Sofia's eyes are wide, but not with the fear I'd expect. There's something else there—defiance, yes, but also an awareness of our position that sends heat shooting through me.
"You—how did you?—"
"Know you weren't sleeping?" I lean closer, close enough that I can smell that floral shampoo that's been driving me crazy. "Because unlike Elena and Gianna, I actually know you. You don't take three-hour naps, and you sure as hell don't go quietly when you're planning something."
"I wasn't planning anything," she says, but her voice lacks conviction.
"Right. You just happened to be down here checking the breaker box for fun."
Her chin lifts in that stubborn way I've come to recognize. "Maybe I was trying to fix the lights. Ever think of that?"
"By cutting the power to the entire house?"
"Trial and error."
Despite everything, I almost smile. Even caught red-handed, she's still fighting me. "You're a terrible liar, Sofia."
"And you're a terrible jailer if you're always letting me get this far."
"This far?" I shift closer, and her breath hitches. "You didn't even make it out of the basement."
"Because you were stalking me!"
"Because I was doing my job."
"Your job," she repeats, and there's something bitter in her voice. "Right. Always comes back to that, doesn't it?"
The emergency generator kicks on, and the regular lights flicker back to life, but neither of us moves. We're still pressed together against the wall, her hands flat against my chest, my face inches from hers.
"You want to know what my job is, Sofia?" My voice comes out rougher than I intended. "My job is to keep you safe. To make sure you don't do something that gets you killed."
"And what if I don't want to be kept safe?" Her eyes flash with something dangerous. "What if I'd rather take my chances out there than stay trapped in here with you?"
The words sting more than they should. "With me?"
"Yes, with you." Her hands move from my chest to my shoulders, her fingers digging in slightly. "Do you have any idea what it's like? Being watched every second of every day? Having someone follow you everywhere, know your every move, control your every decision?"
"Is that what you think I'm doing? Controlling you?"
"Aren't you?"
I stare down at her, taking in the flush in her cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips are slightly parted. She's beautiful when she's angry. She's beautiful all the time, but especially when she's fighting me.
"If I wanted to control you," I say quietly, "you'd know it."
Something shifts in her expression, and the air between us becomes charged with a different kind of tension. Her hands are still on my shoulders, her body still pressed against the wall by mine, and I can feel the exact moment she becomes aware of how close we are.
"Dante," she whispers, and my name on her lips sounds different than it ever has before.
"Yeah?"
"What are we doing?"
I don't have an answer for that. All I know is that she's looking at me like she's seeing me for the first time, and I'm looking at her like she's the only thing in the world that matters.
Which, terrifyingly, might be true.
I lean in slightly, drawn by something I can't name and can't resist. Her eyes flutter closed, her face tilting up toward mine?—
