Page 126 of Auctioned Innocence
“That’s exactly why you need?—”
“I need him,” Sofia says fiercely, cutting her brother off. “I need the man who holds me when the nightmares come. Who trains with me instead of training me. Who loves me for exactly who I am, not who you think I should be.”
The room went dead quiet. I can hear Marco breathing heavily, can almost see him trying to process this new reality—his baby sister as a woman, as a warrior, as someone in love.
“I love him,” Sofia says again, quieter now but no less certain. “I love him, and he loves me, and that’snotgoing to change no matter how angry you get.”
The words settle into my bones, even as my heart breaks for the pain this is causing both of them.
When Marco finally speaks, his voice is hollow with defeat and something that might be grief. “How long?”
Sofia’s hand finds mine, her fingers intertwining with mine in a gesture of solidarity. “It doesn’t matter how long. What matters is that it’s real.”
“It matters to me,” Marco says quietly. “It matters because you’re my sister and he’s my—” His voice breaks. “He’s my brother, and now I don’t know what the hell either of you are to me anymore.”
The pain in his voice cuts deeper than any anger could have. This isn’t just about protecting Sofia—it’s about the fundamental shift in our relationship, the way everything he thought he knew has been turned upside down.
Engines rumble outside. Multiple vehicles cutting through the heavy silence that followed Marco’s broken words.
“We’ve got company,” I say, the tactical part of my brain kicking in even as my heart still reels from the conversation. I’m already moving for weapons.
“My team,” Marco confirms, his voice heavy with exhaustion and pain. “This discussion isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”
The call ends with a sharp click that feels like a door slamming shut. Sofia stares at the dead phone for a moment, tears still tracking down her cheeks, her hand trembling slightly from the emotional assault.
Then she straightens, wiping her face with the back of her hand, and moves to check the security feeds. Even devastated, she’s still a professional. Still my fierce warrior.
“Not my brother’s men,” she says tightly, staring at the monitors. “Wrong vehicles. Marco’s team uses modified Suburbans. These are standard black SUVs.”
“They followed us,” I realize, cursing myself for not being more careful. “From the Alberto meeting. Lorenzo’s cleanup crew must have had surveillance watching for survivors.”
Bullets shatter the windows.
I pull her behind cover, but she’s already moving with me, weapon ready. The tears are gone, replaced by cold focus. Sofia’s compartmentalizing her pain, the way this life demands. We flow together like water, covering angles, protecting each other with the knowledge that comes from absolute trust
“Still want to sideline me?” she asks, taking down a shooter with perfect form. But there’s an edge to her voice now, a rawness left over from Marco’s words about her being too young, too vulnerable.
I can’t help the surge of fierce pride that cuts through my own emotional turmoil. “Never again,principessa.”
Her answering smile is brilliant but carries a hint of tightness that wasn’t there before. This fight with Marco has changedsomething in her, hardened her resolve. “Good. Because we’ve got incoming from the east, and I have an idea.”
“Lead the way.”
As we fight our way out of another trap, bullets flying around us, I realize something through the chaos and pain of the last few minutes: I’m not just protecting her anymore. We’re protecting each other. Partners in every sense of the word.
And Marco’s going to have to accept that—accept us, accept what we’ve become, accept that his little sister is gone and a warrior has taken her place.
If we survive the next twenty-four hours to make him understand.
26
SOFIA
Marco bursts through the door with his team just as the last echoes of gunfire fade. We’d held Lorenzo’s men off for nearly thirty minutes before Marco’s backup arrived—thirty minutes of pure hell where Dante and I fought like our lives depended on it. Because they did.
I’m still holding my gun, breathing hard from the fight, and I see the exact moment my brother registers the scene—me standing over bodies, weapon steady in my hands.
“Out,” he orders his men. The single word carries enough authority that they disappear instantly, leaving just the three of us among the carnage.
