’t have sought me out if it wasn’t something serious, something dangerous. But what exactly he wanted from me, I couldn’t say.

“I just want you to be careful,” Justine says, her voice filled with worry. “I don’t trust him.”

I can’t help but smile at that, a small, wry smile that holds no humor. “Neither do I.”

The rest of the drive passes in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. By the time we reach my flat, the rain has stopped entirely, leaving the world damp and glistening in the fading light. Justine parks in front of the building and turns to me, her expression serious.

“Do you want me to stay?” she asks.

For a moment, I’m tempted to say yes. To ask her to stay the night, to fill my small flat with her warmth and chatter, to drown out the noise in my head with the comfort of her presence. But I know that isn’t fair. I can’t drag her into this any deeper than she already is. This is my mess, my past, and it’s up to me to deal with it.

“No, it’s okay,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she nods anyway. “Call me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.”

“I will. Thank you, Justine. For everything.”

She gives me a quick hug, and I cling to her for just a moment, drawing strength from her before pulling away. I watch as she drives off, her car disappearing around the corner, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I stand there for a few moments, staring up at the building that has been my home for the past few years. It looks the same as it always does—brick facade, tall windows, the familiar, comforting scent of rain-soaked concrete. But now, it feels different. The safety I have always felt here is gone, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease.

The silence is oppressive, wrapping around me like a shroud as I lean against the door, my thoughts racing.

I can’t shake the image of Angelo Castiglia from my mind—the way he had looked at me, the quiet power that radiated from him. He was dangerous, I knew that much. But he was also my only link to the world I had left behind, the world my mother had fled to protect me.

I walk through the flat on autopilot, shedding my wet clothes as I go. I toss them into the laundry hamper and pull on a pair of soft, comfortable sweats, wrapping myself in a thick robe. But no amount of comfort can ease the tension coiled tight in my chest.

The card Angelo gave me is still in my pocket, and I pull it out, staring at it as I sink onto the couch. The address is in the city, a nondescript location that could have been anything from a high-end restaurant to an underground club. I have no idea what I will find there, or what Angelo wants with me.

Part of me wants to ignore it, to tear the card in half and throw it away, to pretend that none of this has happened. But I know that isn’t an option. Angelo found me, and if he has gone to the trouble of seeking me out, he won’t just let me disappear again. Not without answers.

The memory of his voice echoes in my mind—“You’re not safe.”

Safe. I had lived my life by that word, letting it dictate every choice, every move. But now, it seemed, safety was a luxury I could no longer afford.

With a sigh, I reach for my phone, my fingers trembling as I dial the number on the card. It rings only once before a voice answers, deep and smooth, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Angelo Castiglia.”

“It’s Sophia,” I say, my voice steadier than I felt. “Sophia Agostini.”

There’s a brief pause, and I can almost hear the shift in his demeanor, the awareness that this is no ordinary call. “Sophia,” he repeats, as if testing the name on his tongue. “I wasn’t sure you’d call.”

“Neither was I,” I admit. “But here we are.”

“Here we are,” he echoes, and I can hear the faintest hint of satisfaction in his tone. “I’m glad you did. There’s a lot we need to discuss.”

“When?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Tonight,” he says without hesitation. “Nine o’clock. I’ll send a car to pick you up.”

“Okay,” I agree, knowing that I don’t really have a choice. “I’ll be ready.” I don't bother to ask how he knows where I live. Men like him always know.

“Good,” he says, his voice softening just a fraction. “You’re doing the right thing, Sophia. I’ll see you soon.”

The line goes dead, leaving me with nothing but the sound of my own heartbeat echoing in my ears. I drop the phone onto the couch beside me, staring at it as if it might offer some answers to the questions swirling in my mind.

But there are no answers. Only the knowledge that my life is about to change, irrevocably and dangerously. I have spent so many years running, hiding from the ghosts of my past, only to have them catch up to me when I least expected it.

And now, as the clock ticks closer to nine, all I can do is wait. Wait for Angelo Castiglia to take me back into the world I tried so hard to escape. Wait for whatever fate has in store for me.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes as I lean back against the couch. For the first time since my mother’s death, I allow myself to think about the life I left behind. The life of Sophia Agostini, the girl who had been hidden away for so long, only to be thrust back into the light.

The girl who will soon have to face the truth about her family, her past, and herself.

As the minutes tick by, I feel the fear coiling tighter in my chest, but I push it down, focusing on the one thing I know for certain.

I’m going to meet Angelo Castiglia tonight.

And nothing will ever be the same again.