I lean forward slightly. "Then?"
She hesitates again. Just for a second. It’s barely noticeable, but I catch it. The flicker of doubt in her eyes, the way her fingers tighten around the fork.
She’s holding something back.
I push off the counter, closing the space between us. "Sofia."
Her fingers tighten around the fork, pressing against the metal. "They talked about you," she murmurs. "Not just the usual threats. It was different."
I grip the counter beside her, bracing myself. "What did they say?"
She looks at me then, really looks at me, and what I see in her gaze makes something coil in my chest.
"They said that if things went south," she says, her voice quiet but steady, "you wouldn’t hesitate to throw me off a cliff."
The words hit me like a gunshot to the ribs. My breath leaves me in a sharp exhale, my fingers clenching against the counter’s edge.
"They said you’d do it yourself," she continues, watching me carefully. "That I was just another loose end, another problem that would be handled if it meant keeping the Salvatores clean."
Silence stretches between us, thick as smoke.
I stare at her, barely able to breathe past the fury boiling beneath my skin.
"They think I’d kill you?" My voice is tight with anger.
She shrugs, but it’s not casual. It’s forced. "They think you’re a man who does what needs to be done."
I shake my head. "Not when it comes to you."
Something in her gaze flickers, just for a moment. She wants to believe me. But there’s still something lurking beneath the surface, something she hasn’t voiced yet.
I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. "Sofia, I would never?—"
She cuts me off with a single look. One that’s not full of anger or accusation. It’s just quiet, a steady assessment.
Then she sets her fork down, pushing her plate away slightly. "Marco."
I brace myself.
She tilts her head, looking at me through hooded eyes. "What happened when we broke up?"
I blink. The sudden shift slams into me like a sucker punch.
She waits, her expression unreadable, her fingers trailing absently over the rim of her plate. "Things did go south back then," she says softly. "And your first instinct was to leave me in a dangerous position. Alone."
My pulse hammers.
I open my mouth, but she isn’t finished.
"And now, you’ve brought me here," she continues, gesturing subtly to the estate around us. "Locked me inside this fortress. I’m safe, but I’m also caged." She leans forward slightly, her eyes searching mine. "So, what if I keep doing what I was doingbefore? What if I don’t stop looking into the Lombardis? What if I keep chasing down the truth, even if it pisses off the wrong people?"
She lifts her chin slightly. "Will you still support me then?"
I don’t breathe.
"Will you still love me then?"
The question lands like a final blow, sinking deep into something I’m not sure I’m ready to face.
