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Chapter Three

Angelo

I've always been a man who's been able to take pride in his integrity. My word is my word—always has been and always will be. But today, I lied.

I lied when I told her that if she didn't want anything to do with me, I would let her go. I knew from the second I saw her that I was never going to let her go, not when everything in me screamed her name, calling her mine.

The rain in London was different from the rain in New York. It wasn’t the heavy, pounding storm that lashed against windows and turned streets into rivers. It was a quieter, more insidious rain—constant, unrelenting, the kind that seeped into your bones and refused to let go.

I watched it through the window of the small pub where I arranged to meet Sophia. The place was old, the kind of establishment that had seen generations pass through its doors, each one leaving its mark in worn wooden floors and faded wallpaper. It’s the perfect spot for a discreet meeting, far from the prying eyes of the city.

I haven’t seen her in years, not since she was a child. But I remember her—remember the fierce intelligence in her eyes, the quiet strength that belied her age.

She was her father’s daughter, no doubt about that. Carlo Agostini had been a formidable man, one of the few men who had earned my respect in a world where trust was a rare commodity. And now, with Carlo gone, Sophia is the only link left to the Agostini empire.

I take a sip of my whiskey, letting the warmth spread through me as I glance at my watch. She would be here soon, I had no doubt about that. Sophia might have spent years hiding from the life she was born into, but she wasn’t a coward. She knew it was time to face the inevitable.

The place was empty, only a single bartender and the telly droning on in the background. A game of soccer—football—was on. I didn't want an audience for the conversation I was about to have with Sophia, so I had all the patrons dismissed for the evening. The owner didn't seem to mind though, not when I paid him twenty thousand pounds for the time.

The door to the pub creaked open, and I look up just in time to see her step inside. The years have been kind to her—too kind, perhaps.

She is beautiful, in a way that is both understated and undeniable. Her dark brown hair is damp from the rain, curling slightly at the ends, and her hazel-green eyes sweep across the room with a mix of wariness and determination. She is dressed simply, in dark jeans and a sweater, but there is an elegance to her that is impossible to ignore.

She spots me almost immediately, and I see the flicker of recognition in her eyes as she makes her way over to my table. Her steps are measured, controlled, as if she is holding herself back from running—whether toward me or away from me, I can’t be sure.

“Sophia,” I greet her as she approaches, standing to pull out a chair for her. “Thank you for coming.”

She hesitates for a moment before sitting down, her posture stiff, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” she replies, her voice steady, but I can hear the undercurrent of tension in it.

I sit back down across from her, studying her for a moment before responding. “No, you didn’t. But I’m glad you made the right decision.”

She bristles at that, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And what exactly is the ‘right decision’, Angelo? Coming here to meet you? Or something else you haven’t bothered to tell me yet?”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. She’s sharp, just like her father. “You’re here because there are things you need to know, Sophia. Things that could mean the difference between life and death.”

“Like what?” she asks, leaning forward slightly, her gaze intense. “What is it that I need to know so badly?”

“Drink?” I ask, and she shakes her head.

“You probably spiked it with God knows what.”

“Don’t insult me. If I wanted you in my bed, you'd be in my bed willingly.”

She looks at me and swallows again. “It’s terribly empty in here. Did your overwhelming darkness send everyone running?”

“I rented the whole place. Didn't think you'd want to have this conversation in public.”

“How considerate. Why am I here, Angelo?” I want to close my eyes and savor the sound of my name on her tongue. It’s delicious. But not yet, not now.

I take another sip of my drink, letting the silence stretch out between us for a moment. “Your father is dead.”

She flinches, the words hitting her like a physical blow. She hadn’t known, then. I had suspected as much, but seeing the shock on her face confirmed it.

“When?” Her voice is smaller this time, and I can see the struggle between guilt and grief on her face.

“A week ago.”

Her laugh is sardonic.

“There has to be something poetic about both my parents dying at the same time. Was he killed?”

“No. His health had been failing for a long time. Your mother was aware.”

“If you're trying to make me feel bad for him…”

“I don't believe in useless emotions like guilt, and I can't abide people who waste their time on it, or mine.”

She sighs and leans back in her seat. “I guess I'll be needing that drink after all.”

I call for the bartender, and she orders a scotch, which makes me smile.

“I didn't know him,” she says after taking a long sip.

“I know. But I did.”

“Is this the part where you tell me what a good man he was? Spare me the lecture.”

“He wasn't a good man, at least not in the orthodox definition of the word. But he was a fair man.”

“That does not make a single difference to me.”

“I know,” I continue, my voice measured. “That’s not why I needed to meet with you, though. His death has left a power vacuum, one that others are all too eager to fill.”

She swallows hard, her throat working as she tries to process what I’m telling her. “And what does that have to do with me?” she asks, though I could tell she already knows the answer.

“It has everything to do with you,” I say quietly. “You’re the only heir to the Agostini family business. With your father gone, you’re the one who holds the keys to the entire empire.”

She shakes her head, her hands tightening around each other in her lap. “If it wasn't already obvious, I took those keys and chucked them right into the ocean when I ran off with my mother. I haven't been his child for twenty years.”

“Time is of no relevance here, Sophia. If I cut your skin, you will bleed Agostini blood. That’s all that matters. Whether you like it or not, you’re a part of this world, Sophia. And now, with your father gone, you’re in more danger than you realize.”

Her eyes flick up to meet mine, a mix of fear and defiance burning in their hazel depths. “And you’re here to protect me, is that it?”

“I’m here to make sure you stay alive,” I correct her. “There are people who would kill to take control of the Agostini family. And if they find you, they will kill you to get it.”

The color drains from her face, and for a moment, she looks like she might be sick. But then she squares her shoulders, drawing on that inner strength I had always known she possessed. “So, what’s your plan, Angelo? What do you want from me?”

“I want you to come back to New York,” I say simply. “It’s the only place where I can keep you safe.”

She stares at me, disbelief written across her features. “You want me to just…what? Pretend like the last twenty years never happened? Go back to a life I barely even remember?”

“I want you to survive,” I say, leaning forward slightly, my voice dropping to a low, insistent tone. “I want you to live, Sophia. And the only way to do that is to come back with me, to take your place in the Agostini family, at least until we can figure out who’s trying to take control of your family’s business.”

She shakes her head again, but there is less conviction in it this time. I can see the wheels turning in her mind, the struggle between her desire for a normal life and the reality of the situation she is in.

“And if I say no?” she asks, her voice quiet.

“Then you’ll die,” I say bluntly. “It’s only a matter of time before they find you. And when they do, they won’t give you a choice.”

Her breath hitches, and I see the fear flash in her eyes before she looks away, staring down at the table. She is silent for a long moment, and I can almost see the battle playing out in her mind—the longing to stay hidden, to keep the life she had built for herself, warring with the knowledge that it was no longer safe. But I knew her, I knew that a threat to her life would not be enough to change her mind.

“The people who want what you have are ruthless. They will stop at nothing to break you utterly. That includes getting rid of everyone you care about. Everyone.”

Her eyes go wide, and she gulps down the remnant of her drink.

Finally, she looks up at me, her expression resigned. “If I do this…if I go back with you…what happens next?”

“I keep you safe,” I say, relaxing slightly now that I know I have her. “We figure out who’s behind this, and we take them down. And when it’s over, if you still want to leave, I’ll make sure you can.” There's that lie again. It tastes bitter on my tongue, but I swallow down the distaste. I’m trying to protect her. I will stop at nothing to keep her safe.

She studies me for a long moment, searching my face for any sign of deception. I want her safe, yes, but I also want something more—something I’m not quite ready to admit to myself, let alone to her.

“Okay,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need some time to think about it.”

“Not too long. Time is the one thing I can’t afford to give you now.”

I signal the bartender for the check, then turn back to her. “I have a car waiting outside. We can leave as soon as you’re ready.”

She nods, her gaze distant as she processes everything that has just happened. I can see the weight of it settling on her shoulders, the knowledge that her life is about to change in ways she can’t yet comprehend.

But she is strong—stronger than she knows. And as much as she will probably hate it, she will rise to the occasion. Of that, I am certain.

We stand up and I gesture for her to follow me. She does, her steps hesitant at first, but growing more confident as we make our way to the door. The rain has picked up again, a steady downpour that soaks through my coat as we step outside.

The car is waiting at the curb, the driver already holding the door open for us. I motion for her to get in, and after a brief pause, she does, sliding into the back seat with a resigned sigh.

I follow her in, closing the door behind me. As the car pulls away from the pub, I glance over at her, noting the way she stares out the window, her expression unreadable.

“Thank you,” she says suddenly, her voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

“For what?” I ask, surprised by the unexpected gratitude.

“For giving me a choice,” she replies, still not looking at me. “Even if it wasn’t much of one.”

I don’t respond, unsure of what to say. The truth is, I wasn’t sure I had given her a choice at all. I had presented her with the only option that would keep her alive, but I knew it wasn’t a path she wanted to take. And yet, she had chosen it anyway, because that was who she was—strong, pragmatic and determined to survive.

As we drive through the rain-soaked streets of London, heading toward the unknown, I can’t shake the feeling that this is the beginning of something much bigger than either of us might have imagined.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel a spark of something more than just duty—something I’m not ready to name, but that I still know will change everything.

***

I watch as Sophia disappears into the entrance of her building, her steps hesitant yet determined. She doesn’t look back, and I didn’t expect her to. She is probably already thinking of ways to avoid seeing me again. But she won’t be able to. Not now.

As the door clicks shut behind her, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. She is safe, for now. But the real challenge is just beginning.

“Take me back to the hotel,” I instruct the driver. My voice is steady, betraying none of the turmoil swirling in my chest.

The car pulls away from the curb, gliding through the rain-slicked streets of London. I lean back in my seat, my thoughts still with Sophia, replay every moment of our interaction. She is exactly as I remembered—sharp, stubborn, and more beautiful than any woman had a right to be. But there is something else now, something deeper—a vulnerability she tries so hard to hide. But it’s there, simmering just beneath the surface.

It makes me want to protect her, to shield her from the world and all the dangers that are closing in on her. But it also makes me want to break down the walls she’s built around herself, to see the woman underneath—the one who is hiding, even from herself.

When we arrive at the hotel, I step out into the drizzle, the cold air a welcome contrast to the heat still lingering inside me from my time with Sophia. The doorman greets me with a respectful nod, holding the door open as I walk inside. The warmth of the lobby envelopes me, but it does nothing to soothe the restlessness gnawing at my insides.

The elevator ride to the top floor is quiet, the kind of silence that magnifies every thought, every doubt. By the time I reach my suite, I’m itching for something to take the edge off, something to ground me.

Inside the suite, I pour myself a generous measure of whiskey, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat. The lights of the city stretch out beneath me, a glittering sea of possibilities and dangers. Somewhere out there, forces are already at work, conspiring to take what is rightfully Sophia’s. And they wouldn’t stop until they have it, or until they are dead.

My phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. I glance at the screen and see Franco’s name. I let it ring twice more before answering, taking another sip of whiskey as I walk over to the window.

“Angelo,” Franco’s voice comes through the line, calm and measured, but there is an underlying tension there that I knew all too well. “Did you find her?”

“I found her,” I reply, keeping my voice even. “She’s agreed to come back to New York.”

There is a pause on the other end of the line, and I could almost hear Franco’s mind working, weighing the implications of my words. “Did you tell her?”

I knew what he was asking, and the answer was simple. “No. Not yet.”

“Angelo…” Franco’s tone was careful, almost cautious. “She’s your betrothed. She has a right to know.”

“Not if telling her makes her run.” I turn away from the window, pacing the length of the room. “You know as well as I do that if I told her the truth, she’d disappear before we could even get her on a plane. And if that happens, there’s no telling what those bastards will do.”

“But lying to her? Keeping something like this from her…”

“I’m not lying,” I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intended. “I’m just not telling her everything. Not yet.”

Another pause. Franco was never one to push too hard, but I could hear the doubt in his silence. “You really think it’s wise to keep this from her?”

“Wise? No. Necessary? Yes.” I rub a hand over my face, feeling the full weight of everything I’m carrying. “Look, I know how this sounds. But I need her to trust me first. If she thinks I’m just some asshole dragging her back into a life she doesn’t want, she’ll fight me every step of the way. I can’t afford that right now. Neither can she.”

“She’s not going to trust you when she finds out you’ve been keeping this from her,” Franco warns, his voice low. “And she will find out.”

“I’ll deal with that when the time comes,” I say, dismissing the concern. “Right now, the priority is getting her back to New York safely. Everything else can wait.”

Franco sighs, a sound that is more resigned than anything else. “Just be careful, Angelo. You know how dangerous this game is. And you’re playing with more than just your life.”

“I know,” I say, and I mean it. Every word. “I’ll be careful.”

But as I end the call and set the phone down on the table, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m already in too deep. Sophia is more than just a responsibility, more than just a pawn in this dangerous game we are playing. She is…important.

Important in a way I hadn’t allowed anyone to be in a long time.

I down the rest of my whiskey, letting the burn chase away the thoughts I’m not ready to confront. There is no room for doubt here, no room for second-guessing. I have a job to do, and I will see it through. That’s who I am. That is who I’ve always been.

But as I stare out at the city below, the lights twinkling like a thousand promises, I can’t help but wonder if Sophia will forgive me when she learns the truth.

And if I would be able to forgive myself for the choices I was about to make.