Chapter 5 - The Trap at Pier Thirty-Eight
Dante's original plan involved fourteen armed men.
Sophia rejected it in thirty seconds.
“They want you angry.”
“They kidnapped my brother.”
“Which makes fourteen armed men exactly what they're expecting.”
Dante leaned over the table.
They were inside a private office above a closed Providence restaurant owned by a Romano ally.
“What do you suggest?”
“Give them what they think they want.”
“The evidence?”
“Copies.”
Marco looked interested.
Sophia continued.
“And you don't go.”
Dante laughed once.
“No.”
“You asked.”
“I regret it.”
“You're the target.”
“Nico is my brother.”
“And if they want a war, having Dante Romano arrive at midnight with an army is Christmas morning.”
Dante stared at her.
“I'm going.”
Sophia folded her arms.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“I'll go too.”
“No.”
“Then neither of us goes.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
Marco muttered, “I'm beginning to understand why she survived eleven months with you.”
At 11:42, three vehicles approached Pier Thirty-Eight.
Only one appeared occupied.
Marco drove.
Sophia sat beside him wearing a hidden vest.
Dante was nowhere visible.
That was intentional.
The warehouse doors opened.
Isabella waited inside.
Beside her stood Carlo Conti—her older brother.
Nico was tied to a chair.
Alive.
Barely.
Sophia carried the canvas bag from B-17.
Isabella smiled.
“You really thought you could become one of us?”
Sophia stopped twenty feet away.
“I never wanted to.”
“Then why him?”
Sophia glanced at Nico.
“Release him.”
Carlo laughed.
“You don't negotiate.”
“Neither do maids, apparently. Yet here we are.”
Even Nico smiled through his split lip.
Isabella stepped forward.
“The bag.”
“Nico first.”
Carlo pressed a pistol against Nico's temple.
Sophia's heartbeat hammered.
But she didn't move.
“What makes you think those are the only copies?” she asked.
Carlo's smile vanished.
Sophia continued.
“If I don't leave here by twelve-fifteen, everything goes to federal prosecutors, three newspapers, and every family represented at Friday's meeting.”
It was a bluff.
Mostly.
Dante had arranged the prosecutors.
Marco had arranged the newspapers.
But nobody intended to wait until twelve-fifteen.
Isabella studied her.
“You've changed.”
“No.”
Sophia looked directly at her.
“You just never bothered to notice me.”
Above them, Dante lay behind a steel catwalk.
He heard every word through his earpiece.
His sights remained trained on Carlo.
Sophia tossed the bag halfway across the concrete.
“Let him go.”
Carlo nodded.
One guard cut Nico loose.
Nico staggered toward Sophia.
Ten feet.
Eight.
Five.
Then Isabella shouted, “Stop!”
Everyone froze.
She had opened the bag.
Inside were blank pages.
Her face twisted.
“You stupid little—”
The warehouse lights died.
Marco pulled Sophia and Nico behind a forklift.
Dante dropped from the catwalk.
Chaos erupted.
But instead of a massacre, Romano men sealed the exits while police sirens screamed outside.
Carlo realized too late.
Dante hadn't come to start a war.
He had come to document one.
Body cameras.
Audio.
Witnesses.
The kidnapping.
The threats.
Everything.
Carlo grabbed Isabella.
“You said he'd attack!”
Isabella shoved him away.
A shot exploded.
Sophia flinched.
Dante spun.
Nico fell.
“Nico!”
Dante reached him first.
Blood spread across his shirt.
Sophia dropped beside him.
“Pressure!”
Dante pressed both hands against the wound.
Sophia ripped fabric from Nico's shirt.
“Ambulance is ninety seconds away.”
Nico's eyes fluttered.
“Dante.”
“Don't talk.”
“I screwed up.”
“Later.”
“I gave Isabella the bus information.”
Dante froze.
Nico coughed.
“She told me Sophia stole from you. Said she was protecting the family.”
Sophia looked at Dante.
So Nico wasn't the traitor.
He had been manipulated.
Sirens surrounded the building.
Carlo and Isabella were arrested before midnight.
But Isabella turned at the police car.
Her gaze fixed on Sophia.
“This isn't over.”
Dante stepped between them.
Sophia touched his arm.
“No.”
He looked down.
“I don't need you standing in front of me.”
Something changed in his eyes.
Sophia continued softly.
“Stand beside me.”
Dante moved.
One step.
Now they were shoulder to shoulder.
Isabella saw it.
And for the first time, she understood.
Sophia had never wanted her bedroom back.
She wanted her place in Dante's life acknowledged.
An ambulance carried Nico away.
At the hospital, surgery lasted four hours.
Dante sat in the waiting room covered in his brother's blood.
Sophia remained across from him.
At dawn, the surgeon appeared.
“He's going to live.”
Dante lowered his head.
His shoulders moved once.
Sophia realized he was crying.
Silently.
She crossed the room.
Dante didn't ask.
He simply wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face against her stomach.
Sophia rested her hand in his hair.
For one fragile minute, there was no Don.
No maid.
No empire.
Just two exhausted people who had nearly lost someone they loved.
Then Dante whispered:
“I don't deserve another chance.”
Sophia looked down at him.
“No.”
May you like
He closed his eyes.
“But,” she continued, “that doesn't mean you can't earn one.”
