Between Loyalty and You

Chapter 19 (Sofia's POV)

The messages started the morning after the balcony.

I woke to a single notification from the same unknown number.

*Sleep well?*

I stared at it for a long moment before typing back.

*As well as anyone can when their father is planning to marry them off to a stranger.*

The reply came almost immediately.

*That isn’t happening. Eat something. I’ll check in later.*

And then, right before the conversation ended:

*Delete everything.*

I did.

It became a pattern.

He messaged at odd hours—early morning, late afternoon, sometimes deep into the night when the house was silent and the only light in my room came from the phone screen. Never long conversations. Never anything that stayed. Just enough to keep the connection alive while the rest of the world tried to pull us apart.

On the third day he sent something different.

*Cara mia.*

I blinked at the words.

*What does that mean?*

*My dear. My beloved. Something soft enough that if anyone ever saw it, it would look like nothing. From now on, that’s what you are when we talk like this. And you’ll call me something just as ordinary. Pick one. Italian. Harmless if the wrong eyes ever land on your screen.*

I thought about it longer than I needed to.

*Amore.*

A pause.

*Amore it is. Now delete this thread and go about your day like the dutiful daughter everyone expects.*

I deleted it, but the warmth of the nickname stayed under my skin for hours.

The first time the messages turned filthy was five days after I came home.

I was in my room after dinner, door locked, the estate quiet around me. My phone lit up.

*Amore. Tell me what you’re wearing.*

I bit my lip.

*Soft sleep shorts. One of your shirts I may have stolen before I left. Nothing underneath.*

*Good girl. Put your hand between your legs for me. Don’t come until I say you can.*

My breath caught. I slid my palm down, past the waistband of the shorts, and found myself already wet. The phone stayed in my other hand.

*I’m touching myself.*

*Describe it.*

*Two fingers. Slow. I’m thinking about your mouth on the balcony. How you didn’t care that someone could have walked out and seen.*

*I cared. I just wanted you more than I cared. Curl your fingers the way I do. Right there. Harder.*

I obeyed, biting down on a sound when the angle hit the spot he always found so easily. My hips shifted against the mattress.

*I’m close already.*

*Not yet. Take your hand away.*

I made a frustrated noise into the pillow and pulled my fingers free. The ache was immediate and sharp.

*You’re cruel.*

*You like it. Put them back. f**k yourself on your hand the way you f****d yourself on my c**k the morning your father called. Remember how full you were?*

I did. God, I did. My fingers worked faster, the wet sound soft in the quiet room. My free hand clenched the sheets.

*Amore—please—*

*Come. Now. Quietly.*

The orgasm hit hard and muffled against the pillow, thighs shaking, phone still clutched in my hand as the waves rolled through me. I lay there panting, the aftershocks still fluttering, when the next message arrived.

*Good girl. Clean your fingers. Then delete every word of this. I’ll find a way to see you soon.*

I stared at the screen for a long second, still trembling, before I deleted the entire thread and set the phone face-down on the nightstand.

He never forgot the last instruction.

No matter how late the messages ran, no matter how explicit they became, the final line was always the same.

*Delete everything, cara mia.*

I always did.

By the end of the first week the nicknames had settled into something natural. *Cara mia* in the mornings when he checked that I had slept. *Amore* when the messages turned darker and needier. I answered in kind, the Italian words feeling like a thin, necessary shield between our real names and the risk of a phone that might one day fall into the wrong hands.

My father mentioned Matteo Ricci twice more that week. The informal meeting was being arranged. A private dinner at a neutral restaurant, just the four of us—my father, Ricci, Matteo, and me. Dante would join for drinks afterward to give his “read” on the younger man. Every time the subject came up I felt the same cold weight in my stomach, followed by the memory of Dante’s voice on the balcony.

*You will not marry him.*

I held on to that.

On the eighth night the messages came later than usual. I was already in bed when the phone lit up.

*Cara mia. Can’t sleep?*

*Thinking about the meeting. About what happens if your plan doesn’t work fast enough.*

*It will work. Trust me.*

A longer pause.

*Are you alone?*

*Yes.*

*Take the shirt off. I want to know you’re bare when you touch yourself for me tonight.*

I pulled the stolen shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor. The cool air of the room tightened my n*****s instantly.

*It’s off.*

*Pinch them for me. Hard enough that you feel it tomorrow.*

I did. The sharp sting made me inhale through my teeth.

*Now between your legs. Two fingers. Tell me how wet you are.*

*Soaked. I’ve been thinking about you all day.*

*Good. f**k yourself slowly. I want you aching before I let you come.*

The next twenty minutes blurred into heat and quiet, desperate messages. He controlled every stroke, every pause, every time I was allowed to speed up or forced to stop. By the time he finally told me to come I was shaking and biting the pillow to stay silent. The orgasm left me limp and empty in the best way.

His last message arrived while I was still catching my breath.

*Beautiful. Now delete everything, amore. Sleep. I’ve got pieces moving. This ends before anyone puts a ring on your finger that isn’t mine.*

I deleted the thread with steady fingers, set the phone aside, and stared at the dark ceiling of my childhood bedroom.

The messages were a thin, dangerous lifeline. The nicknames were a thin, necessary lie. And somewhere across the city Dante was quietly dismantling the future my father was trying to build for me, one calculated move at a time.

I closed my eyes and held on to the only two words that felt true in the dark.

*Cara mia.*

*Amore.*