But much like every other escape attempt, Dante is one step ahead of me, throwing himself through the doors just before they close.
Hitting the emergency lock on the elevator and nodding to Vito, Dante picks me up and throws me over his uninjured shoulder. Kicking, screaming, and doing everything I can to get out of his grasp, I fight, begging him to let me go. "No," I plead, shaking my head as tears fall freely while he walks deeper intothe penthouse, taking the stairs to the upper level where the bedrooms are. "Dante, please, you have to let me go. I need to get out of here."
Sighing, he sets me on my feet. "Princess, you could have gotten killed tonight. Do you understand that? Killed. Dead. Deceased. We all understand that this isn't what you want, but you need to consider that we aren't trying to hold you here to torture you. We're trying to keep you safe—keep you alive—so something like tonight doesn't happen when you're alone."
Dante's arms wrap around me tightly, but rather than feeling restraining, his embrace is comforting as the sobs relentlessly shake my body. Looking up at him, his eyes never leave my tear-streaked face as I beg. "Please. I can't do this. I can't be this mafia princess everyone expects me to be. Let me go—I need to go."
His gaze softens as he silently readjusts his hold to stroke my cheek, carefully wiping the tears before they have the chance to reach my chin. I can't decipher the newfound gentleness in his expression when his eyes reach mine again. Dante has only ever been irritated or stone-faced in my presence, but right now he looks almost... sad.
He's seeing me, just as much as I'm seeing him tonight.
He's not Dante, Vito's Enforcer.
I'm not Sofia, the by-proxy Rosso Princess.
We're just two fucked up humans in an even more fucked up situation.
CHAPTER 12
Sofia
A week has passedsince the attack, and I still hear gunshots every time I close my eyes.
Vito agreed to let me return to work at RRE—partly because I begged for some semblance of normalcy, and partly because I think he's hoping the routine will help me snap out of whatever this is. This fog I've been living in, where everything feels muted and far away.
I'm sitting at the reception desk, mindlessly sorting through files when I hear the commotion down the hall. Hushed voices, rapid footsteps, the sound of the conference room door closing with more force than usual. Council meetings are the only place I'm not allowed to be anymore, given Vito's heightened security since the attack. But something about the urgency in everyone's movements makes my stomach twist.
Dante disappeared into that room twenty minutes ago with explicit instructions for Dario and Luca to watch me. But Dario stepped out to take a phone call, and Luca is in the bathroom. For the first time in a week, I'm alone.
I should stay put. I should be the compliant, shell-shocked girl they think I've become.
But the old Sofia—the one who's been buried under fear and trauma—stirs to life. Just enough to make me stand up and walk down the hallway toward the conference room.
The door is almost closed, but not quite. A sliver of space, no more than half an inch, but enough for sound to carry through.
I press myself against the wall next to the door and listen.
"Kieran is no longer demanding just a virgin bride." Vito's voice is clear, controlled, but I can hear the tension underneath. "He's offering a wedding date."
My blood turns to ice.
"How else would they have been able to breach Don Vito's personal estate?" someone asks, and I realize they're talking about the attack. About how the Costellos got past all that security.
"Do you think we have a mole?"
"Who the hell would be handing over information to the Costellos?"
The voices blend together—English and Italian mixing as panic creeps into the room. I slide down the wall slightly, getting closer to the crack, trying to catch every word.
"Kieran is demanding Sofia specifically," Vito continues, and my heart stops. "If we don't deliver her to them by the turn of the quarter, any form of truce and negotiations will be off the table. They will take her of their own accord and continue their attacks for our lack of compliance."
The turn of the quarter. Less than three weeks away.
I press my fist against my mouth to keep from making a sound. This isn't about finding any virgin anymore. This is about me. They want me specifically, and they're giving Vito a deadline.
"Sir," someone says—Marco, I think—"what are our options?"
"We find another solution," Vito replies, but his voice lacks conviction. "We have three weeks to figure out an alternative."
