Dante found her in a rusted freight yard near the old docks—shadows stretching long beneath the amber glow of the security lights. Sofia stood alone, her coat billowing in the salty wind, arms crossed like a challenge.

She didn’t flinch when he stepped out of the dark.

“You’re not very subtle,” she said coolly.

“I wasn’t trying to be.”
His voice came out rough, colder than intended. “What were you doing at that meeting, Sofia?”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Business.”

“Wrong answer.”

He closed the distance between them in three slow, deliberate steps. The scent of her perfume hit him—violets and danger. She didn’t back down.

“What do you want from me, Dante?”

“The truth.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, pulsing with something unspoken.

She sighed and tilted her head, just enough to let the vulnerability show. “I was protecting Matteo.”

Dante’s jaw tightened. “By meeting with a rival syndicate? You really expect me to buy that?”

Sofia stepped closer, her voice lowering. “There are things happening you don’t understand. Matteo made enemies outside the Vellucci-Rossi war. I’m trying to clean up his mess before he gets himself killed.”

“Then why the secrecy? Why not go to your brother?”

Her gaze flickered. “Because Matteo wouldn’t listen to me if I screamed in his face. But maybe he’ll listen… once the danger feels real enough.”

Dante studied her. Every instinct told him she was lying—or at least not telling the whole truth. But her eyes…

They burned with desperation.

Or something like it.

A gust of wind tore between them, and Sofia shivered. Without thinking, Dante shrugged off his coat and draped it around her shoulders. Her fingers brushed his. They froze.

The tension broke like a crack in glass.

She leaned in, eyes locked on his. So close, he could feel her breath on his cheek.

“I didn’t lie about everything,” she whispered. “Not about… us.”

Dante didn’t know who moved first—maybe both—but their mouths nearly touched, a breath away from surrender.

Then a loud crack shattered the moment.

A gunshot echoed in the distance.

Dante’s instincts snapped back into place. He grabbed Sofia, pulling her behind a stack of crates. Heart pounding, he peeked over the edge. A car was speeding away, tires screeching.

A warning shot.

Someone was watching.

They stayed low, breathless.

Sofia turned to him, eyes wide. “Vellucci?”

“Or someone who wants me dead for not finishing the job.”

He helped her up. The moment had passed, but the tension remained—thicker now, knotted with fear and something else neither of them could name.

Later that night, Dante met Enzo in the back room of a butcher shop the Velluccis used for laundering money. The air stank of raw meat and ammonia.

“You dragging your feet on purpose?” Enzo asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m gathering intel.”

“You had a clean shot a week ago. Now you’re playing detective?”

Dante met his gaze. “I don’t move on half-truths.”

Enzo stepped closer. “Don Vellucci’s losing patience. He gave you a gift—freedom. And you’re pissing it away chasing ghosts.”

“I said I’ll handle it.”

“You better.” Enzo’s tone dropped. “Because if you don’t, he’ll send someone else. And if you get in their way, you’re dead too.”

That night, Dante found a note tucked under his apartment door. No envelope. Just a torn scrap of paper in Sofia’s delicate handwriting.

“There’s a traitor inside the Vellucci family. Ask yourself why Don Vellucci wants Matteo dead so badly.”

Dante stared at the note, his mind spinning. There were rules in this world—black and white, loyalty and betrayal. But lately, all he saw was grey.

And Sofia Rossi, with her half-truths and dangerous eyes, was right at the center of it.

He didn’t know whether to protect her or pull the trigger.

But one thing was certain.

This game was no longer just business.

It was personal.