19. Sofia

19

SOFIA

M y mind feels foggy, disconnected from reality as I stare at Jonah’s still form on the floor. How did I get here? What just happened?

Flashes of memory assault me, disjointed and confusing. My phone buzzing with a text. An unknown number flashing on the screen. The words blurring together.

Meet me at Perfezione. Now. Or else you’ll never see Lou again.

I remember the fear, the urgency. Asking Shawn to watch Lou. The drive here, my heart pounding.

Then… Jonah. His face contorted with rage. Lunging at me. My hands, pushing him away. A struggle. A loud noise. Then… silence.

I blink, trying to focus. The world seems muffled, distant. I can hear someone calling my name, but it’s like I’m underwater, everything distorted and far away.

“Sofia!”

The voice cuts through the haze. Angelo. When did he get here?

I look up, meeting his eyes. They’re wide with panic, fear etched across his face.

“Fee, talk to me. What happened?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. How can I explain when I don’t understand it myself?

Another flash. Jonah’s hands around my throat. The terror. The desperate struggle to breathe.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. “I… I don't know,” I finally manage, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. “He… he texted me. Said to meet him here.”

Angelo’s hands are on my shoulders now, steadying me. When did I start shaking?

“He attacked me,” I continue, the words coming out in a rush. “I fought back. There was a struggle, and then…”

I gesture helplessly at Jonah’s body. Angelo follows my gaze, his jaw clenching.

“We need to call the police,” he says, already reaching for his phone.

Police. The word penetrates the fog in my brain, sending a jolt of panic through me. “No!” I cry out, grabbing his arm. “We can’t. Lou… what about Lou?”

Angelo pauses, conflict clear on his face. “Fee, we have to. This is self-defense. You were protecting yourself.”

Was I? The memory is so hazy. What if I’m remembering it wrong? What if…

Another flash. Jonah falling. The sickening thud as he hit the ground. The sudden, deafening silence.

Angelo pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me. The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, it anchors me.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “You’re in shock. It’s normal. We’re going to figure this out.”

I cling to him, desperate for something solid in this surreal nightmare. “What do we do?” I whisper.

Angelo pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting mine. “You need to tell me what happened,” he says gently.

I take a shaky breath, the memories flooding back in disjointed flashes. “Jonah… he was angry. He tried to shake me, said I was keeping his daughter from him. He slapped me, and I… I grabbed my shears and…”

My legs give out, and Angelo catches me before I hit the floor. He gently sets me down, pulling out his phone. I hear him talking to Shawn in a low voice, but the words are indistinct, drowned out by the memory of metal sliding into flesh, the sickening squelch that followed.

The sound replays in my head, over and over. The resistance as the shears first met skin, then the sudden give as they plunged deeper. Jonah’s shocked gasp, his eyes widening in disbelief. The warmth of his blood on my hands.

Angelo sits beside me, his arm a comforting weight around my shoulders. “Shawn’s going to keep Lou for now,” he says softly. “She’s taking her to her house for an auntie-niece sleepover.”

I nod, numb. I’m a murderer. How can I ever look my daughter in the eye again? After all my talk about violence not being the answer…

“What do we do now?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

Angelo's voice is calm, steady. “I’ve changed my mind. We’re not calling the police. We’re going to handle this the old-fashioned way—dispose of the body ourselves.”

I turn to him, shocked. “How?”

He outlines his plan with chilling efficiency. “First, we wipe the camera footage. Then I’ll call Jimbo to help clean up and take care of the body.”

As Angelo talks, I feel a strange sense of detachment, like I’m watching this happen to someone else. Is this really my life now? Disposing of bodies with a Mafia Don?

But as I look at Jonah’s still form, at the blood staining my hands, I realize there’s no going back. This is my reality now.

“Fee?” Angelo's voice brings me back to the present. “Are you with me?”

I nod slowly. “Yes. I… I think so. What do you need me to do?”

“First, we need to clean you up,” he says, helping me to my feet. “Can you make it to the bathroom?”

I take a tentative step, my legs shaky but holding. “I think so.”

As we move toward the bathroom, I catch sight of myself in a mirror. I barely recognize the woman staring back at me. Her eyes are wild, hair disheveled, blood smeared across her face. Is this really me?

In the bathroom, Angelo gently helps me wash the blood from my hands and face. The water runs pink, then clear. If only washing away the memory were as easy.

“Angelo,” I say, my voice breaking. “What about Lou? How can I face her after this?”

He turns me to face him, his eyes intense. “Listen to me, Fee. You did what you had to do to protect yourself and your daughter. Lou will understand that. You took care of a bully just like Lou would.”

I want to believe him. God, how I want to believe him. But the weight of what I’ve done settles over me like a shroud.

As we step back into the main shop, I see Jonah’s body again and a wave of nausea hits me. Angelo steadies me, his hand warm on my back.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, and for a moment, I almost believe him. “The first kill is always the hardest. We’re going to get through this together.”

“Okay,” I say in a small voice, still not sure if I can believe him. “What’s next?”

Angelo squeezes my hand. “Now, we clean up. And then… we make sure this never happened.”

I’ve crossed a line today, one I never thought I’d cross. But as I think of Lou, safe with Shawn, I know I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

God help me, I’d do it all again.

I watch as Angelo makes the call to Jimbo, his voice low and riddled with code words I don’t understand. It feels like only seconds pass before Jimbo arrives, his presence filling the room.

He takes one look at the scene—Jonah’s body, the blood, my tear-stained face—and stops short. “Sofia… did you do this?” he asks, his voice surprisingly gentle.

I nod grimly, unable to form words.

Jimbo’s weathered face softens. “You did the right thing, kiddo. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of this.”

His soothing tone breaks something inside me. Suddenly, I’m sobbing, the full weight of what I’ve done crashing down on me.

Angelo reaches for me, but Jimbo gets there first. He wraps his arms around me, patting my back awkwardly but comfortingly.

“I’m a murderer,” I choke out between sobs.

Jimbo chuckles softly. "Everyone in this room is, sweetheart. Doesn’t mean we’re bad people.” He pauses, then adds wryly, “Well, actually, Angelo and I probably are. But you? You killed someone because you and your little girl were being threatened. That doesn’t make you bad. It makes you a mama bear.”

I look up at him, surprised by the warmth in his eyes. It’s almost… fatherly.

“But Lou…” I start.

Jimbo cuts me off gently. “Lou has a mom who’d do anything to protect her. That’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of."

His words, so unexpected from this gruff man I barely know, offer a strange comfort. I lean into him, letting out a shaky breath.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Jimbo pats my back one more time before stepping away. “Alright, enough of this mushy shit. We’ve got work to do.”

Angelo approaches me, his eyes full of concern. “Fee, why don’t you go upstairs and rest? Jimbo and I will handle things down here.”

I shake my head. “No, I… I need to help. This is my mess.”

Jimbo snorts. “Kid, trust me, you don’t want to be part of this cleanup. Go on, let the professionals handle it.”

I look between them, torn between the desire to take responsibility and the overwhelming urge to escape this nightmare.

Angelo takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “Go, Fee. We’ve got this. I’ll come get you when it’s done.”

Finally, I nod. As I climb the stairs to my apartment, I hear Jimbo’s gruff voice below.

“Alright, Boss. Where do we start?”

I close the door behind me, sinking onto my couch. The familiar surroundings feel surreal after what just happened downstairs. I close my eyes, trying to block out the memories, but Jonah’s face keeps flashing in my mind.

I pace the tiny apartment, my mind racing. How can Angelo and Jimbo possibly clean this up? There was so much blood… And what about Jonah’s family? His ex-wife might not care, but he mentioned a sister. Won’t they wonder where he’s gone?

I hug myself tightly, Jonah’s harsh words echoing in my head. “ You can’t keep her from me forever, Sofia. I’ll take Lou, and there’s nothing you can do about it! ”

A whimper escapes me as I sink onto the pull-out couch, staring blankly at the wall. Time loses all meaning as I sit there, trapped in my own thoughts.

Finally—what feels like hours later—a soft knock at the door startles me back to reality. I open it to find Angelo standing there.

“We’re all done,” he says softly.

I want to ask what they did, how they managed it, but Angelo shakes his head, anticipating my questions. “The footage has been wiped too. No trace of Jonah or you entering the store, or… what happened after.”

Numbly, I follow him downstairs. I’m shocked to see the shop spotless, no sign of the horror that took place here. Marco is there, running some kind of device over the floor.

Jimbo notices my confusion and explains, a hint of pride in his voice. “It checks for blood traces. But we did such a good job cleaning, not even the best forensics team could tell anything happened here.”

Angelo puts a hand on my shoulder. “Our next step will be to track down where Jonah’s been staying, erase any traces of him. Make it look like he left town.”

I nod, unable to form words. The efficiency with which they’ve erased a man’s existence is both terrifying and oddly comforting.

“What… what do we do now?” I finally manage to ask.

“Now we go home,” Angelo says firmly, “and put this behind us.”

Easier said than done.

The moment we’re back at Angelo’s, I make a beeline for the shower. My skin crawls with the phantom sensation of Jonah’s blood, and I can’t get there fast enough. I barely register Angelo’s concerned voice as I shut the bathroom door behind me.

My hands shake as I turn the water on, cranking it as hot as it will go. Steam fills the bathroom almost instantly, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

I strip off my clothes, throwing them in a heap on the floor. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—pale, wide-eyed, streaks of dried blood still visible on my neck. Fuck, how did I miss that?

I look away quickly, unable to face the stranger staring back at me.

The water is scalding as I step under the spray, but I welcome the pain. It’s real, tangible, unlike the chaos in my head. I grab the loofah, squeezing what must be half the bottle of body wash onto it. Then I start scrubbing.

Every inch of my body gets the same treatment—harsh, repetitive motions that turn my skin pink, then red. I scrub until it hurts, then keep going. Physical pain is better than the emotional turmoil threatening to drown me.

Sobs rack my body as I work, the events of the day replaying in my mind on a cruel loop. Jonah’s face, contorted with rage. His hands on me, shaking me. The sound of the shears entering his body. The look of shock in his eyes as he fell.

“You can’t keep her from me forever, Sofia,” his voice echoes in my head. “I’ll take Lou, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

“No!” I cry out, my voice bouncing off the tiled walls. “You’ll never touch her!”

I scrub harder, as if I could wash away the memory along with the blood. My skin is raw and tender, but I don’t care. I just need to feel clean.

But no matter how hard I scrub, no matter how hot the water, I can’t shake the feeling of Jonah’s blood on my hands. The weight of what I’ve done settles over me like a suffocating blanket.

I’m a murderer. A killer. I don’t care what Jimbo said. How can I ever look Lou in the eye again? How can I hold her with these hands that took a life?

The sobs come harder now, and I sink to the floor of the shower. The water beats down on me as I curl into a ball, my cries drowning out the sound of the spray.

I'm not sure how long I stay there, but eventually, I hear Angelo’s voice through the door.

“Fee? Are you okay in there?”

I want to answer, to tell him I’m fine, but I can’t find my voice. I’m not fine. I’ll never be fine again.

As the water starts to run cold, I realize a fundamental truth. No matter how much I scrub, no matter how much time passes, I’ll never be able to wash away what I've done. This moment, this choice, will be with me forever.

And I’m not sure I know how to live with that.

I hear the bathroom door burst open, followed by Angelo’s soft sigh. The water stops abruptly, and I feel his warm hands on my skin.

“Dammit, Fee,” he mutters, hissing as he gets a closer look at my raw, red skin.

Strong arms lift me gently, cradling me against his chest as he carries me to the bed. Angelo’s voice is low and soothing as he carefully towels me off, his touch feather-light on my tender skin.

“It’s okay, Fee. I’ve got you," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.

I shiver, partly from the cool air on my damp skin, partly from the intensity of his nearness. Angelo tucks me under the sheets, his movements gentle and precise.

I hear the rustle of clothes hitting the floor, then feel the warmth of Angelo’s body as he slides in next to me. His skin presses against mine, a comforting presence in the chaos of my mind. One arm drapes over my waist, pulling me closer.

I don’t want to think anymore. The memories of Jonah, of blood and violence, are too fresh, too raw. I just want to feel something else, anything else.

Turning to face him, I meet Angelo’s intense gaze. His dark eyes are locked on mine, filled with concern and something deeper, something that makes my breath catch. The familiar scent of his cologne envelops me, a mixture of sandalwood and something uniquely him. I notice the stubble darkening his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow.

Without thinking, I lean in, seeking his lips. I need this connection, this moment of feeling something other than guilt and fear. Angelo hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching mine.

“Fee,” he whispers, his voice rough. “Are you sure?”

In response, I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his. The kiss is gentle at first, almost tentative. Then something shifts, and suddenly, it’s all heat and urgency.

Angelo’s hand cups the back of my head, fingers tangling in my damp hair. My own hands explore the planes of his chest, the strong muscles of his back. Every touch, every sensation, pushes the horror of the day further away.

As we lose ourselves in each other, I feel a spark of warmth cutting through the cold dread that’s been consuming me.

I know that tomorrow, reality will come crashing back. There will be consequences to face, difficult decisions to make. But for now, in the safety of Angelo’s arms, I let myself forget. I let myself feel.

Whatever happens next, at least I’m not facing it alone. And right now, that’s enough.

My hands move over his chest, feeling the hard muscles, the strength that lies beneath his skin. Every touch is electric, sending sparks of warmth cutting through the cold dread that’s been wrapping around my heart.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring mine with a hunger that leaves me breathless. It’s like he’s trying to claim me, to make me forget. I feel a flicker of life, a spark of heat. I’m not just surviving. I’m feeling. I’m wanting .

Angelo’s hands move lower, skimming over my waist, my hips, and I arch into him, craving more. Our breaths mingle, our movements frantic as we lose ourselves in each other. His lips trail down my neck, nipping at my skin, and I can’t help the moan that escapes me. The sound is raw, needy, and it only seems to spur him on.

“Angelo,” I gasp, tilting my head back to give him better access. “I want you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with desire. “You sure?” he asks again, his voice husky, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Yes,” I breathe, my voice trembling with need. “I want you, Angelo. I need you.”

His expression shifts, a possessive, almost predatory look taking over his features. “Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

“Yes,” I moan, the word barely a whisper. “I trust you.”

A wicked smile curves his lips, and he steps back, his eyes never leaving mine. The air between us crackles with tension, with the promise of what’s to come. He turns and reaches over to his bedside drawer and opens it. My heart races as I watch him pull out a pair of silver handcuffs, the sight sending a thrill of excitement coursing through me.

He holds them up, his eyes glittering with intent. “Let me show you just how much I want you,” he says, his voice dark and commanding.

I swallow hard, my body already reacting to the sight of the cuffs, the anticipation of what he’s going to do. I nod, unable to find my voice, and Angelo’s smile widens.

“Good,” he murmurs, walking back to me, his movements slow, deliberate. “Then turn around, Fee. Put your hands behind your back.”