CHAPTER 2: DANGER HAS A NAME
1872 Words
Sofia froze, the bullet casing warm in her palm; Emilio's voice cut through the air like a whip.
She got up gently, brushing straw off her clothes.
“You said I shouldn't wander at night. It is daytime now.”
Emilio emerged from the doorway's shadows, his face inscrutable. The light from the little window of the shed caught his dark eyes, causing them to shine with something not quite rage but not peaceful either.
"Day or night, you should not be here."
“I wasn't looking for anything.” She lied
He moved, another step toward her. “You were.”
Sofia swallowed hard. The shed seemed too little, overly warm all of a sudden.
“Why are there bullets out here, Emilio? Who was that man last night?”
Emilio tightened his jaw. He halted just a foot apart, the air between them charged.
He whispered, "You think you want answers. But you don't. Curiosity is a luxury you cannot afford here.”
“I'm not a kid.”
His eyes fell… just for a second… to the curve of her lips and the swift rise and fall of her chest. It then turned back to her eyes.
“No. You're not. That’s exactly the issue.”
A beat of silence passed, laden with unuttered words.
"You shouldn't look at me in that way, Sofia."
"Like what?" she whispered, though she already knew.
"Like you want me to forget who I am," he said, with a harsh voice.
"Forget your father's reaction if he saw you standing this close to me."
Her pulse fluttered.
She said, reckless now, "I don't care what he would do."
That had an effect on him. His face darkened, like a storm building behind his eyes.
“You might want to.”
He turned and exited, the door creaking behind him without another word.
But not before she noticed it: his slight hand tremor as he ran it through his hair. The c***k in his calm.
***
Back at the villa, Sofia sat in her room gazing out at the vineyard where danger bloomed under sunlight.
Every time she tried to understand Emilio, the ground under her changed. He was courteous.
Then abruptly cold. Then something else totally fierce and unguarded left her gasping.
She was obsessed with how he looked at her in the shed. Like he wished to kiss her and toss her out in the same breath.
And God help her… she desired the kiss.
***
Somewhere else in the estate…
With his arms folded, Luciano Bianchi rested on a pillar in the main hall as Emilio descended the marble stairs. His dark eyes trailed the Don with barely a concealed mistrust.
"You let her roam wherever she wants?" Luciano questioned quietly.
“She is a liability”
Emilio murmured, "She's Marco's daughter. She’s also not our prisoner.”
“She discovered the shed. She saw the cleanup last night.”
“Yes I know.”
Luciano moved nearer. “You're slipping, Emilio. You're not often this careless.”
Emilio turned sharply. "Watch your tone."
Luciano stood his ground. “You're using something other than your head. She is not a plaything. She is a fuse set to explode.”
Emilio didn't respond. He knew Luciano was right.
He could not help thinking about her. Her audacity. Her rebelliousness. The way her breathing caught whenever he moved closer.
She was twenty. He was forty.
This was a mistake.
But mistakes never tasted so sweet and beautiful.
***
Sofia woke up to a voice outside her window that night.
A whisper.
Not in Italian. But Russian.
She draws the curtain aside and spots a figure standing in the shadows talking into a phone.
"...she is here. Just as you said.”
The line went dead.
And the figure disappeared into the vineyard.
Sofia was frozen at the window, her breath fogging the glass.
The figure had gone… invisible to the night… into the vines.
Russian.
She was quite certain of it. She had heard it said before, her father kept a steady flow of foreign visitors at their Milan estate, always warm, always business. But this voice had varied. As though a warning entangled in silk.
“...She is here. Just as you said.”
The words repeating once more caused Sofia's heart to pound in her chest. Were they discussing her?
She shivered as she moved away from the window, her sheer silk nightgown clinging to her skin. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was one of Emilio's men, intoxicated and murmuring to a lover. That did not clarify how the voice sliced the silence, though. Or how her skin prickled like prey sensing a hunter.
She didn't sleep for the rest of the night.
***
The following morning
She came down the stairs barefoot, she wore a soft white sundress that brushed her thighs, and Emilio was already seated at the breakfast table. Her hair was a tangle of dark curls. There was no makeup. No mask.
He lifted his paper and something flashed across his face.
She saw it.
That pause… split-second hesitation… as his eyes swept over her bare legs and feet. He tried not to look at her mouth.
Sofia sat opposite him, mute. As she reached for a peach, her hand grazed the linen tablecloth, and she sensed his stare… heavy and magnetic… following her movements like he wanted to learn them.
He drank espresso. His sleeves rolled up. His top button opened, exposing the edge of a scar near his collarbone.
"Couldn't sleep?" he murmured, voice soft.
She hesitated. “There was… a man outside. I believe he was on the phone.”
Emilio raised his brow only a little. "One of the guards, perhaps."
“He was speaking Russian.”
There was silence. Too brief to catch if she wasn't watching him closely.
He said jokingly, as though it was a question. "Is that a problem?"
“No. It's just... odd."
He nodded, gazing toward the vineyards. “You're safe here, Sofia. I would not allow anyone to harm you.”
The words fell between them like a promise and something more dangerous.
She whispered, "I never said I was afraid."
Now he looked at her.
"Should you be?"
The air moved. Though his tone was even, something in it wrapped around her like smoke.
She replied, "I don't know yet."
The silence hung heavy with unspoken tension. She moved forward, allowing the strap of her dress to slide a little down her shoulder. Not by accident.
Emilio tightened his jaw, but his eyes stayed fixed on hers.
He did not move.
He didn't need to.
His power throbbed just under the surface… controlled, lethal, nearly magnetic. It was pulling her toward something she wasn't sure she could name, at her skin, at her breath.
"Do you always play with fire, Sofia?" he queried, with a low voice.
"Do you always act like you're above it?" she responded.
He got up from the table suddenly, slow and deliberate, and strolled toward her side. Her pulse accelerated.
Emilio bent down just far enough to enable her to sense the warmth of his breath along her neck.
"I am not above it," he whispered.
"I just know how quickly it burns."
He then turned and strolled away, leaving her skin burning and her heart pounding.
***
That evening…
Sofia wandered the hallway outside Emilio's study.
She could hear him inside… low voices, a woman laughing, then quietly. She pushed closer toward the door.
It was Bianca.
Bianca said flatly, "I know you have been keeping secrets from me and I don't like surprises either."
Emilio answered, "I'm not in the mood for games."
"Oh, darling, everything about you is a game," Bianca said.
Then remarked with a sneer, "Including that lovely girl roaming your halls in next to nothing."
Sofia's blood froze… then boiled.
She was watching.
She was not the only one feeling it.
***
That night, Sofia strolls past the study again… this time, intentionally… Emilio opened the door as she was passing.
Neither of them spoke.
He didn’t shift aside either.
The corridor was small. Too small.
They were only inches. His eyes dropped to her lips. Her breath hitches. The tension was unbearable.
His hand then grazes her waist. It was a ghost of touch. A warning or an invitation.
"Careful," he murmured, with a dark, rough and dangerous voice.
“Keep walking… or I won't.”
Sofia's breath raised.
Her eyes stayed fixed on his, but she made no movement. The air surrounding them was heavy, solid like a pulled wire ready to break. His hand stayed where it had grazed her waist, fingers flexing a little… like he wanted to grab her, pull her closer, consume her.
He did not, though.
His jaw clenched instead and he recoiled just an inch. Enough to let her go. Enough to clarify the choice was hers.
Keep walking… or I won't.
Her skin buzzed. Her heart was thundering.
Sofia nearly leaned in for a second. Almost said something wild. Nearly gave him a reason to stop holding back.
She let the silence stretch, her lips forming a little, knowing smile.
And then… She left.
Slowly with intention. Every step whispered across the marble floor, like a challenge. She never turned around.
But she knew he was still watching.
***
Later that night
Sofia stood before the mirror in her guest suite; the room was lit by a single lamp. She combed through her hair, her brain still running, and the silk of her robe fell off one shoulder.
Every square inch of her body felt alive… sensitive to him, to the way he had looked at her, touched her. Her skin ached like an echo she could not erase from his fingertips.
She should have been terrified. At least cautious.
But she wasn't.
She felt strong instead. As though she possessed something nobody else could reach.
A knock startled her.
She turned quickly. Heart stammering.
It was gentle. Not a demand. A request.
She pondered for only a breath before crossing the room and unlocking the door.
Nobody was there.
But on the floor… was a single item: a black silk scarf.
Sofia picked it gently, her hands shook as she raised it to her lips. It cost a lot. It faintly smelled of his perfume, smoke and spice with something darker beneath.
There was no note or explanation.
Just an unspoken word.
Her heart racing, she grabbed the scarf and went back into the room.
Emilio observed outside, in the shadows beneath her window. Hidden behind the veil of night, cigar between his fingertips, jaw tight with restraint. He left the scarf unintentionally.
But he hadn't stopped himself either.
And that was more dangerous than anything else.
***
Sofia crawled into bed, still gripping the silk scarf in her hand. Her breath trembling, heartbeat pounding, she pressed it to her lips.
She still did not know who Emilio Lombardi was.
Didn't know what kind of risk she was entering.
She was even unaware of her surveillance.
But one thing she did know was:
She was not wishing to be saved.
She desired burning.
- Writer
