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Chapter Seven

Sophia

The plane lands with a soft thud, jolting me awake. As I blink away the remnants of sleep, the reality of where I am hits me like a freight train. New York. The city that has witnessed both my earliest, sweetest memories and the darkest days of my life.

Angelo is quiet beside me, his presence a steady reminder of why I’m here, of what lies ahead. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye—calm, collected, like this is just another day for him. But for me, it’s anything but.

As the plane taxies to a stop, I can’t help the flood of memories that surge forward, memories of a time when New York was my entire world.

I used to run through the lush grass of Central Park, my tiny legs struggling to keep up with my papa’s long strides. I could still hear my mama’s laughter, light and carefree, as she called me back to her side. We’d stop for ice cream at the corner cart, the sweet, sticky treat dripping down my fingers as I tried to eat it faster than it melted. And then there was the pizza— with pepperoni and sausage, my absolute favorite, back when the world seemed like a place that only shat up rainbows and unicorns.

But those were fading memories, dulled by time and overshadowed by the last day I spent in this city. The day everything changed.

I remembered that day vividly—the frantic packing, the hushed conversations between my mother and her maid, the fear in my mother’s eyes that she tried so hard to hide from me. We were going on a “trip”, she’d said, but even at seven years old, I knew something wasn’t right.

Paris was supposed to be the City of Light, but it became the city where everything I knew was extinguished. The city where I learned that fairy tales weren’t real and monsters were all too real.

Now, as the plane door opened, letting in a rush of cool morning air, those memories felt like a lifetime ago. I wasn’t that innocent little girl anymore, and New York wasn’t the safe haven it once was.

“We’re here,” Angelo says unnecessarily, pulling me back to the present.

“I noticed,” I reply, my voice tight. I want to say more, to find some way to explain the turmoil inside me, but what’s the point? Angelo isn’t here to play therapist and I’m not about to bare my soul to him.

He turns to me, his green eyes steady. I feel a pang at the lack of emotion in them. He’s back to business then. I miss the charming lover who made jokes and called me Italian endearments “Ready?”

“Are you always this chipper after a long flight?” I shoot back, hoping to lighten the mood—or at least distract myself from the memories clawing at my insides.

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Only when I’m returning home with beautiful company.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s no denying the flutter in my chest at his words. “How sweet. I’m sure all your ‘beautiful’ guests appreciate your warm welcome.”

“None of them have complained yet. You didn't seem to mind when my tongue was down your throat, and my fingers were…”

“Okay, you can stop now. What happens in the mile-high club stays in the mile-high club.”

“If you say so,” he says to me, offering his arm.

I hesitate before taking it. The moment our fingers touch, that familiar spark shoots through me, making it hard to think straight. I hate how easily he can make me feel this way—vulnerable, exposed and completely aware of him.

As we descend the steps and step onto the tarmac, I feel the weight of the city settle over me. The skyline looms in the distance, and for a moment, I’m that little girl again, running through the streets with nothing but joy and endless possibilities ahead of her. But those days are gone, replaced by the harsh reality of what New York has become for me.

The car waiting for us is sleek and black, a symbol of the power and influence that Angelo wields so effortlessly. The driver opens the door and I slide into the backseat, feeling the weight of what is to come pressing down on me.

We ride in silence, but it’s not a comfortable silence. It’s thick with unspoken words, questions I’m not ready to ask, and answers Angelo isn’t willing to give. I can feel his eyes on me, like he’s waiting for me to say something, to crack under the pressure. But I’m not about to give him the satisfaction.

Finally, I break the silence. “So, what’s the plan? Do I get a bulletproof vest and a personal bodyguard? Or are you just going to lock me in your penthouse and throw away the key?”

He turns to me, one eyebrow raised. “I thought you’d enjoy living in a penthouse with security. It will save you from having to run away again”

I clench my jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. “I’m not running. I’m…strategically retreating.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Tesoro mio .”

His use of the endearment sends a shiver down my spine, but I force myself to focus. “So, what’s next? Am I supposed to just wait around until you decide what to do with me?”

“Something like that,” he replies casually, like we’re discussing dinner plans and not my future. “First, you get settled in. Then, we figure out who’s after you and how to keep you safe.”

I scoff. “And what if I don’t want your protection?”

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You don’t have a choice, Sophia. You’re here now and that means you’re under my care. Whether you like it or not.”

The intensity in his gaze makes my heart race, and I hate how much it affects me. “Fine,” I mutter, turning away to look out the window. The city whizzes by in a blur of light and shadow, a stark reminder of everything I have lost—and everything I am about to face.

We pull up in front of a towering glass building, the kind that screams wealth and power. The doorman nods at us as we walk in, and I follow Angelo to the elevator, feeling the weight of his presence beside me.

The ride up to the penthouse is quiet, but the tension between us crackles like electricity. When the doors finally slide open, revealing the luxurious apartment that will be my new prison, I step inside, taking in the sleek furniture, the polished floors, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a breathtaking view of the city below.

“This is it,” Angelo says, his voice steady.

I nod, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. “It’s nice. If you’re into cold, impersonal spaces.”

He smirks. “I thought you’d appreciate the lack of personal touches. Makes it easier to leave when you’re ready to run again.”

I shot him a glare, but his words hit too close to home. “You don’t know me, Angelo. Stop picking at me.”

“I don’t know you?” He steps closer, his gaze piercing. “You’ve been running your whole life, Sophia. But you can’t run from this. I need you to understand that.”

I want to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, but the truth is, I wasn’t sure he was. The past had finally caught up with me, and now, there was no escaping it. No more running, no more hiding.

“Get some rest,” he says, his tone softening slightly. “You’ll need it.”

I nod, though the idea of rest feels impossible with the storm of emotions swirling inside me. I turn to look out at the city, the skyline shimmering in the early morning light. It’s beautiful, but it feels like a mirage—something out of reach, something I can’t hold on to.

Behind me, I feel Angelo’s presence, warm and steady, a contrast to the icy fear that has settled in my chest.

“Sophia,” he says, his voice low and reassuring. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

His words, simple as they were, offer a small measure of comfort to me. I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Angelo reaches out, his hand brushing against mine, the touch sending that familiar shiver down my spine. It’s a reminder of everything that has happened between us and everything that is still to come.

“Rest,” he repeats, his voice a gentle command.

I nod again, my throat tight with emotions I can’t name. As I turn to head toward the bedroom, I feel his gaze linger on me, a weight that is both comforting and unsettling.

This is only the beginning. Whatever comes next, I know it will be a test of everything—my strength, my resolve, and my heart.

And I’m not sure I’m ready for any of it.