My phone rings.
The sound cuts through the moment like a gunshot, and we both freeze. For a second, neither of us moves, the phone continuing to ring insistently in my pocket.
"Answer it," Sofia says quietly, but she doesn't step away.
Reluctantly, I reach for my phone, checking the caller ID. Rafa.
"Dante."
"Headquarters, now. Boss is having an emergency meeting."
"Now?"
"Yes, now. Drop whatever you're doing and get back to the city. Come alone."
I look down at Sofia, who's watching me with an unreadable expression.
"On my way," I tell Rafa, hanging up.
"Duty calls?" Sofia asks, and there's something almost disappointed in her voice.
"Always does."
She nods, finally stepping away from the wall. The loss of her warmth leaves me feeling cold and strangely empty.
"What was the call about?" she asks, her voice carefully neutral.
"Nothing you need to worry about."
Her eyes flash with something dangerous. "It's about me, isn't it?"
I keep my expression neutral, but she must see something in my face because her jaw sets in that stubborn way I've come to recognize.
"It is about me," she says, not really a question anymore. "They're having an emergency meeting about what to do with me."
"Sofia—"
"I have a right to know what's going on with my life, Dante." Her voice is rising now, anger replacing the earlier vulnerability. "These are decisions about my future, about what happens to me, and I have a right to know what they're planning."
She's not wrong. The logical part of my brain knows she's absolutely right—she should know what's being decided about her fate. But the part of me that's been trained to follow orders, to keep family business within the family, balks at the idea.
"It's not that simple."
"It is that simple!" She steps closer again, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "This is my life we're talking about. Not yours, not Vito's, not the family's—mine. And I'm tired of being treated like I'm some kind of object that gets passed around without having any say in what happens to me."
"You think I want this?" The words come out harsher than I intended. "You think I enjoy watching you get dragged into meetings you're not allowed to attend? You think any of this is easy for me?"
"Then let me go with you."
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I can see the desperation in her eyes, the fear she's trying so hard to hide behind her anger.
"I can't," I say finally, and the words taste like ash in my mouth.
Something in her expression shutters, and she takes a step back from me.
"So what now?" she asks. "You leave, and I go back to being the good little prisoner?"
"Sofia—"
