My hands shake as I unfold it, reading her careful handwriting once, twice, three times. Each word is a fucking knife between my ribs.
Don't come after me.
You gave me something I never thought I'd have—the feeling of being chosen.
Find someone who can love you without costing you everything.
"Goddammit, Sofia." I crumple the letter in my fist, then smooth it out again, re-reading the postscript that makes my chest tight.I was wrong about one thing. I was never your prisoner. You were mine.
She thinks she's protecting me. Thinks she's saving me from some great sacrifice. The stubborn, brilliant, impossible woman doesn't understand that she didn't cost me everything—she became everything.
I'm on my feet, pulling on clothes, my mind racing. How long has she been gone? The sheets are cold, but not ice cold. Maybe an hour, two at most. If she's on foot, she can't have gotten far.
The safehouse has a landline in the kitchen, an old rotary phone that probably hasn't been updated since the seventies. I dial the number for the other safehouse, the one where Rina and the others are hiding.
It rings twice before one of the guys picks up. "Hello?"
"It's Dante. Is Sofia there?"
"Dante! Thank God. We've been trying to reach you. We can't locate her."
My blood turns to ice. "She's not with you?"
"No, she... Dante, she's gone."
"Shit. Does Vito know?"
The pause tells me everything. "Yeah. He knows."
"Fuck." I run my free hand through my hair, pacing the small kitchen. "How did he?—"
"The Irish were casing this place, Dante. They've been watching us. Vito came personally last night."
A knock at the door cuts through my panic like a gunshot. Hard, authoritative. Not Sofia coming back.
"I have to go." I hang up.
I grab a gun from beneath counter, checking the chamber as I approach the door. These safehouses are equipped withweapons throughout. The knocking comes again, patient but insistent.
"Dante." Marco's voice carries through the wood, calm and steady. "You better not be thinking of shooting me, kid. And there's no running from this."
I keep the gun raised but don't respond.
"Come on, Dante. We both know you're smarter than that. Open the door."
"Where is she?" I call out.
"That's what we're trying to figure out. And standing here with my dick in my hand isn't helping anyone find her."
Against my better judgment, I unlock the door but keep the gun trained on him. Marco steps inside, hands visible, no weapon drawn. He's alone, which surprises me.
"You look like shit," he observes, taking in my hastily thrown-on clothes and what I'm sure are wild eyes.
"How did you know where I was?"
Marco's expression shifts slightly. "Sofia called Gianna last night. After your little crash."
Of course she did. And of course... "All the Rosso lines are monitored."
