(Marco's POV)
Marco stood by the large windows overlooking the courtyard, his fists clenched at his sides. He could still hear Luca’s soft, placating voice drifting through the halls. He was always the nice one, the one who believed they could play nice in a world filled with enemies.
Marco knew better.
Bringing Sophia here had been a mistake. He didn’t care how desperate she was or how much the Rossettis wanted her dead—she was a complication. A distraction they couldn’t afford. And distractions in their world were deadly.
He had seen the way Luca looked at her, like she was someone he could save. It was pathetic. Sophia wasn’t one of them. She didn’t understand the weight of their world, the blood that stained every inch of their empire. She would crumble under the pressure.
Still, Marco couldn’t deny that there was something about her. Something that made him want to unravel the layers she kept so tightly wound around her. The way she had looked at him earlier, fire in her eyes, defiance in her stance—she wasn’t scared. She should have been. He had tried to intimidate her, push her away, but all it did was spark something inside her.
Dangerous.
Sophia was dangerous in a way Marco hadn’t anticipated.
The sound of a car pulling up outside drew Marco’s attention, and his instincts flared. He narrowed his eyes, watching as two black SUVs came to a stop just outside the gates.
Rossetti cars.
Marco’s blood ran cold as he turned from the window. It seemed their enemies had come calling far sooner than expected.