And maybe he does. "I’m game, Sofia."
All I can manage is a small nod while I wonder what I’ve just waltzed into. Because, as I sit there, chewing slowly, stomach full, body still aching from him, I wonder?—
How many days will this last?
How many nights until one of us walks away for good?
6
SOFIA
The Present Day
My apartment is a disaster.
Not in the charming, artistic way people like to romanticize—the kind where books are stacked just so, and a forgotten cup of coffee lends a certain moody aesthetic to the chaos. No, this is full-scale wreckage.
Newspapers with scribbled notes spill off my dining table, my laptop screen is a warzone of open tabs, and the whiteboard propped against the wall looks like it belongs to a conspiracy theorist rather than a journalist. Strings and arrows connect names, dates, crime scenes—an intricate web of corruption that all leads back to one name.
Lombardi.
I take a sip of cold coffee, grimacing as I set the mug down on a pile of printouts. My place smells like burned toast—my failed attempt at breakfast an hour ago—but I’m too deep into my research to care.
Every piece of evidence I’ve uncovered over the years, every lead that’s taken me deeper into the filth of Nuova Speranza, tells me one thing: the Lombardis are untouchable.
But untouchable doesn’t mean invincible.
The shrill buzz of my phone cuts through the silence. I glance at the screen, and anticipation tightens my stomach.
Detective Enrico Marino is calling.
His name is significant because he is the only cop in this godforsaken city who hasn’t sold his soul to men like Vittorio Lombardi.
Telling myself to stay calm, I pick up. "Tell me you’ve got something."
"Not over the phone," Marino replies in a clipped, harried voice. "But yeah, I’ve got something big, Sofia. This isn’t just another piece of the puzzle—this is the whole damn picture."
I lean forward, tension threading through my spine. "How big?"
"The kind of evidence that could bring the Lombardi operation down. Surveillance footage. Faces, names, timestamps—undeniable proof of their involvement in at least three murders, not to mention police payoffs and racketeering."
My pulse kicks up. "Please tell me you got this legally."
There’s a pause at the other end of the line, a hesitation just long enough to make my stomach sink.
"Let’s say it was obtained…off the books."
Of course.
I press my fingers to my temple. "Jesus, Marino. If this footage wasn’t obtained through legal channels, no judge is going to?—"
"I know," he snaps, exasperated. "But that doesn’t mean it’s useless. It’s leverage, Sofia. If we play this right, it could be the key to dismantling their entire empire."
Leverage.
The word tastes bitter on my tongue.
Because that’s exactly how things work in this city. It’s never about justice or the law. It’s about who has the most ammunition when the real battle begins.
