POV: Sofia
---
Two days before the wedding, my mother called.
"Come to the house," she said. "We need to talk about the arrangements."
I wanted to say no. Wanted to hide in my bookstore with my books and my memories and pretend the world wasn't closing in. But my mother's voice held that particular note of desperation I'd learned to recognize over the years—the one that meant she'd been crying and didn't want me to know.
"I'll be there in an hour."
---
The brownstone looked the same as always, but something felt different. Wrong. The curtains were drawn. My father's car was in the driveway, which meant he wasn't at work, which meant something was very wrong.
My mother met me at the door. Her eyes were red.
"What happened?"
"Nothing. Everything. Come inside."
I followed her to the kitchen, where my father sat at the table with a cup of cold coffee and an expression I couldn't read.
"Sofia." He stood, hugged me briefly—a rare gesture from a man who showed affection through silence and presence. "Thank you for coming."
"Mom said we needed to talk about the wedding."
"We do." He gestured for me to sit. "But first, there's something you need to know."
My stomach clenched. "What?"
"Carlo's gone."
The words took a moment to register. "Gone? Gone where?"
"We don't know. He left last night. Took his things, some cash, disappeared." My father's jaw tightened. "He left a note."
He pushed a piece of paper across the table. I recognized Carlo's messy handwriting:
I can't do this. I can't watch her marry him because of me. I'll find a way to fix this. Don't look for me.
I read it twice. Three times.
"He's running," I said slowly. "He's running, and the Matteos are going to think—"
"That we hid him. That we're trying to cheat them." My father nodded. "Yes."
"When did you find out?"
"This morning. I've had Paulie looking for him since dawn. Nothing."
I thought of Antonio. Of the way he'd held me last night, the way he'd said together. Of the Russians moving on his territory, the pressure from his father, the weight he carried every day.
And now this.
"Does Antonio know?"
"Not yet. I wanted to tell you first."
I stood up. "I have to tell him. Before he hears it from someone else."
"Sofia—"
"If he thinks we're hiding Carlo, if he thinks this was planned—" I shook my head. "I have to go."
My mother grabbed my hand. "Be careful. Please."
"I will."
I didn't believe it.
---
ANTONIO
I was in a meeting with Marco and Dominic when my phone buzzed. Sofia's name.
I almost didn't answer. The meeting was important—we were finalizing the response to Viktor's warehouse hit, planning moves that would shape the next month of the war.
But something in my gut said answer.
"Give me a minute."
I stepped outside, pressed the phone to my ear. "Sofia?"
"Where are you?"
The tension in her voice made my blood run cold. "Warehouse. What's wrong?"
"I need to see you. Now. It's about Carlo."
Carlo. Her brother. The reason any of this was happening.
"Tell me."
"Not on the phone. Please, Antonio. Just—where can I meet you?"
I thought quickly. The warehouse wasn't safe—too many eyes, too many ears. My penthouse was too far.
"There's a coffee shop on Mulberry. Carmine's. Do you know it?"
"Yes."
"One hour."
"I'll be there."
She hung up. I stood there for a moment, phone in hand, trying to prepare myself for whatever was coming.
It wouldn't be enough.
---
SOFIA
Carmine's was a tiny hole-in-the-wall tucked between a butcher shop and a funeral home. Appropriate, given the circumstances.
I got there early, ordered coffee I didn't drink, and tried to figure out how to tell the man I was falling for that my brother had just made everything a thousand times worse.
Antonio walked in at exactly 4 PM. Even in the cramped, ordinary space, he stood out—too sharp, too dangerous, too much for a place that served stale pastries and burnt espresso.
He sat across from me, and his eyes searched my face like he was looking for wounds.
"Tell me."
"Carlo's gone." I didn't soften it. Didn't try to make it easier. "He ran last night. Left a note saying he couldn't watch me marry you because of him. My father's been looking all day. Nothing."
Antonio was still for a long moment. Processing. Calculating.
"Does anyone else know?"
"My family. Paulie, who's been looking. Now you."
"Your father didn't tell anyone at Matteo?"
"No. He wanted me to tell you first."
Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or gratitude.
"That was smart."
"I don't feel smart. I feel like my idiot brother just made everything worse." I pressed my palms to my eyes. "Antonio, if your father thinks we hid him—"
"He won't."
"You don't know that."
"I know you." He reached across the table, pulled my hands away from my face. "I know you wouldn't do that. And I'll make sure my father knows it too."
"How? He already has people following us. Taking pictures." I pulled out my phone, showed him the text my mother had sent—a photo of Antonio and me in the garden, taken from a distance. "Did you know about this?"
He looked at the photo, and his jaw tightened. "Yes. My father confronted me about it last night."
"Last night? And you didn't tell me?"
"I was going to. I wanted to—" He stopped. "I didn't want to add to your stress."
"Antonio." I leaned forward. "We said together. Remember? Together means we don't hide things from each other. Even the hard things."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "You're right. I'm sorry."
"I don't need sorry. I need—" I stopped, swallowed. "I need to know that when everything falls apart, you're not going to disappear. That you're going to stand beside me, not protect me from a distance."
"I will."
"How do I know that?"
He reached into his pocket, pulled out something small, and set it on the table between us.
A ring.
Not the one from the wedding—this one was different. Older. A simple gold band with a small diamond, worn smooth with age.
"This was my mother's," he said quietly. "She gave it to my father before they married. Told him it was her promise—that no matter what happened, she'd choose him every day." He met my eyes. "She kept that promise until the day she died."
I stared at the ring. "Antonio..."
"I know we have the wedding. I know there's a ceremony, a dress, a thousand people watching. But that's not what matters." He picked up the ring, held it between us. "What matters is this. You and me. Choosing each other. Every day."
Tears burned my eyes. "You want me to wear your mother's ring?"
"I want you to have it. To wear it if you want. To keep it if you don't. But I needed you to know—whatever happens with Carlo, whatever happens with the Russians, with our families—I'm choosing you. Today. Tomorrow. Every day."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Could only watch as he took my left hand and slid the ring onto my finger.
It fit perfectly.
"Sofia." His voice was rough. "I love you."
The words hung in the air between us, simple and huge and terrifying.
I should have said it back. Should have opened my mouth and let the words fall out.
But I was crying now, and shaking, and all I could do was lean across the table and kiss him with everything I had.
He held me like I was precious. Like I was his.
When we finally broke apart, he pressed his forehead to mine.
"That's okay," he whispered. "You don't have to say it back. Not yet. Just... don't run. Okay?"
I looked at the ring on my finger. At the man in front of me. At the impossible, terrifying, beautiful future stretching out before us.
"I'm not running," I whispered. "I'm right here."
---
ANTONIO
We stayed at Carmine's until they kicked us out at closing.
By then, we had a plan. I'd talk to my father, explain the situation with Carlo. Sofia would keep pressure on her family to find him before the Russians did. We'd handle this together.
Walking her to her car, I felt lighter than I had in days.
"Thank you," she said, pausing at the driver's door.
"For what?"
"For trusting me. For telling me about your father. For..." She looked down at the ring on her finger. "For this."
"It's yours. It's always been yours. I just didn't know it yet."
She smiled—that real smile, the one that made my chest ache—and kissed me softly.
"I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that."
"Together?"
"Together."
She drove away, and I stood there in the cold, watching her taillights disappear, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I had something worth coming home to.
---
The call came at midnight.
Marco's voice was tight. "We found Carlo."
My blood went cold. "Where?"
"Abandoned warehouse in Jersey. He's alive, but—" A pause. "Antonio, the Russians got to him first. He's bad. Real bad."
"I'm on my way."
I hung up and stared at the ceiling.
Together. We were supposed to handle this together.
And now I had to tell Sofia that her brother was in the hands of our enemies.