23. Chapter Twenty-Three

I park at the end of Sophie’s driveway and step out of my car thirty minutes after driving away.

Thirty minutes, and already it feels like a year ago because of the drastic change that has happened since I was last here. The air is charged with tension now. Something’s off. The usual suburban calm feels disrupted, like a storm gathering in the distance.

I glance around the street, eyes narrowing at the unfamiliar pair of SUVs parked in the driveway across the street. A sense of foreboding ghosts down my spine, raising the hairs at the back of my neck. I know without a doubt Romano is here.

I should have stayed with her. I should have fucking stayed.

Images play behind my eyes like a morbid movie reel, all the horrific ways Romano has left his victims. But they’re not strangers in this reel; every one of them is Sophie, her face contorted in agony, her body mutilated.

My stomach roils as I abandon any semblance of stealth and cover the distance up her front walk in long strides. At the door, I pause, listening. The silence is like an unsettling whisper. Every instinct screams that somethings not right.

I try the door and find it’s locked. The urge to kick down the door and charge in is potent, but this isn’t the movies. Doors and deadbolts don’t smash open from a determined kick.

I reach into the breast of my jacket for my ever-present folding metal lockpick kit, then crouch down in front of the door. With a flick of my wrist, the tumblers yield, and the lock gives way without a sound. I close my eyes for a moment, anchoring myself as I reach for my Glock from its holster.

Unease tightens in my chest as I push on the door with my free hand. It swings open soundlessly, not even with its signature squeak this time.

“Screw… you… Romano,” I hear her rasp right before I see her.

Sophie is on the living room floor, one arm stretched out to the side, trying to reach for something. The glint of her dagger is just a hair’s breadth from her fingertips, but she can’t reach it.

Romano is standing over her, his hands noticeably empty—no gun. But his foot is on Sophie’s chest, pinning her to the fucking floor.

I see red; it’s a haze that settles over everything, and it seeps inside me, turning me feral, making me thirst for violence and bloodshed like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

I want to sink my teeth into Romano’s neck; I want to tear him apart with my bare hands until he’s nothing but sinew and bones.

I’ve taken in the scene in the blink of an eye, but it’s enough time for Romano to turn to face me. There’s a fleeting moment of shock in his eyes, but it passes quickly, settling into a satisfied expression.

He didn’t expect me to appear without warning. Which means—

“Behind…” Sophie croaks at the same time I hear them. I spin around, gun ready.

There are two men on Sophie’s front step, creeping up soundlessly, guns in their hands. I fire without hesitation, putting a bullet into each of their foreheads before either of them can get a shot off.

They collapse to the ground, but they’ve cost me time because by the time I spin back to face Romano, he’s got his gun out now, aimed where it will do the most damage, straight at Sophie’s heart.

Oh, fuck.

There’s no time to pounce, no time to rip him apart as I so desperately desire. I need one shot; one chance. A bullet straight between his eyes. Or else he’ll fire reflexively as my bullet hits him, and kill Sophie.

For the first time in my adult life, I pray.

“Seriously, Romano?” I drawl lazily, forcing a deceptive nonchalance into my tone. “You’ll take a shot at my slut over me? Is that because you know you’re dead anyway?”

Shock and indignation colors Sophie’s tone. “You’re an asshole, Nico Vitelli. You told me you loved me! You said that I was special, different from all those other sluts.”

My heart leaps because Sophie instantly gets what I’m doing. Keep going, baby.

She sniffs, then croaks, “You promised we were going to get married as soon as Romano came crawling back to you.”

“Shut up,” I spit, shooting Romano a nervous look.

“I will not shut up!” Sophie retorts. “You promised me the world as soon as you get the Cartel to pull out of Romano’s deal and back you instead…”

Romano looks like he actually believes the tale Sophie is spinning because he swings and aims the gun at me, improving the odds dramatically. I almost sigh in relief.

“Guess what, Vitelli. Your game is up. You’re a dead—what the fuck…?” Romano trails off, unwittingly staring as George streaks across the living room. Wearing, as usual, a diaper.

It’s the split second I need.

I raise my gun, aim, and pull the trigger before Romano can recover from the sight.

The bullet hits its mark, dead center between Romano’s eyes. He’s brain-dead in an instant. His hand lets go of the gun, and it falls, landing on the floor right beside Sophie as his wiry body tumbles backward onto the floor.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been holding my breath, but I draw in deep and let it out while my chest heaves.

She almost died. She almost fucking died because of me.

I close the distance and fall to my knees beside Sophie, dragging her off the floor and into my arms. “Oh, my love,” I breathe her in and gather her trembling body close.

She buries her face in my chest and winds her arms around my neck just as tightly as I hold her.

When her breathing slows, she leans back to look at me. There are tears in her amber eyes, but her cheeks are dry. It isn’t until she blinks that one errant teardrop slips free, cascading down her cheek. I catch the drop with my thumb, then gently splay my fingers around her bruising neck.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Where else does it hurt?” I run my fingers through the back of her scalp because chokeholds usually come with blows to the head.

She winces at the same moment I find the small lump at the back of her head. I quickly bring my hand back, relieved when I see there’s no blood.

Then, as if just noticing the dead bodies on the floor, my jaw slackens as I take in the carnage. A throat sliced out. And precise, mortal stab wounds to the other.

“Fucking hell, Sparrow, What the fuck happened here?”

She shrugs, and a small smirk lifts the corner of her mouth. “Romano got bored of watching his goons die and knocked me over the head. Otherwise, Nico, I was handling it.”

I can’t help the slight chuckle that escapes me. But I notice, despite her efforts to be blasé about it, her eyes are not quite meeting mine. Her hoarse voice and the bruising around her neck make it clear that the son of a bitch had tried to choke her. She must have been scared shitless.

The feral animal returns. If ever one could will a man back to life, it’s me, now. I’d bring Pascal Romano back just to tear him into shreds.

But Sophie doesn’t need the feral animal, not now. I holster my gun and force myself to look down at the bloody corpses on her living room floor. “Indeed, fiammetta, you fucking handled it.”

She killed two of Romano’s men all on her own, for Chrissake. It’s a testament to how deranged I am because that is, hands down, the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. If this woman had me by the throat before, now, she’s got me by the fucking balls.

Sophie’s gaze turns to the floor, and her lips part as she goes a shade paler. She’s looking at the two goons, covered in blood, their lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. I think what she’s done is only just sinking in. What she was forced to do because I hadn’t been here.

I pick her off the floor and swing her up into my arms, carrying her outside just in time for a few SUVs to screech to a stop.

Dante tears out of the first one, then visibly sags in relief. “Mio Dio, fratello, what the hell happened here?”

“Romano is dead, that’s what happened here. Have the usual clean-up crew here, and tell Pietro to give the duck to Mrs. Willoughby next door. Otherwise, I don’t want the neighbors getting alarmed. I’m taking Sophie home.”

“Si. Is she okay, though? Are you alright, Sophie?” Dante looks her over, his eyes still wide with shock and alarm. He must have feared the worst when he couldn’t contact me.

“Hi, Dante,” she croaks.

His gaze immediately goes to her neck. “Shit.” He brings out his phone. “I’m calling the doc to meet you at your penthouse.”

“Grazie, Dante.” I start toward one of the cars and then turn back. “And what about our friend?”

“Safe as a clam and airborne,” he says, meeting my gaze head-on.

Although I’m relieved, I can’t help cocking an eyebrow. Dante has never disobeyed my order before.

“Romano was at large. Besides, I knew you didn’t mean it, fratello. It was the hurt speaking.”

Something in Dante’s face tells me he knows all about wanting to lash out when one is hurting. I nod gratefully to him then I head to the car.

As soon as I settle Sophie into the back seat of the SUV, she whispers, “Miguel Ramirez.”

“Who?”

“One of those men was my client. And I killed him.”

“Back up. You knew one of Romano’s men?”

“He is—” She pauses. “was my Monday morning client.”

“The snotty Wall Street kid? Really?”

“Yeah. Only, Miguel wasn’t just Romano’s man. He was a Cartel member. Maria, Victoria, and apparently, I were supposed to be sold to the Cartel the moment Leo flaked on Romano’s orders.”

“What?” I knew Romano was depraved enough to want to turn Maria into one of his working girls, but selling them to the Cartel?

She raises glassy eyes to me. “You saved me, Nico. You showed up at my office the very morning Miguel wanted to kidnap me. And every other time they planned to take me from home.”

“Baby. I’m sure the outcome would have been the same as it was tonight. You would have killed him.”

“I would have tried to fight him off. But I wouldn’t have had you saving my life when it really mattered.”

I reach into the back seat where I know Dante always has water bottles, twist off the cap of one, then offer it to Sophie, just as Dante gets in and wordlessly starts to drive.

Sophie remains silent in my arms for a couple of minutes, and then she starts to sob. “Oh my God, I killed my client.”

“He gave you no choice,baby.”

I gave you no choice. The guilt is killing me here. Never in my life have I felt the urge to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness for not being there when I should have. I stroke her back, murmuring reassurances to her.

When her sobs quieten, I look into her haunted eyes. “I think this therapist is going to need some therapy.”

She nods. “I think so, too.”

“I’m really sorry love.” I blurt out.

She glances at me. “For what?”

“Doubting you earlier.” If I hadn’t, none of this would have happened. She’d have no bruising around her neck, no blood on her hands, no splatter all over her clothes from the men she’s killed.

She keeps looking at me, wheels clearly turning behind her eyes, but not surprisingly, I have no clue what she’s thinking. “You checked your voicemail?” she asks.

“No, not yet,” I reply.

Her brow furrows. “Then what changed your mind?”

“You did,” I tell her honestly.

Her brow furrows more.

“I realized that I trusted you. It was just—old habits. I should have known better.”

The tense set of her shoulders eases, and she nods. “Its okay, Nico, I understand. You came back—that’s what matters.”

“Just like that?” I tease. “I was sure I’d have to grovel all the way to Harmony and back.”

She smiles. It’s tremulous, and she’s still too pale, but it’s genuine. She strains toward me, closing the space between us. “You can start groveling tomorrow. Tonight, I need you too much.”

“You have me, baby,” I murmur against her lips. “Always.”

We stay like that for long moments, not quite kissing, just breathing each other in, our mouths touching.

“I love you too, Nico Vitelli.”

“Ah, fiammetta. What have you done with that shiny new black and white box?”

She smiles. “Oh, that? I doused it in gasoline and set it on fire.”

I laugh, but she’s unable to do much more than grin with bruising around her throat.

Our life will never be picture-perfect, not like the white-picket happy endings in cheesy movies. It will be messy and violent and will probably involve more stepping around dead bodies than the average couple’s.

But it’s real, and it’s Sophie, and I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. I want this woman with a spine of steel and a heart of gold—not just for now, but forever.