Page 102 of The Mafia's Broken Vows

“I miss my blog,” I admit more truthfully. “And I wish I could confront my dad. But the rest? Not really. It feels surreal, like waking up from a dream I didn’t know I was having.”

“You’ll be alright, Addy.” Her voice rings with the same conviction Dante exudes.

“Sophie, Dante told me about Orlando De Luca,” I blurt out. “He’s supposed to be my real father.”

Sophie’s hands pause, the knife hovering mid-slice, then she resumes her work. “And how does that make you feel?”

When the only father I’ve ever known turns out to be something completely different, I’m bound to think fathers are overrated. Still, there’s a desire in me to know who I really am and where I come from. Unsure of how to answer, I just shake my head and watch the wicked-looking blade dance across the fruit, mesmerized by Sophie’s dexterity.

“Are you good with . . . other weapons too?” I deflect, because asking if she knows how to use a knife just sounds silly.

A small smile plays on Sophie’s lips. “I am,” she simply says, a wealth of unspoken words in that admission.

“Like guns?”

Sophie sets the fruit down and faces me. “Those too.”

My heart races as I voice the question that’s been burning inside me. “How do you do it, Sophie? How do you cope with loving . . . being married to someone like Nico?”

Sophie’s smile is almost relieved, as if she’s been waiting for this question. “At first, it felt like I was being dragged back into the hell I was running from. But once I stopped running, I realized something crucial.” She leans forward, her voice firm. “Nico is my home, Addy.”

Wow. I’ve never quite heard it put that way before. “And what about your family? Do they approve of your husband?”

Sophie’s eyes twinkle. “Oh, they love Nico.” She pauses for a beat, her smile getting wider. “Or should I say, they would love to hate him.”

“But they don’t?”

She shakes her head. “No, they don’t. Well, except for maybe my brother, Cade. I think he truly hates Nico’s guts.” She takes a slice of her mango and chews thoughtfully while I gape, intrigued by her family dynamics.

“Your brother hates Nico?”

“He hates Dante too. But the feeling is quite mutual, so they’re all on the same page, which, when you think about it, isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Is it because of who—what Nico and Dante are?”

Sophie inclines her head as if to gauge my reaction to her next words. “That’s only half of it. It’s mainly because of who Cade is. He’s an FBI agent. Specializes in dismantling organized criminal syndicates.”

My eyebrows fly to my hairline, and my mouth opens in an ‘O.’

“And how the hell does that work for family gatherings?”

“It doesn’t work,” Sophie chuckles. “Put them in a room together, and within seconds, it lights up like the Fourth of July. They think they want to kill each other when what they really want to do is hug each other so bad.”

I huff out a nervous laugh. “That’s interesting. But are Nico and Dante . . . safe? From government scrutiny, I mean.”

Sophie just winks and says cryptically. “As someone who has loved and lived with each of those men, respectively, I can promise you that behind the guns and badges, they’re exactly the same people.” She pauses, reconsidering her words. “Actually, Cade might be worse than them.”

My brows arch in surprise. “What do you mean worse?”

Sophie sighs. “Why spoil the surprise when you’ll get to meet him yourself soon enough?”

Sophie has just opened up a whole can of questions about who her brother is, but before I can launch into it, the pool’s ambient music shifts, transitioning from soft jazz to a familiar heavy metal rock.

Sophie’s eyes light up, her head bobbing slightly to the beat. “Ah,” she murmurs, smiling. “Sounds like Dante’s back.”

“How do you know that?”

As if summoned by her words, I feel a shift in the air, a prickle along my skin. I turn toward the door, my breath catching in my throat.

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