He pauses, his hand on the doorknob. "Sofia? I've been doing this job for a long time. I've seen what this life can do to people, especially women. But I've also seen what it can be when it's chosen freely, with eyes wide open." He looks back at me. "Whatever you decide, make sure it's really your decision. Notfear talking, not guilt, not what you think you should want. What you actually want."
And then he's gone, leaving me alone in a stranger's house with nothing but my thoughts and a week to figure out the rest of my life.
For a few minutes, I just stand in the foyer, listening to the silence. It's not the oppressive quiet of being trapped—it's the peaceful silence of solitude. When was the last time I was truly alone? Not hiding, not running, not surrounded by people watching my every move, but simply... alone?
I can't remember.
I explore the house slowly, getting my bearings. The kitchen is spacious and well-stocked, clearly maintained for someone who might arrive unexpectedly. The living room has floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over perfectly manicured grounds. Upstairs, there are several bedrooms, each decorated in soothing, neutral tones.
I choose the master bedroom, partly because it's the largest but mostly because it has French doors that open onto a small balcony. When I step outside, I can see what I've been hearing—water. The house sits on a bluff overlooking Long Island Sound, and the view is breathtaking.
I set my bag on the bed and change out of the clothes I've been wearing since yesterday, pulling on jeans and a soft sweater that feel like armor against the emotional vulnerability I'm feeling. Then I make my way back downstairs and out to the grounds.
There's a stone path that leads from the house down toward the water, winding between flower beds that are clearly tended with care. I follow it, my feet crunching softly on the gravel, until I reach a small gazebo perched at the edge of the bluff.
The view from here is even more spectacular. Water stretches to the horizon, dotted with sailboats that look like whitebutterflies from this distance. The sun is starting to sink lower in the sky, painting everything in shades of gold and amber.
I sit on the bench inside the gazebo and just... breathe.
For the first time in months—maybe years—I don't have to be anyone other than myself. I don't have to be Vito's problem or Dante's salvation or Rina's little sister or the Costellos' prize. I can just be Sofia, sitting by the water, watching the boats and thinking my own thoughts.
The freedom is both exhilarating and terrifying.
I think about Dante, probably pacing Vito's house right now, furious and worried and feeling abandoned. The thought makes my chest ache. I think about Rina, caught between her loyalty to her husband and her love for her sister. I think about Vito, offering me something I never expected—genuine choice.
But mostly, I think about myself. About who I am when I'm not reacting to crisis or trauma or other people's expectations. About what I want my life to look like, what I'm willing to sacrifice for love, what I'm not.
A breeze comes off the water, carrying the scent of salt and freedom. I close my eyes and let it wash over me, this moment of perfect solitude. Whatever I decide in the coming days, at least I'll know I had this—time to think, space to breathe, the luxury of choice.
When I open my eyes, the sun has moved lower, and the water has turned silver. Somewhere behind me, the house waits with its comfortable rooms and well-stocked kitchen and the phone that connects me back to the world I left behind.
But for now, I'm content to sit here and watch the light change on the water, alone with my thoughts for the first time in my entire life.
It's terrifying and beautiful and exactly what I need.
CHAPTER 38
Dante
The Costello warehousesmells like gunpowder and blood, with an underlying scent of fear that seems to have soaked into the concrete walls. Three days since we hit them, and we're still doing cleanup and damage assessment. Three days since Sofia left, but who's counting?
"Clear on the east side," Marco's voice crackles through my earpiece as I move through what used to be their weapons storage. Most of the good stuff was already moved out before we arrived—the Costellos aren't completely stupid—but there's still enough evidence here to piece together their operation.
"Copy that," I respond, photographing serial numbers on the remaining rifles. Vito wants a complete inventory of what they had, what they moved, and where it might have gone. Standard procedure after taking down a rival operation, but it feels different when you're the one who started the war by breaking their heir's neck.
Not that I regret it. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
I'm cataloging ammunition when my phone buzzes with a text from Elena:Found something interesting in Kieran's office. You're going to want to see this.
I make my way to what used to be the administrative section of the warehouse, stepping over debris and trying not to think about how Sofia would probably have some sharp observation about the Costellos' choice in interior decorating. She always did have something to say about everything.
Elena is crouched behind an overturned desk, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, examining what looks like a hidden safe built into the floor.
"Well, well," I say, approaching carefully. "Look what our sharpshooter found."
"This sharpshooter also found the combination," Elena replies without looking up, her fingers dancing over the digital keypad. "Kieran wasn't as smart as he thought he was. Used his dead brother's birthday."
The safe clicks open with a soft beep, revealing stacks of cash, several passports, and what looks like a ledger filled with names and numbers.
