Chapter 4 - The Woman He Couldn't Command
Mrs. Alvarez weighed barely ninety pounds.
Her oxygen machine weighed considerably more.
Sophia took the woman.
Dante took the machine.
They escaped through the rear fire stairs while Marco and two arriving Romano men secured the alley.
Three blocks away, Dante pushed open the door of a laundromat.
Sophia lowered Mrs. Alvarez onto a plastic chair.
The old woman stared at Dante.
“You her husband?”
Sophia coughed.
“No.”
Dante answered simultaneously.
“Not yet.”
Sophia's head whipped toward him.
Even Marco stared.
Mrs. Alvarez smiled.
“Complicated.”
“You have no idea,” Sophia muttered.
Twenty minutes later, an ambulance collected Mrs. Alvarez.
Then Sophia turned on Dante.
“You had me followed.”
“Yes.”
“I specifically told you not to.”
“You told me not to find you because I owned you.”
“And?”
“I don't.”
Her anger faltered.
Dante continued.
“I had one man watching from a distance because Conti security searched your bus ticket.”
Sophia looked toward Marco.
He nodded.
“Isabella?”
“Yes.”
Sophia rubbed her forehead.
Dante wanted to touch her.
He kept his hands at his sides.
“Come home.”
Her expression hardened.
He corrected himself.
“No. Wrong.”
Marco nearly smiled.
Dante tried again.
“Come somewhere secure tonight. Anywhere you choose. Hotel. Police station. Federal building. Another country. I don't care. I'll pay for security and stay away if that's what you want.”
Sophia studied him.
“That sounded painful.”
“It was.”
Despite everything, her mouth twitched.
It was the first almost-smile he had seen.
Then it disappeared.
“Dante, I can't go back.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
She stepped closer.
“I wasn't angry because Isabella slept in a particular bed. I was angry because the second someone more powerful entered the room, I became staff again.”
His face tightened.
“You are staff.”
“Exactly.”
She wasn't insulted.
That made it worse.
“There is dignity in my work,” Sophia continued. “But you blurred every line when it suited you. You brought me coffee when I was sick. You sat outside my room all night when I couldn't breathe. You kissed me. You gave me access to your private life. Then Isabella appeared, and suddenly you remembered the hierarchy.”
Dante had no defense.
“I was wrong.”
Sophia stared at him.
Three simple words.
No excuse.
No explanation.
Dante Romano rarely apologized.
“I was wrong,” he repeated. “And I hurt you.”
Sophia's eyes filled.
He hated himself for putting those tears there.
But she wiped them away.
“This doesn't fix it.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I don't know what else I'm allowed to say.”
That surprised a laugh out of her.
A tiny one.
Dante stared.
God, he had missed that sound.
Marco's phone interrupted.
His expression immediately became serious.
“We need to move.”
“What happened?”
“Conti men hit one of our warehouses.”
Dante swore.
“They want retaliation.”
“Looks like it.”
Sophia spoke.
“Then don't give it to them.”
Both men looked at her.
She pulled a folded piece of paper from inside her coat.
“I copied this from Isabella's purse before I left.”
It contained numbers.
Shipping containers.
Dates.
Dante recognized one.
“Pier Thirty-Eight.”
Sophia nodded.
“She received a call while she was changing in my room. She thought I had gone downstairs.”
“What did she say?”
“‘By Friday, Romano will fire first.’”
Dante looked at Marco.
The entire plan became clear.
The Contis wanted war.
And Isabella had been using Sophia to provoke him personally.
But there was another problem.
“Who told Isabella where you went?” Dante asked.
Sophia's face changed.
“I was wondering the same thing.”
Only a handful of Romano people knew about the Boston ticket.
One of them was in the laundromat.
Marco.
Dante slowly looked at his oldest friend.
Marco understood immediately.
“You think it's me?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Dante remembered the security report.
Mrs. Gable.
Paulie.
Marco.
And—
Dante's expression turned to stone.
His younger brother.
Nico.
Sophia saw the answer on his face.
“What?”
Dante pulled out his phone.
“Nico knew.”
Marco swore.
Dante called.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then Sophia's phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She opened the message.
A photograph appeared.
Nico Romano sat tied to a chair, blood running down his temple.
Beneath it were seven words.
BRING SOPHIA OR YOUR BROTHER DIES TONIGHT.
Dante's face became terrifyingly calm.
Sophia looked at him.
“No.”
He hadn't spoken.
“I know that expression.”
“You're not going.”
“Obviously.”
Dante blinked.
Sophia held up the phone.
“Because they're not asking for me.”
“What?”
“They're asking for the evidence they think I still have.”
She pointed at the message.
“If they only wanted me dead, they could have shot me ten minutes ago.”
Marco nodded slowly.
Sophia looked between them.
“They need something.”
Dante remembered Locker B-17.
The documents.
The photographs.
The recorder.
And suddenly he understood the leverage Sophia had accidentally stolen.
She didn't merely know about Isabella's betrayal.
She could prove it.
Sophia slipped the phone into her pocket.
“So we're going to get your brother back.”
“No.”
Her eyebrows rose.
Dante sighed.
“We are going to make a plan to get my brother back.”
“Better.”
Marco looked from one to the other.
“You two are exhausting.”
For the first time that night, Dante almost smiled.
Then another message arrived.
An address.
And a deadline.
May you like
Midnight.
They had three hours.
