Chapter 2 - Sophia felt as though she had been slapped.
She lowered her eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
She retreated toward the wine cellar, her hands shaking with anger.
Stupid, she told herself.
She had allowed herself to believe that because Dante had touched her face, he cared.
Vanessa was his future.
Sophia was still the help.
20 minutes later, Sophia carried the wine and a charcuterie board to the terrace.
Dante and Vanessa sat with Vanessa’s father, Sal Genovese, a heavyset man with a scar running down his jaw. Elena sat with them and looked miserable.
Sophia poured the wine.
When she reached Vanessa, Vanessa struck the glass with her hand, spilling red wine across the white tablecloth.
“Oh, look what you did,” Vanessa cried, although the movement had clearly been deliberate. “Clumsy little thing. Is this the best staff you can find, Dante?”
“It was an accident,” Elena snapped. “Leave her alone, Vanessa.”
“She ruined the aesthetic, Elena.”
Vanessa looked directly at Sophia.
“Clean it up and apologize.”
Sophia did not move.
The injustice burned in her throat.
She glanced toward Dante.
He was drinking his wine, watching her over the rim of the glass.
It felt like a test.
Sophia took a breath and straightened her back.
“I will fetch a fresh cloth,” she said calmly. “But I will not apologize, Miss Genovese. I poured correctly. You moved the glass.”
Silence settled across the terrace.
No one spoke to a Genovese that way.
Sal’s jaw dropped.
Vanessa’s face flushed violently.
“Excuse me?”
She stood.
“Do you know who I am? I could have you killed and buried before dessert.”
“Enough.”
Dante’s voice cut through the air.
He placed his glass on the table.
He did not look at Vanessa.
He looked at Sophia.
For the first time that day, he smiled with unmistakable approval.
“She is right, Vanessa,” Dante said. “I saw you hit the glass.”
“You’re taking the maid’s side?”
“She is not a maid.”
Dante stood and crossed to Sophia.
He took the empty tray from her hands and passed it to a nearby waiter. Then he placed his hand against the small of Sophia’s back.
It was a deliberate, unmistakably possessive gesture.
“Sophia is my mother’s companion,” Dante said, his voice cold and final. “And in this house, she holds more respect than you do right now. If you want to eat here, you will treat her with the same courtesy you show my mother, or you can leave.”
Vanessa looked to her father.
The older man remained silent.
He was calculating.
He had seen what Dante’s behavior meant. More importantly, he had seen the way Dante looked at Sophia.
Vanessa sat down, furious and humiliated.
“Fine.”
Dante turned toward Sophia and lowered his voice.
“Go to your room, Sophia. I’ll handle them.”
As Sophia walked away, she could feel Vanessa watching her.
She had won the confrontation, but she knew Vanessa Genovese would not forget it. A woman like Vanessa did not limit herself to words.
That night, the estate was quiet, but Sophia could not sleep.
The encounter on the terrace still ran through her mind. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and, despite herself, exhilarated.
Dante had defended her.
He had humiliated the daughter of a rival family for her.
Unable to sleep, Sophia decided to get some water. She slipped from her room in a silk robe she had found in the closet and walked barefoot along the dark hallway toward the kitchen.
As she passed the library, she heard voices.
The door was slightly ajar.
“The girl is a problem, Dante,” Enzo was saying. “Vanessa is furious. The Genovese alliance hangs by a thread.”
“Let Vanessa be furious,” Dante replied.
He sounded tired.
“I don’t trust the Genoveses anyway. They’re moving product through my ports without paying the tax.”
“But keeping Sophia here complicates things. If the Genoveses find out who her father is, they’ll use it.”
Sophia stopped.
She pressed herself against the wall.
“Her father is a gambling addict, Enzo. He’s a nobody,” Dante said.
“He’s not just a gambler, boss. You know what Frank Rossi did in 1998. You know he was the driver for the heist that killed your uncle.”
The hallway seemed to shift around Sophia.
She clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent herself from making a sound.
Her father.
A driver.
A connection to a killing she had known nothing about.
“I know,” Dante said, his voice falling into a colder register. “That’s why I brought her here.”
Sophia’s chest tightened.
“I thought you brought her here for your mother,” Enzo said.
“My mother was the entry point,” Dante admitted. “But Frank Rossi has the ledger, the missing book from the 1998 heist. It contains the names of every corrupt judge and cop on our payroll. He stole it to make sure he didn’t get whacked. He’s been hiding it for 20 years.”
Sophia heard a glass touch the table inside the room.
“I bought his debt to get leverage,” Dante continued. “I have his daughter. Now Frank has to come out of hiding. He has to bring me the book to save her.”
A pause.
“Sophia isn’t just a companion, Enzo. She’s the bait.”
Sophia felt sick.
The kindness.
The job.
The protection.
Everything she had believed about why she was there suddenly appeared to be part of a strategy.
She was a pawn in a game she had not even known existed.
She moved quietly away from the library, tears running down her face.
She had to leave.
She had to warn her father.
Back in her room, Sophia threw clothes into a bag with shaking hands. She grabbed her phone and called Frank.
The call went to voicemail.
“Papa, listen to me,” she sobbed. “Don’t come to the estate. It’s a trap. Dante Moretti knows about the heist. He knows about the book. Run, Papa. Just run.”
She ended the call, zipped the bag, and opened the bedroom door.
2 massive bodyguards stood outside.
“Going somewhere, Miss Rossi?” 1 asked.
“I—I need to go to the pharmacy.”
“Mr. Moretti gave strict orders,” the guard said, folding his arms. “No one leaves the estate tonight. Especially not you.”
“Let me through.”
Sophia tried to push between them.
“Sophia.”
The voice came from behind the guards.
They moved aside.
Dante approached.
His eyes went first to the bag, then to Sophia’s tear-streaked face.
He did not look angry.
He looked regretful.
“You were listening,” he said.
“You used me.”
Sophia threw the bag at his chest.
Dante caught it without flinching.
“You lied to me. You made me believe you cared. You made me believe I was safe here.”
“You are safe here.”
“I’m a hostage,” Sophia spat. “I’m bait for a father I barely know. You’re a monster, Dante.”
Dante caught her by the arms and pulled her toward him. His grip was firm, but it did not hurt.
“Listen to me. Yes, I brought you here to get the ledger. That was the plan. But that was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before you sang to my mother,” Dante said, staring directly into her eyes. “Before you stood up to Vanessa. Before I realized that I wake up every morning looking forward to seeing you.”
“Don’t lie to me anymore,” Sophia whispered.
“I am not lying. The plan has changed. I don’t care about the ledger anymore. I care about you.”
“Then let me go.”
Dante slowly shook his head.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
His face hardened.
“Because Enzo just got a call. Your father didn’t run, Sophia. He tried to sell the ledger to the Genoveses an hour ago to pay off a new debt.”
Sophia went cold.
“Vanessa’s father has him.”
Dante released her arms.
“They have your father. And they said if I don’t deliver you to them by midnight tomorrow, they’ll send him back to me in pieces.”
He looked at her with anger and desperation.
“So you see, Sophia, you can’t leave. Because now we are the only thing standing between your father and a shallow grave.”
The war had started, and Sophia was directly in the middle of it.
The drive to the Red Hook Terminal was silent.
The silence inside the bulletproof SUV felt heavier than the sound of the engine.
The convoy consisted of 3 black SUVs. Sophia sat in the middle vehicle beside Dante. She wore black pants and a thick coat he had given her.
Beneath the coat, pressed against her ribs, was the cold weight of a snub-nose .38 Special.
“Do not take it out unless I tell you,” Dante had instructed before they left the estate. “And if you take it out, aim for the chest. The head moves too much.”
Now, watching rain streak across the industrial pavement outside, Sophia fought down nausea.
“He’s my father, Dante,” she whispered. “Do you really think they’ll kill him?”
Dante did not look at her.
He was checking the magazine of his own weapon.
“Sal Genovese is an animal. He doesn’t make threats he doesn’t intend to keep. But remember something, Sophia. Frank isn’t just a victim here. He tried to sell you out.”
“He was desperate.”
“Desperation is a reason, not an excuse.”
The SUVs entered a massive, hollowed-out warehouse.
Rust, seawater, and diesel hung in the air.
At the far end, beneath flickering halogen lights, the Genovese crew waited.
There were 10 of them, heavily armed.
Vanessa stood in the center wearing a white trench coat that seemed almost ghostly in the dim warehouse.
Beside her stood her father, Sal.
On his knees, his hands bound with zip ties, was Frank Rossi.
Sophia barely recognized him.
His face was swollen. 1 eye had been beaten shut. His shirt was torn.
“Papa.”
Her hand went instinctively toward the door handle.
Dante caught her wrist.
“Wait. Stay behind me.”
He looked toward Enzo.
“Stick to her like a shadow.”
They left the vehicle.
The closing of roughly 20 car doors echoed through the warehouse like gunfire.
Dante walked forward with a relaxed posture and his hands visible.
Sophia remained 1 step behind him, partly shielded by his body.
“Dante,” Sal Genovese called, his voice carrying off the metal walls. “You brought the girl. Good. I see you still have some honor left.”
“I brought her,” Dante answered. “Where is the ledger?”
“We don’t have the ledger.”
Vanessa stepped forward, smiling at Sophia with open contempt.
“Frank here says he hid it. He says he won’t tell us where unless we let him go. But we figure if we start cutting pieces off his daughter, his memory might improve.”
Sophia’s blood went cold.
They were not planning to exchange her for Frank.
They intended to torture her in front of him.
“That wasn’t the deal, Sal,” Dante said, his body tightening.
“Deals change.”
Sal shrugged.
“Hand her over. We give you the old man. You walk away. No war. Just business.”
Frank lifted his head.
Then he saw Sophia.
There was no apology in his expression.
No relief.
Only frantic fear.
“Sophia!” he screamed, blood spraying from his mouth. “Go to them. Just go to them. Tell them I’ll give them the book. Don’t let them hurt me anymore.”
Sophia stood frozen.
The words landed harder than the sight of his injuries.
Go to them.
Her father was asking her to surrender herself to the people who had just threatened to torture her so that they would stop hurting him.
“You hear him?” Vanessa laughed. “Even your daddy doesn’t want you. Come here, little waitress.”
Dante became completely still.
He looked first at Frank and then at Sophia’s devastated face.
“No,” he said quietly.
Sal’s hand moved toward his belt.
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
Dante raised his voice.
“The girl stays with me. The ledger stays lost. And if you touch a hair on her head, Sal, I will burn everything you own.”
“She’s my daughter!” Frank shrieked from his knees. “I own her. Give her to them! Dante, you owe me. I saved your uncle!”
“You drove a getaway car, Frank,” Dante said with disgust. “You didn’t save anyone. And you just sold your daughter to save your fingers. You’re not a father. You’re a rat.”
Dante turned toward Sophia.
“Get back in the car.”
“But—”
“Go!”
Sal raised his hand.
“Kill them all.”
The warehouse exploded into gunfire.
Muzzle flashes strobed through the darkness.
Dante shoved Sophia toward the SUV and turned, firing 2 shots into the chest of a Genovese soldier who was raising a shotgun.
“Enzo, get her out!”
Dante ducked behind a concrete pillar as bullets struck the stone only inches from his face.
Sophia scrambled into the rear seat. Enzo dove in after her.
“Go, go, go!” Enzo shouted at the driver.
“We can’t leave Dante!”
Sophia grabbed Enzo’s arm.
Through the back window, she saw Dante moving between cover with lethal precision.
He was not retreating.
He was advancing.
He fired, shifted position, and dropped 2 more men.
He was drawing their fire away from the escaping vehicles.
“He knows what he’s doing,” Enzo shouted.
The rear window shattered.
Enzo forced Sophia’s head down as glass sprayed across the seats.
The driver slammed his foot on the accelerator. The SUV tore from the warehouse.
Sophia looked back 1 final time.
She saw Frank.
In the chaos, no one was watching him.
He had managed to get to his feet.
But instead of running toward Dante and the escaping Moretti vehicles, he ran toward Sal Genovese, hands raised, begging.
“I can get it. I can get the book.”
Then Vanessa raised a pistol.
She did not hesitate.
She shot Frank Rossi in the back.
Sophia screamed.
The SUV burst from the warehouse into the rain.
She collapsed against the seat, the image of her father falling onto the concrete fixed in her mind.
He had died after choosing the Genoveses over her.
Dante was still in the warehouse, fighting alone to give her time to escape.
“Turn around,” Sophia said.
Her voice shook, but there was steel beneath it.
“We have orders, Miss Rossi,” the driver replied.
Sophia drew the .38 Special from beneath her coat and pressed the barrel to the driver’s neck.
Her hand was shaking.
Her eyes were dry.
“I said turn the damn car around.”
Enzo carefully pushed the barrel away.
“Look.”
He pointed toward the side window.
A second SUV was racing up the pavement behind them, sliding around the corner near the warehouse exit.
It was Dante’s vehicle.
“He’s out,” Enzo said with relief. “He made it.”
They drove back toward Long Island without slowing for red lights or stop signs.
The ride passed in a blur of adrenaline and grief.
When the convoy finally crossed through the iron gates of the Moretti estate, the atmosphere was different.
The lights were off.
Armed men patrolled the grounds carrying assault rifles.
The vehicles stopped hard in the courtyard.
Dante stepped from the second SUV.
He was limping slightly.
A dark stain was spreading across the left shoulder of his coat.
May you like
“Dante.”
Sophia ran toward him.
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