Chapter Twelve - The Bruise
1028 Words
Chapter Twelve
The Bruise
Sofia almost turned the car around twice.
The bruise beneath her eye had darkened overnight, spreading in shades of purple and blue despite every attempt to conceal it.
The cut on her cheek was easier to hide.
The exhaustion wasn’t.
Her father had ordered her to return.
Not because he believed she’d make progress.
Because he wanted to know if she could still smile after he’d reminded her what happened when she forgot herself.
She parked outside the piano bar and stared at the entrance.
“This is a mission.”
She whispered the words.
The sentence felt empty.
She walked inside.
⸻
Nick saw her before the bell above the door finished ringing.
His chest tightened.
She moved differently.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Her shoulders were drawn inward.
The spark he’d seen over the last few evenings had disappeared.
Luca looked up from the bar.
“Damn.”
Nick didn’t answer.
He was already moving.
⸻
“Evening.”
Sofia looked up.
Nick smiled.
Not too much.
Just enough.
“I’m glad you came back.”
She searched his face.
Nothing.
No pity.
No questions.
No shock.
For some reason…
That made her want to cry.
“You have a table?”
She blinked.
“A table?”
“It’s quieter.”
He nodded toward a booth tucked away in the corner of the bar instead of the stools where they’d been sitting.
She hesitated only a moment before following him.
It felt… private.
Dangerously private.
⸻
After the waitress took their drink orders, silence settled between them.
Nick leaned back comfortably.
“You look tired.”
She almost laughed.
“Is that your polite way of saying I look terrible?”
“No.”
His eyes met hers.
“If I thought you looked terrible…”
“…I’d tell you to go home and sleep.”
Another silence.
She waited.
Surely he’d ask.
Who did it?
What happened?
Instead he simply picked up the menu.
“So…”
“What are we eating?”
She frowned.
“Eating?”
“You skipped dinner yesterday.”
“How do you know?”
“You kept looking at the dessert menu.”
She stared.
“You noticed?”
“I notice a lot.”
The corner of her mouth lifted despite herself.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She looked away.
“I forgot.”
Nick nodded once.
“I believe that.”
⸻
Their food arrived.
Sofia realized halfway through the first bite how hungry she actually was.
Nick pretended not to notice how quickly she finished half the plate.
He quietly slid the basket of bread toward her.
No comment.
No sympathy.
Just bread.
Somehow…
That kindness hurt more than questions would have.
⸻
She remembered why she’d come.
The mission.
“Can I ask you something?”
Nick looked up.
“Of course.”
“You own this place.”
“I do.”
“And several businesses?”
“A few.”
“How do you decide who to trust?”
There it was.
The first real mission question.
Nick recognized it instantly.
He smiled to himself.
So…
Vittorio had finally applied pressure.
He answered anyway.
“Time.”
She frowned.
“That’s it?”
“People tell you who they are.”
“You just have to give them enough time.”
She considered that answer.
“It sounds risky.”
“It is.”
“But trust isn’t built by demanding it.”
His eyes held hers.
“It’s built by earning it.”
For reasons she couldn’t explain…
She suddenly felt guilty.
⸻
“You?”
Nick asked.
“Who do you trust?”
The answer came automatically.
“My father.”
The words left her mouth.
She hated them immediately.
Because they weren’t true anymore.
Not completely.
Nick noticed the hesitation.
He didn’t challenge it.
Instead he asked quietly,
“Who else?”
Silence.
Long.
Painful.
Finally she shook her head.
“No one.”
His heart broke a little.
⸻
Halfway through the meal, Sofia reached for her glass.
The sleeve of her sweater slid back just enough.
Dark bruises circled her wrist.
Finger-shaped.
Old enough to be yellowing.
New enough to still hurt.
Nick saw them.
His entire body went still.
He looked away immediately.
She noticed.
Quickly pulling her sleeve down.
“I’m sorry.”
She wasn’t even sure why she apologized.
Nick set his glass down carefully.
His voice remained calm.
“You never have to apologize to me.”
The simplicity of the sentence almost undid her.
⸻
When the evening ended, Nick walked her to the front door.
The city had gone quiet.
Rain misted across the sidewalk.
“I’ll see you soon?”
She hesitated.
“I’d like that.”
She disappeared into the night.
Nick remained standing beneath the awning until her taillights vanished.
Only then did Luca step beside him.
“You saw the wrists.”
Nick nodded.
“The eye.”
Another nod.
“The cheek.”
Silence.
Luca looked at him carefully.
“You know what this means.”
Nick’s jaw flexed.
“No.”
His voice was lower than Luca had ever heard it.
“I know what it confirms.”
“And what’s that?”
Nick looked toward the empty street.
“The reports were wrong.”
“They called her Moretti’s weapon.”
He shook his head slowly.
“They should have called her his prisoner.”
Luca waited.
“What do we do?”
Nick’s eyes hardened.
“For now?”
He looked back toward the bar where Sofia had been laughing only days before.
“We keep her alive.”
A long pause followed.
Then he added quietly,
“And I find out exactly who thought they had the right to put their hands on her.”
For the first time in years…
Dominic Russo wasn’t thinking about the archive.
Or the war.
Or the Five Families.
He was thinking about one bruised woman…
…and the man who had put those bruises there.
Without realizing it…
Vittorio Moretti had just given Nick a new enemy.
Himself.
- Writer
