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Chapter Four

Sophia

The decision weighs on me like a thousand stones, each one carved from the fear of what I might be walking into. But fear isn’t a luxury I can afford right now. Not when the people I care about are at risk.

I have lived my entire life trying to escape the shadow of my family’s legacy, but now it seems that shadow has finally caught up to me, threatening to swallow everything I worked so hard to build.

I can’t let that happen. Not to Justine and not to the small circle of friends who have become my makeshift family in London. And so, despite every instinct screaming at me to stay, to run, to do anything but this, I have made up my mind.

I’m going back to New York.

But it wasn’t for me. It was for them. I had to keep them safe, and the only way to do that was to remove myself from the equation. If I stayed, they would always be in danger, always one step away from becoming collateral damage in a war that they knew nothing about.

My hands tremble slightly as I pack the last of my things into a suitcase. I haven’t told Justine yet, and the thought of saying goodbye, of seeing the hurt in her eyes, makes my stomach twist with guilt. But this is the right choice. The only choice.

“Hey, Soph?” Justine’s voice calls from the doorway, a bright contrast to the dark thoughts swirling in my mind. “Are you ready for our movie night? I’ve got all the snacks.”

I pause, my back still turned to her as I zip up the suitcase. I want to avoid this moment, to somehow slip away without having to face the inevitable questions. But Justine deserves better than that. She has been my rock, my constant in a world that seems to shift beneath my feet at every turn.

Taking a deep breath, I turn to face her. Justine stood there, a wide smile on her face, holding up a bag of popcorn and a bottle of wine. Her smile falters when she notices the suitcase at my feet.

“What’s going on, Sarah?” she asks, her voice laced with concern. “Why do you have a suitcase packed?”

I swallow hard, trying to find the right words. “I have to go back to New York, Justine.”

The expression on her face shifts from concern to shock, then to something that looks like hurt. “Back to New York? What are you talking about? You hate New York.”

“I know,” I say, forcing myself to hold her gaze. “But it’s something I have to do. It’s not safe for me to stay here, and if I don’t go…other people could get hurt.”

Justine’s eyes search mine, trying to understand. “What do you mean ‘not safe’? Is this because of that man—Angelo?”

I nod slowly. “Yes. There are things happening that I didn’t want you to be a part of, things I never told you about. But now… now I have no choice. I have to go back and deal with it, to keep you and everyone else safe.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind as she processes what I’m saying. “And you were just going to leave without telling me?”

I shake my head, feeling the weight of my guilt settle even deeper. “No, I was going to tell you. I just…didn’t know how.”

“Okay, then. When are we leaving?”

Her question startles me into looking up.

“J, you can't come with me.”

“Like hell, I can’t. You’re my best friend, Sarah. You’ve been there for me through everything, and now you’re telling me to just sit back and watch you go face whatever this is on your own? No way. I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not,” I say, shaking my head vehemently.

“Remember those Tae Kwon Do lessons my mother made me take in primary? I remember them. Try and stop me.”

I sigh, knowing that arguing with her was pointless.

“Fine, you can come with me.”

She rolls her eyes and goes into the kitchen. “Try to sound a bit more excited love. I'm not marching you off to the executioners.”

My smile is shaky. It isn't fair, letting her come with me when she still has no idea what we are going to face.

Telling Justine the truth is like trying to untangle a knot that has been tightened over the years—a knot made up of fear, secrets, and lies I’d told us both to keep her safe. But now, with everything unraveling, I have no choice but to cut through the layers and lay everything bare.

The flat is quiet, save for the soft hum of the kettle on the stove. I can hear Justine rummaging through the cupboards, her usual chatter filling the space as she searches for the tea bags.

“I swear, if you’ve moved those Earl Grey sachets again, we’re going to have words,” she calls out, her voice playful but with an edge that tells me she means it.

“They’re in the second cupboard, behind the pasta,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Oh, thank God,” she mutters, triumphantly holding up the box as she walks back into the living room. “Honestly, I don’t know how you function without a proper organizational system. It’s a wonder you can find anything in this place.”

I manage a small smile, but my heart is pounding in my chest. Justine sets the box down on the coffee table, eyeing me curiously as she pours hot water into two mugs.

“You’ve been quiet all morning,” she says, her tone shifting from playful to concerned. “Is it because of New York? I know you’re worried, but we’ll figure it out.”

I look down at my hands, the words I need to say tangling in my throat. “It’s not just New York, Justine. There’s…there’s something I need to tell you.”

She pauses, one eyebrow arching as she studies me. “Okay…I’m listening.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I am about to reveal. “My name isn’t Sarah Lacey. It never was.”

The room seems to go still, the air thick with the weight of my confession. Justine doesn’t say anything for a moment, she is just staring at me, her expression unreadable.

“Okay, I mean you had hinted that Sarah wasn’t your real name back when we were kids,” she finally says, her voice quiet.

I think of the “secret” that I shared with my new friend when we were little. I had immediately been terrified that my mother and I would be caught now that Justine knew. I had never explained anything else to her after that slip-up, too scared to confide more in her, too afraid that I had broken my mother’s trust and put us in danger.

“My real name is Sophia Agostini,” I continue, the words spilling out before I can second-guess myself. “My mother and I fled New York when I was a little girl. We changed our names, moved to England, and started over. She did it to protect me from my father’s world—a world I never wanted to be a part of.”

Justine blinks, processing what I’ve just told her. Then, to my surprise, she lets out a low whistle. “Well, shit. And here I thought you were going to tell me you secretly hated cats or something.”

I can’t help but laugh, even as the weight of the situation presses down on me. “No, I don’t hate cats. But I am the daughter of a man who was deeply involved in the mafia. My mother took me away from all of that, and we’ve been in hiding ever since.”

She leans back against the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You’re not Sarah Lacey—you’re Sophia Agostini. You’re basically mafia royalty, and you’ve been hiding out here in London, pretending to be a regular old English girl?”

“Pretty much,” I say, wincing at how absurd it sounds when she puts it like that.

“And now, Angelo—this hot, brooding guy with the world’s most ridiculous cheekbones—has shown up and told you that your father is dead, and you have to go back to New York to…what? Take over the family business?”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t want anything to do with the family business. But there’s a power struggle happening back home, and because of who I am, I’m a target. If I don’t go back, if I don’t deal with this, then the people I care about could get caught in the crossfire.”

Justine stares at me for a long moment. Then she sighs and runs a hand through her hair, shaking her head in disbelief. “Sophia Agostini, huh? You know, I always knew there was something you weren’t telling me. I just didn’t expect it to be…this.”

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t want to lie to you. I thought I was protecting you.”

Her eyes soften, and she leans forward, resting her hand on mine. “I get that. But you have to understand how unfair it was to keep me in the dark like that. We’ve been through so much together, and it hurts to know you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

“I do trust you,” I insist, my voice thick with emotion. “But this…this is different. This is dangerous.”

Justine’s gaze doesn’t waver, and when she speaks, her voice is firm. “I’m your best friend, Sarah, sorry…Sophia. This is weird.”

I wince again and she shakes her head.

“I can handle the truth, no matter how messy or dangerous it is. What I can’t handle is being treated like some delicate flower that needs to be protected from the big, bad world.”

I nod, the guilt pressing down on me even harder. “You’re right. I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

She smiles, a small, genuine smile that makes my heart ache. “Apology accepted. Now, let’s figure this out together, okay? I’m not letting you face this alone.”

“Justine, you don’t have to do this,” I say, though I know it is pointless to argue. “This isn’t your fight.”

She rolls her eyes, her snarky humor slipping back into place. “Oh, please. You think I’m going to let you run off to New York with Mr. Mafia Hottie and not be there to see the drama unfold? I’d never forgive myself.”

“Justine…” I start, but she cuts me off with a wave of her hand.

“Look, I know you’re trying to protect me, but newsflash: I’m a big girl. I can make my own decisions. And right now, I’m deciding that I’m coming with you. End of discussion.”

I sigh, knowing there is no winning this argument. Justine is as stubborn as they come, and once she makes up her mind, there is no changing it.

“Fine,” I say, giving in. “But I’ll have to go alone first. I need to make sure it’s safe before you get involved.”

She narrows her eyes, clearly not thrilled with the idea, but eventually nods. “Okay, but you’d better keep me updated. If I don’t hear from you regularly, I’m getting on the next plane to New York and hunting you down.”

“I will,” I promise, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety at her determination. “Thank you, Justine. For everything.”

She grins. “You’re welcome. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily. You owe me big time for this.”

“I’ll add it to the tab,” I joke, the tension in the room finally easing.

“So,” Justine says after a moment, a mischievous glint in her eyes, “how does it feel to be a mafia princess?”

I groan, burying my face in my hands. “Don’t call me that.”

She laughs, a bright, infectious sound that makes me smile despite everything. “Sorry, love. But you’ve got to admit, it’s kind of badass.”

I peek at her through my fingers, my own smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yep,” she says, popping the “p” with a grin. “But you love me for it.”

I did love her for it. Justine had a way of making even the heaviest situations feel lighter, of bringing humor and warmth into a world that often felt cold and unforgiving. She was the sister I’d never had, and I couldn’t imagine going through this without her.

“Promise me something,” I say, my voice more serious now. “Promise me you’ll be careful. If things get too dangerous, I need to know you’ll get out.”

She meets my gaze, her expression softening. “I promise, Sarah…Sophia. But the same goes for you. Don’t try to be a hero, okay? If things get too crazy, you get out. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Deal,” I agree, feeling the knot of tension in my chest loosen just a bit.

***

Angelo is already seated across from me, his expression calm and unreadable. He has this unnerving ability to look completely at ease, even when the world is falling apart around him. Maybe it’s the ridiculous glasses.

There’s something completely disarming about the fact that he wears them. They should make him seem weak, but instead, it makes him seem even more powerful. And they act like a shield, somehow containing his emotions behind them, magnifying the green of his eyes but never revealing his innermost thoughts.

It’s like he’s always in control, always ten steps ahead of everyone else. I hate how much that rattles me.

“You made the right choice,” Angelo says, breaking the silence.

I look up at him, trying to gauge his intentions. “Did I?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches me with those intensely green eyes of his. They remind me of the kind of eyes that are always given to the heroes in fantasy books. I nearly snort at my whimsical train of thought. I’m seated across from a mafia don and I’m comparing his pretty eyes to the heroes in the fairy smut I like to read.

“You’re doing this to protect the people you care about. That’s the right choice,” he was saying. I tug my attention back to the present.

I nod, though I don’t feel any less conflicted. “So, what’s the plan when we get there?”

Angelo leans back in his seat, his gaze still fixed on me. “For your safety, we’ll need to keep up appearances. It’ll be easier to navigate this world if people believe we’re engaged.”

The statement hangs in the air between us, and I can’t help but frown. “Engaged? Why would they believe that?”

He shrugs, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Because it makes sense. We were betrothed when you were a child. And in this world, old promises still carry weight. If people think we’re together, they’ll be less likely to try anything.”

I narrow my eyes, skepticism creeping in. “And what if I say no? What if I don’t want to play this game?”

His lips curve into a small, almost teasing smile. “It’s just another game of pretend, Sophia. You’re good at those, aren’t you?”

The way he says the words makes my skin prickle, like he knows more about me than he should, like he can see right through the facade I have worked so hard to build. And maybe he can. Angelo Castiglia isn’t the kind of man you can easily deceive.

But he’s right. Pretending was something I had grown up doing. Pretending to be someone else, pretending to be fine, pretending that the life I had left behind didn’t haunt me. This would be no different. At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself.

I sigh, looking out the window as the plane lifts off the ground, leaving London—and my old life—behind. “Fine. I’ll play along. But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Angelo replies smoothly, his tone full of amusement.

I don’t look at him. I don’t want to see the satisfaction in his eyes. I can already feel the walls closing in, the weight of the decision I have made pressing down on me. But it’s too late to turn back now. I’m committed to this path, whether I like it or not.

As the plane soars higher into the sky, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m stepping into a trap, one that was carefully laid out long before I ever knew it existed.

And the worst part is, I had no idea who was really pulling the strings.