Chapter 21: Sophia
1193 Words
Sophia kept her head low as she moved through the dimly lit streets, the hood of her coat pulled over her curls to shield her face from prying eyes. The weight of the pistol in her pocket was reassuring, but it did little to calm the storm in her chest. She had been careful—always careful—but tonight, something felt off.
She stepped into a secluded alley, her heels clicking softly against the pavement before stopping in front of an unmarked door. A single knock. Pause. Two more.
A slot in the door slid open, revealing dark, suspicious eyes.
“You’re late.”
Sophia exhaled, irritation flickering in her gaze. “Traffic.”
The door creaked open, and she slipped inside. The air was thick with the scent of cigars and old leather, a stark contrast to the crisp night air outside.
At the far end of the room, sitting in a high-backed chair, was a man she hadn’t seen in years. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, his sharp features partially obscured by the shadows.
Lorenzo De Luca.
One of the last men her father had trusted before everything fell apart.
He watched her with quiet amusement, swirling a glass of amber liquid in his hand. “La bella ragazza returns,” he mused. “You have your mother’s eyes, but your father’s recklessness.”
Sophia stiffened at the mention of her father. “I don’t have time for games, Lorenzo.”
He chuckled, setting his drink aside. “Ah, but that’s all this world is, isn’t it? One big game of survival.” He leaned forward. “Tell me, Sophia, how deep are you in?”
She hesitated. If she told him the truth, she risked exposing herself. But if she lied, she risked losing his help entirely.
Finally, she spoke. “Victor Moretti needs answers. And I intend to find them.”
Lorenzo arched a brow. “Moretti?” A slow smile spread across his face. “You always did have a taste for dangerous men.”
Sophia clenched her jaw. “Are you going to help me or not?”
He studied her for a long moment before standing and walking over to a cabinet. He pulled out an old, dust-covered file and tossed it onto the table between them.
“Your father kept secrets. Ones that got him killed.”
Sophia’s breath hitched.
Lorenzo tapped the file. “Inside, you’ll find pieces of a puzzle that men like Victor have been trying to solve for years.” His voice lowered. “And if you dig too deep, you might not like what you find.”
Sophia swallowed hard. She had spent years chasing the truth, but standing at the edge of it now, she wasn’t sure if she was ready.
Still, she reached for the file.
Because ready or not, she had come too far to stop now.
Sophia sat in the back of a dimly lit café, the file Lorenzo had given her spread across the table. The pages were aged, some yellowed at the edges, and the ink had faded in places. It was a mix of handwritten notes, newspaper clippings, and confidential documents stamped with the seal of the Italian government.
Every piece of paper held fragments of a conspiracy that had long been buried.
Her father’s name, Marco De Luca, appeared several times—alongside Victor’s father, Matteo Moretti, and another name she hadn’t expected.
Rafael "Don" Rican.
Sophia’s pulse quickened. She traced her fingers over the name, the realization settling in like cold steel against her skin.
Rican wasn’t just some powerful outsider looking to pull Victor into his world. He had been involved long before now.
She flipped through the pages, scanning for more details.
One note stood out, scrawled in the margins of an old contract:
“Trust is a currency more valuable than money. Matteo is running out of both.”
Her father had written that.
She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus. If Rican had a history with the Morettis, then Victor needed to know. But Lorenzo had been right—this wasn’t just about Victor. It was about her father’s death, the reason behind it, and the unfinished business he had left behind.
A shadow fell over her table.
Sophia’s instincts kicked in immediately. Her hand slid beneath her coat, fingers grazing the cool metal of her pistol.
“Relax, bella.”
She looked up, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Enrico "Rico" Salerno.
He was one of Rican’s men—a fixer, an enforcer, a ghost that only appeared when something needed cleaning up.
And he was smiling at her.
“What do you want, Rico?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay steady.
He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down as if they were old friends catching up over coffee. “You’ve been busy, Sophia. Digging where you shouldn’t be.” His gaze flicked to the file. “That’s dangerous.”
She held his stare. “And yet, here you are.”
Rico chuckled, leaning back. “Don Rican doesn’t like loose ends, you know that.” He nodded at the papers. “Your father was a loose end. Giovanni Moretti was a loose end. And now…” He tilted his head. “You’re getting close to becoming one, too.”
Sophia tightened her grip beneath the table. “Are you here to threaten me?”
Rico’s smile didn’t falter. “No, bella. I’m here to offer you an opportunity.”
She frowned.
“Come work for Rican. Bring that sharp mind of yours to the winning side. He sees potential in you.”
Sophia let out a dry laugh. “You think I’d betray Victor for Rican?”
Rico shrugged. “Survival isn’t about loyalty. It’s about making the right choices before someone makes them for you.”
Sophia leaned forward, her voice deadly quiet. “I don’t play for other men, Rico. I make my own moves.”
A flicker of something—respect, maybe—crossed his expression.
“Shame,” he murmured. “I actually liked you.”
Sophia felt the shift in the air a second before it happened.
Rico’s hand moved for something inside his jacket.
She moved first.
In a flash, her gun was out, pressed beneath the table against his stomach.
“Careful,” she warned, her finger tightening on the trigger. “I’d hate to ruin your suit.”
Rico stilled, his eyes dark with amusement. “You’ve got nerve, De Luca.”
“I learned from the best,” she shot back.
For a tense moment, neither moved. Then, slowly, Rico lifted his hands in surrender.
“No hard feelings,” he said, rising from his seat. “Just business.”
Sophia watched as he walked out of the café, her adrenaline still thrumming through her veins.
She exhaled and glanced back at the file.
If Rican thought she was going to back down, he was dead wrong.
She had started this to find answers.
Now, she was in the middle of a war.
And she intended to win.
- Writer
