Chapter Six - The Owner
1700 Words
From the second-floor office, Nick Russo watched the woman at the end of the bar.
Sofia Moretti.
Daughter of Vittorio Moretti.
Rumored assassin.
Ghost.
For years, intelligence reports had described her as emotionless. Efficient. Invisible.
None of them had mentioned that she smiled at piano music.
Or that she looked completely overwhelmed trying to order her first drink.
Luca stepped beside him.
“That’s her.”
Nick nodded once.
“I know.”
“You want us to remove her?”
“No.”
Luca glanced at him, then back at the bar.
“You think she’s here for a hit?”
Nick studied Sofia another moment.
If she were—
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“…I’d already be dead.”
She wasn’t scanning exits anymore.
She wasn’t watching reflections.
She was simply listening to the pianist, her shoulders easing by degrees as if the music had found a place in her she hadn’t known was there.
Whatever had brought her here—
it wasn’t business.
It was something quieter.
More dangerous, maybe, because of that.
“Keep everyone back,” Nick said.
“No weapons drawn.”
“No confrontation.”
Luca frowned.
“You’re going down there.”
“I’m going to ask a woman why she looks like she’s wandered into the wrong life.”
⸻
Sofia didn’t notice him until he stopped beside the empty stool.
“You’ve been staring at that piano for almost half an hour.”
His voice was calm.
Warm.
Not loud enough to draw attention.
She turned.
The man standing beside her looked familiar somehow.
Not personally.
Comfortably.
Like someone who belonged wherever he happened to be.
He was dressed simply, but nothing about him felt simple. Broad shoulders beneath a dark shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearms, a watch that looked expensive without trying to be noticed. His expression was easy, but his eyes were not. They were steady in a way that made her aware of herself in a sudden, irritatingly precise manner.
He smiled politely.
“Mind if I sit?”
She glanced at the empty stool, then at him.
“It’s yours if you want it.”
He sat, leaving enough space between them that she didn’t feel crowded.
Still, she was aware of him in a way she hadn’t expected to be. The faint scent of cedar and whiskey. The quiet confidence in the way he settled in, as if he had all the time in the world and none of it was wasted.
For several moments, neither of them spoke.
The piano filled the silence instead.
Finally he nodded toward the stage.
“You look like you’re trying to solve a puzzle.”
Sofia looked back at the pianist.
“Maybe I am.”
“What kind?”
She considered lying.
Instead…
“I’ve never heard someone play because they wanted to.”
He turned toward her.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve only ever seen people perform because they were expected to.”
He followed her gaze to the pianist, then back to her face.
“I think he wants to.”
“I know.”
She smiled faintly, almost to herself.
“I just didn’t know people were allowed.”
Nick felt something tighten in his chest.
Allowed.
Not able.
Allowed.
Interesting.
And unexpectedly intimate, the way she said it, as if she’d spent her whole life standing just outside the edge of things and only now realized there might be a door.
The bartender approached.
“The usual?”
Nick nodded.
“Please.”
He looked at Sofia.
“Another one?”
She glanced at her nearly empty glass.
“I probably shouldn’t.”
“Probably not.”
A teasing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“But sometimes probably isn’t a good enough reason.”
To his surprise…
She laughed.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t practiced.
It sounded…
Unused.
And for one brief second, the sound did something to him he didn’t care to name. It was too soft to be dangerous and somehow more dangerous because of that.
The bartender returned with two fresh drinks.
“This one’s on the house.”
Sofia immediately reached for her purse.
“I should pay.”
Nick shook his head.
“Consider it a welcome.”
She hesitated.
“You don’t even know me.”
“No.”
He picked up his glass, watching her over the rim.
“But everyone deserves one good evening.”
The words caught her off guard.
She looked down at the amber liquid before speaking.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever had one.”
Nick didn’t answer immediately.
He believed her.
That bothered him more than it should.
Something in her face shifted when she realized he wasn’t going to argue. Not pity. Not disbelief. Just quiet acceptance. It seemed to unsettle her more than sympathy would have.
“So…”
He leaned comfortably against the bar, though every instinct in him had sharpened.
“What brought you here tonight?”
Sofia traced the rim of her glass with one finger.
“My father told me to take two days for myself.”
“And you chose a piano bar.”
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
“No hobbies?”
She smiled sheepishly.
“I’ve never had time to find any.”
“No friends?”
A pause.
“No.”
“No boyfriend?”
She looked genuinely confused.
“I’ve never thought about it.”
Nick chuckled softly.
“I wasn’t expecting that answer.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been asked the question.”
Again…
He believed her.
None of it felt rehearsed.
She wasn’t trying to manipulate him.
If anything…
She seemed fascinated by ordinary conversation, by the simple fact that someone was asking her questions without wanting anything in return. It made her look younger somehow, and more guarded at the same time, as if curiosity itself was a risk she wasn’t used to taking.
“You’re different than I expected,” he admitted.
She looked at him curiously.
“You expected me?”
He recovered smoothly.
“I’ve seen you come through here once or twice.”
A small lie.
Necessary.
“I wondered why someone who looked so…”
He searched for the word.
“…careful…”
“…always sat alone.”
She looked down.
“I don’t know how not to.”
The honesty in her voice nearly made him forget who she was.
Nearly.
He couldn’t afford that.
Still, the words landed harder than they should have. Not because they were dramatic. Because they weren’t. She said them like a fact, like breathing, and that made them worse.
“So what do you do?” he asked casually.
There it was.
The question.
The one she’d been dreading.
“I work for my father’s company.”
“Family business?”
“Yes.”
“You enjoy it?”
She didn’t answer.
Not immediately.
Instead she asked,
“Have you ever spent so long doing something…”
“…that you couldn’t tell if you liked it…”
“…or if you simply didn’t know anything else?”
Nick looked at her for several quiet seconds.
He thought about his own father.
About inheriting an empire.
About all the choices that had never really been choices.
About the way responsibility could become a cage so polished you mistook it for a throne.
Finally he nodded.
“Yes.”
She looked relieved.
“As strange as that sounds…”
“It doesn’t.”
Their eyes met.
Neither looked away.
The pianist began another slow melody.
Around them, conversations continued, glasses clinked, couples danced.
Yet the world seemed to shrink to the two strangers sitting quietly at the end of the bar.
Nick realized he had almost forgotten why he’d come downstairs.
To assess a threat.
Instead…
He’d found a woman who looked profoundly lonely.
Dangerous?
Absolutely.
Broken?
Without question.
But there was something else too, something he didn’t want to examine too closely. A softness under the armor. A loneliness so deep it made her seem almost untouchable. And the strange part was that she didn’t seem to know she was beautiful in the way she held herself back.
Sofia glanced toward the stage again.
“I should probably go.”
Nick nodded.
“I won’t keep you.”
She stood, smoothing the emerald fabric of her dress. The movement drew his attention before he could stop it—the line of her throat, the delicate tension in her fingers, the way she seemed to gather herself before stepping away from him as if leaving required more effort than arriving had.
“Thank you…”
She hesitated.
“I never asked your name.”
He smiled.
“Nick.”
She offered a small smile in return.
“Sofia.”
“I know,” he thought.
But aloud he simply said,
“It was nice meeting you.”
“You too.”
She turned and walked toward the door.
Nick watched her until she disappeared into the night.
Only then did Luca approach.
“So?”
Nick didn’t answer immediately.
His eyes remained on the empty doorway.
“She wasn’t here to kill me.”
“You sure?”
Nick nodded.
“Tonight…”
A thoughtful pause.
“…she came here looking for herself.”
Luca frowned.
“You trust her?”
Nick looked down at the untouched whiskey in front of him.
“No.”
A beat.
“But I don’t think anyone has ever given her a reason to trust herself.”
Upstairs, after the bar had emptied, Nick opened Sofia’s intelligence file once more.
The photograph showed a woman dressed in black tactical gear.
Hair pulled tightly back.
Expression cold.
Eyes empty.
He looked toward the now-vacant stool where she’d spent the evening laughing quietly over her first cocktail.
They looked like two different women.
For the first time in years…
Nick wondered if the reports were wrong.
Or if someone had spent a lifetime making sure Sofia Moretti never had the chance to become the woman she’d been tonight.
And that thought was far more dangerous than any assassin.
- Writer
