Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

S ofia

I t had taken weeks of negotiations, strings pulled in every corner of the legal system, and a lot of favors called in, but Massimo finally got my father out. In the end, we got him released on a technicality that Enzo had uncovered in the mountains of paperwork involved with the case. I could still remember the look on my father's face when he'd walked out of those prison gates, confusion mixed with relief, his eyes scanning the horizon for a familiar face.

I'd been waiting for him.

Two days had slipped by, and I hadn't allowed Massimo anywhere near my father. I needed to handle this myself first, to explain, to help him understand what Massimo meant to me before he stormed in and asserted his presence in my life. I had to make Papa see that this was my choice—that I loved Massimo, and no matter what happened, I wouldn't be walking away from him.

In that time, Papa had called and messaged countless times, his voice tinged with concern and frustration, asking why I hadn't come home, why I was staying with Massimo instead. I knew he was worried, that he feared I was making a mistake, but this was something I had to make him see for himself.

So I arranged a meeting. I sent him a message, asking him to meet me at our favorite café in the city, the one with the tiny tables and the rich, dark coffee we both enjoyed. The same place he used to take me every Sunday morning when life was simpler, and my only concern was whether to choose a croissant or a muffin for breakfast.

I waited, sipping on a cappuccino, the bitter taste settling my nerves as I sat by the window, watching the door. I could feel my heart pounding, the uncertainty twisting in my stomach. I knew this wasn't going to be easy. Papa was stubborn, protective—everything a father should be. But I needed him to hear me out, to understand that this was real, and that it wasn't some reckless fling.

When the door finally opened, and I saw him step inside, I felt a rush of relief mixed with dread. He looked tired, his face drawn and pale, but there was still a fire in his eyes. His gaze softened when he saw me though, just like it always did.

"Sofia," he greeted me, his voice low, cautious, as he pulled out the chair across from me. "You wanted to talk?"

I nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yes, Papa," I replied, trying to keep my tone light. "There's something important I need to tell you."

He eyed me warily, his hands clasping together on the table. "Is this about Massimo?" he asked, cutting straight to the point.

I nodded again, my heart racing. "Yes," I admitted, meeting his gaze directly. "I need you to know… that he's not just helping me, Papa. He's… he's more than that. We're together."

His eyes widened, his jaw tightening. "Together?" he repeated, his voice sharp. "Sofia, what are you saying?"

I leaned in, lowering my voice, trying to soften the blow. "I love him, Papa," I confessed, feeling a rush of adrenaline. "And he loves me. We've decided… to be together, for real."

His face fell, disbelief mingling with anger. "You can't be serious," he muttered, shaking his head. "He's twice your age. You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Sofia."

"I know exactly what I'm getting into," I replied firmly, reaching across the table to grab his hand. "And I need you to trust me, Papa. I'm not a little girl anymore. I know what I want."

He pulled his hand away, his expression hardening. "You think you know, but you don't," he snapped. "Massimo is dangerous. He's?—"

"He's everything I need," I cut in, my voice strong, unwavering. "I'm not afraid of him. I'm not afraid of his world either. I chose it, Papa. I chose him."

He stared at me, stunned, the color draining from his face. "Sofia… you don't understand what you're saying."

I shook my head, feeling a surge of frustration. "No, Papa. You don't understand. This is my decision, and I'm not asking for your permission. I'm asking for your support."

Papa stared at me, his jaw clenched tight, the lines on his face deepening as he processed what I had just said. His eyes were stormy, a mixture of disbelief, anger, and something else—fear. The seconds ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last, until finally, he let out a long, slow breath.

"Sofia," he began, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I've spent my whole life keeping you out of this world. And now you're telling me… you've chosen him? You've chosen this life?"

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yes, Papa. I have."

He shook his head, his hands trembling slightly as he ran them over his face. "Do you even know what that means?" he muttered, his voice rising. "Do you have any idea what kind of man he is? The things he's done? The enemies he has?"

"I know," I replied calmly, though my heart was racing. "I know everything, Papa. And I've seen the man he is. The man behind the power, the one who is loyal, who is strong… who would do anything to protect me."

His eyes flashed with anger. "Protect you?" he scoffed. "By dragging you deeper into this mess? By making you a target?"

I leaned forward, keeping my voice steady. "He didn't drag me into anything, Papa. I chose this."

He slammed his fist on the table, making the cups rattle, his face dark with frustration. "You're blinded, Sofia," he snapped. "You don't see the danger… the real danger. Massimo is a powerful man, yes, but that power comes at a price. It comes with blood, with enemies who won't hesitate to use you to get to him."

I took a deep breath, refusing to back down. "I'm not naive, Papa," I said softly. "I know what I'm getting into. I know it's not easy. But I love him, and I'm not turning back."

He leaned back in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests as if trying to hold himself in place. "You don't understand what you're saying," he muttered. "You don't know what you're risking, what you could lose…"

"I know exactly what I'm risking," I interrupted, my voice firm. "And I'm willing to take that risk for him. For us."

He shook his head again, his expression pained. "You're my daughter," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I can't stand the thought of you… of you being in danger. Of you getting hurt because of him."

I reached out, touching his arm gently, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Papa," I whispered. "I need you to trust me. I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm strong, and I'm smart… and I'm in love. I need you to believe in me."

His eyes softened just a fraction, and for a moment, I saw the struggle in his expression—the battle between a father's fear and a father's love. "Sofia," he murmured hoarsely, "this… this isn't what I wanted for you."

"I know," I replied, squeezing his arm. "But it's what I want for me. And I need you to accept that."

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze shifting from me to the table, as if searching for answers. Then, finally, he looked up, his shoulders slumping just a little. "If I give you my blessing," he said quietly, "how can I know… that he'll protect you? That he'll keep you safe?"

I smiled softly, knowing this was the chance I'd been waiting for. "Because he's already proven it, Papa," I answered. "He got you out of prison. He did that for me… for us. He risked everything to make sure you were safe."

He exhaled slowly. "I need to hear it from him," he finally said, his voice firmer now. "I need to know he's serious… that he'll protect you, no matter what."

I nodded, feeling a surge of relief. "Then you will," I promised.

He nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair. "Alright," he said, his voice resigned but calm. "I'll hear him out."

"Thank you," I whispered.

"If he hurts you—" he began.

"I know. You'll kill him," I smirked.

"Damn right," he muttered.