Chapter 8 - The Price of a Wife
Sophia woke tied to a chair.
Sunset filled the room.
For one confused moment, the beauty outside seemed impossible.
Golden light.
Blue sea.
White flowers moving in the breeze.
Then she saw Antonio.
He was tied across from her.
Blood marked his eyebrow.
Carlo stood between them.
“Romantic, isn't it?”
Antonio's voice was cold.
“Untie her.”
Carlo laughed.
“Still giving orders.”
Sophia tested the rope.
Too tight.
“Where's Marco?”
“Alive.”
Carlo poured himself wine.
“I've always admired this island. Your father had taste.”
Antonio stared at him.
“You killed him.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
“And my mother?”
Carlo's smile faded.
“She wasn't supposed to be in the car.”
Antonio's entire body became still.
Sophia knew that stillness now.
It meant rage beyond expression.
Carlo continued.
“Your father became sentimental. Sentiment destroys powerful men.”
His gaze shifted toward Sophia.
“As you're discovering.”
Antonio pulled against the restraints.
“Touch her and—”
“And what?”
Carlo approached Sophia.
“You'll kill me?”
He smiled.
“You've wanted to do that for twenty years.”
Sophia looked toward the terrace.
The table had been prepared for dinner.
Champagne.
Flowers.
A black leather folder.
And a pen.
Carlo noticed her looking.
“Your husband has a choice.”
Antonio's expression changed.
Carlo opened the folder.
“Transfer control of Russo Holdings, the ports, and the foundation servers to me, and Sophia leaves.”
Sophia stared at Antonio.
“No.”
Carlo ignored her.
“Refuse, and she dies before sunset.”
Antonio didn't look at the papers.
“Untie my right hand.”
Sophia's heart stopped.
“Antonio.”
Carlo smiled.
“You understand business.”
“Antonio, don't.”
He looked at her.
There was no hesitation in his eyes.
“It's done.”
“No!”
Carlo untied Antonio's hand.
Antonio signed.
One document.
Then another.
Everything generations of Russos had built disappeared beneath his signature.
Sophia stared at him.
“You can't.”
Antonio looked only at her.
“I can rebuild money.”
Carlo took the papers.
Antonio's voice softened.
“I can't rebuild you.”
Sophia's eyes filled.
Carlo laughed.
“This is the great Antonio Russo?”
He shook his head.
“Destroyed by a woman he didn't even want.”
Sophia looked at Antonio.
“Is that true?”
Carlo seemed delighted.
“Yes, Sophia. Ask him why he married you.”
She already knew.
Protection.
Strategy.
The ledger.
But Antonio answered differently.
“I married you because I was afraid.”
Carlo's smile faded slightly.
Antonio continued.
“I told myself it was strategy. Your father's debt. The ledger. Protection.”
His eyes never left hers.
“But I'd seen you before.”
Sophia stopped breathing.
“When?”
“Eight months before our wedding.”
He remembered a charity gala.
Sophia had attended in place of her father.
A waiter dropped an entire tray.
Everyone laughed.
Sophia had knelt in her expensive dress and helped him collect broken glass.
Antonio had watched from across the room.
“You didn't know who I was.”
“I remember that night.”
“You looked at me once.”
Sophia remembered a dark-haired stranger standing near the balcony.
“I thought you were security.”
Despite everything, Antonio smiled.
“I was offended for weeks.”
A tear escaped her.
Carlo slammed the folder shut.
“Enough.”
Antonio's gaze remained on Sophia.
“I called our marriage business because business was the only language I knew that didn't frighten me.”
Sophia's throat tightened.
“And now?”
“Now I'm sitting tied to a chair after giving away half my empire.”
A faint smile.
“I'd say the terminology has evolved.”
Carlo raised his gun.
“Touching.”
Then the lights went out.
Gunfire erupted outside.
Carlo spun.
Antonio moved.
Sophia had not seen him free his other hand.
The rope dropped.
He lunged at Carlo.
The gun fired.
Sophia screamed.
Antonio and Carlo crashed through the terrace doors.
Sophia struggled against her restraints.
Someone ran toward her.
Elena.
She cut the ropes.
“Move!”
“Antonio—”
“Marco has him!”
Sophia refused.
She ran onto the terrace.
Antonio and Carlo fought beside the stone railing.
Carlo drew a knife.
Sophia saw it before Antonio did.
“Antonio!”
He turned.
The blade sliced his shoulder instead of his throat.
Antonio struck Carlo.
The older man stumbled against the railing.
Antonio grabbed him.
For one second Carlo hung above the cliff.
Antonio could let go.
Carlo looked up.
“You don't have the courage.”
Antonio stared at the man who had murdered his family.
Then pulled him back onto the terrace.
Carlo looked stunned.
Antonio threw him toward Marco.
“No.”
His voice was quiet.
“I have something you never did.”
“What?”
“A future.”
Police helicopters appeared beyond the island.
Elena smiled.
“Along with enough federal evidence to ensure yours involves a very small room.”
Carlo's face collapsed.
Sophia crossed toward Antonio.
Blood ran down his arm.
“You're hurt.”
He looked at her.
“So are you.”
“I'm okay.”
His hand touched her cheek.
Carlo shouted behind them.
“You think this ends with me?”
Elena turned.
For the first time, genuine fear entered her face.
Carlo smiled.
“Ask your wife who was waiting in New York.”
Sophia went cold.
“Mia.”
Carlo laughed.
Antonio reached for his phone.
Before he could dial, it rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man's voice spoke.
May you like
Victor Salerno.
“I believe,” Salerno said, “I have something that belongs to your wife.”
