"No?" I repeat, my voice dangerously quiet. "She's my?—"
"She's what, Dante? Your property? Your prisoner?" Vito stands slowly, and even though I have a few inches on him, his presence seems to fill the room. "Because that's exactly the kind of thinking she's trying to get away from."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"Do I? Because right now you sound like every other man in this business who thinks loving a woman gives him the right to control her."
The comparison stings because there's truth in it, and we both know it. But that doesn't make it easier to swallow.
"I just want to talk to her," I say, hating how desperate I sound. "Five minutes. That's all I need."
"And say what? That she belongs here? That she belongs with you? That she doesn't really have a choice anyway because the Costellos will never stop hunting her?" Vito shakes his head. "She's heard all of that already, Dante. She knows the score."
"Then what the fuck am I supposed to do? Just sit here and wait for her to decide she doesn't want this life? Wait for her to decide I'm not worth it?"
The anger that's been building in my chest suddenly collapses in on itself, leaving behind something raw and hollow. Because that's what this is really about, isn't it? The fear thatwhen Sofia really thinks about it—about what being with me means, about the violence and danger and moral compromises—she'll realize I'm not worth the cost.
"Oh, Dante," Rina says softly, and before I know it, she's crossing the room to wrap her arms around me. The gesture is so unexpected, so maternal, that it breaks something loose in my chest.
"What if she doesn't come back?" I whisper against her hair, finally voicing the fear that's been eating at me since I woke up to an empty bed.
"Then she doesn't come back," Rina says simply. "And you'll respect that decision because you love her enough to want her to be happy, even if it's not with you."
"I don't know how to do that."
"Neither did Vito, once upon a time." She pulls back to look at me, her dark eyes warm with understanding. "But he learned. And if you really love her—if this isn't just about possession or pride—then you'll learn too."
I want to argue, to insist that this is different, that what Sofia and I have is different. But looking at Rina and Vito together, seeing the way they balance each other, the way they chose each other every day rather than just accepting their circumstances... maybe I'm starting to understand what Sofia needs.
"How long?" I ask, directing the question to Vito.
"As long as she needs."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have." Vito returns to his seat, picking up his coffee like we're discussing the weather instead of my entire future. "The time will pass fast, and there's plenty for you to do in the meantime. The Costellos aren't going to just roll over because we killed their heir. We need to prepare for retaliation."
As if summoned by the mention of work, the front door opens and Marco walks in, looking like he's barely slept. Hisclothes are rumpled, there are dark circles under his eyes, and he's moving with the careful precision of someone who's had too much coffee and not enough rest.
"Boss," he nods to Vito, then glances at me. "Dante."
Something in his expression—a flicker of guilt, maybe, or just exhaustion—makes me study his face more closely. And then it hits me.
"You drove her," I say, my voice flat with certainty. "You know where she is."
Marco's poker face is usually impeccable, but right now he looks like a man who's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Dante?—"
"Don't even try it," Vito interrupts, his voice carrying a clear warning. "Marco was following my orders, and he'll continue to follow my orders. That includes keeping his mouth shut about Sofia's location."
"She's my—" I start to say, then catch myself. Because that's the problem, isn't it? Sofia isn't my anything. She's her own person, making her own choices, and I have to respect that even if it's killing me.
But that doesn't mean I have to like it.
"This is bullshit," I snarl, the anger rushing back in a red tide. "She should have talked to me. She should have given me a chance to?—"
"To what? Convince her to stay? Guilt her into it? Make her feel like she owes you something because you saved her?" Vito's voice is sharp now, cutting through my protests like a blade. "That's exactly why she left without talking to you, Dante. Because she knew you'd try to change her mind before she had a chance to make it up."
The truth of it hits me hard. Because he's right—I would have tried to convince her to stay. I would have used every argument, every emotional appeal, every manipulation in the book to keepher here with me. And maybe that's exactly what she was trying to avoid.
