Something shifts in his expression—frustration, maybe, or something that looks dangerously close to disappointment.
"Sofia—"
"No." I pull back from his almost-touch, anger flaring again. "Don't you dare look at me like that. Don't you dare act like this changes anything. You're still going to drag me back to Vito. You're still going to stand by and watch while he hands me over to the Costellos. Because that's who you are, Dante. That's what you do."
"You think I want that?" His voice is rough, almost desperate. "You think any part of me is okay with watching you get?—"
"It doesn't matter what you want!" I'm shouting now, all the fear and frustration and helplessness of the past weeks pouring out of me. "It doesn't matter how you feel or how I feel or what games we play with each other! Because when it comes down to it, you'll choose your orders over everything else!"
"That's not?—"
"Isn't it? Prove it. Let me go. Choose something other than blind loyalty for once in your life."
We're both breathing hard now, the air between us charged with anger and something that feels like desperation. He's looking at me like I've torn something vital out of him.
For a moment, I think he might actually do it. I see something in his eyes that looks like he's considering it, weighing his options, trying to find a way to make a different choice.
But then his expression hardens, and I know I've lost.
"I can't," he says quietly. "And you know I can't."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Even though I knew what his answer would be, even though I was expecting it, it still feels like he's just proven everything I've been trying not to believe about him.
"Get away from me," I whisper.
"Sofia—"
"Get away from me!" I shove at his chest, trying to put distance between us in the confined space. "Don't touch me. Don't look at me like that. Don't pretend this is anything other than what it is."
He catches my wrists as I try to push him away, his grip firm but not painful. "Stop."
"Let go of me."
"Not until you calm down?—"
"There's nothing to calm down about!" I'm fighting against his hold now, trying to break free, and he has to use both hands to keep me from clawing at him. "You made your choice! You chose your precious orders!"
"It's not that simple?—"
"It is that simple!" Tears are streaming down my face now, hot and angry and utterly humiliating. "It's exactly that simple!And the fact that you can't see that just proves how little any of this actually means to you!"
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes, and suddenly his grip tightens. Not enough to hurt, but enough to still my struggles completely.
"Don't." His voice is low, almost a growl. "Don't you dare tell me what this means to me."
We're inches apart now, both breathing hard, both trembling with anger and something else that's much more dangerous. I can see the war playing out in his blue eyes—duty versus something he won't name, loyalty versus something that looks like it's tearing him apart.
For a moment, I think he's going to kiss me. For a moment, I think I'm going to let him.
But then he releases my wrists and pulls back, putting as much distance between us as the car will allow.
"You're right," he says, his voice carefully controlled. "I can't choose differently. But Sofia—" He looks at me with an expression that's equal parts pain and determination. "That doesn't mean it's easy."
"Easy doesn't change anything," I say, wiping the tears from my cheeks. "Easy doesn't save me from being handed over like property. Easy doesn't give me back my freedom."
"I know."
"Then stop looking at me like that. Stop playing games with me. And stop pretending this is complicated when it's really very simple—you do what you're told, and I pay the price."
