Page 13 of Forced Arrangement

I nod slowly. “Yes. There are things happening that I didn’t want you to be a part of, things I never told you about. But now…now I have no choice. I have to go back and deal with it, to keep you and everyone else safe.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind as she processes what I’m saying. “And you were just going to leave without telling me?”

I shake my head, feeling the weight of my guilt settle even deeper. “No, I was going to tell you. I just…didn’t know how.”

“Okay, then. When are we leaving?”

Her question startles me into looking up.

“J, you can't come with me.”

“Like hell, I can’t. You’re my best friend, Sarah. You’ve been there for me through everything, and now you’re telling me to just sit back and watch you go face whatever this is on your own? No way. I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not,” I say, shaking my head vehemently.

“Remember those Tae Kwon Do lessons my mother made me take in primary? I remember them. Try and stop me.”

I sigh, knowing that arguing with her was pointless.

“Fine, you can come with me.”

She rolls her eyes and goes into the kitchen. “Try to sound a bit more excited love. I'm not marching you off to the executioners.”

My smile is shaky. It isn't fair, letting her come with me when she still has no idea what we are going to face.

Telling Justine the truth is like trying to untangle a knot that has been tightened over the years—a knot made up of fear, secrets, and lies I’d told us both to keep her safe. But now, with everything unraveling, I have no choice but to cut through the layers and lay everything bare.

The flat is quiet, save for the soft hum of the kettle on the stove. I can hear Justine rummaging through the cupboards, her usual chatter filling the space as she searches for the tea bags.

“I swear, if you’ve moved those Earl Grey sachets again, we’re going to have words,” she calls out, her voice playful but with an edge that tells me she means it.

“They’re in the second cupboard, behind the pasta,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Oh, thank God,” she mutters, triumphantly holding up the box as she walks back into the living room. “Honestly, I don’t know how you function without a proper organizational system. It’s a wonder you can find anything in this place.”

I manage a small smile, but my heart is pounding in my chest. Justine sets the box down on the coffee table, eyeing me curiously as she pours hot water into two mugs.

“You’ve been quiet all morning,” she says, her tone shifting from playful to concerned. “Is it because of New York? I know you’re worried, but we’ll figure it out.”

I look down at my hands, the words I need to say tangling in my throat. “It’s not just New York, Justine. There’s…there’s something I need to tell you.”

She pauses, one eyebrow arching as she studies me. “Okay…I’m listening.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I am about to reveal. “My name isn’t Sarah Lacey. It never was.”

The room seems to go still, the air thick with the weight of my confession. Justine doesn’t say anything for a moment, she is just staring at me, her expression unreadable.

“Okay, I mean you had hinted that Sarah wasn’t your real name back when we were kids,” she finally says, her voice quiet.

I think of the “secret” that I shared with my new friend when we were little. I had immediately been terrified that my mother and I would be caught now that Justine knew. I had never explained anything else to her after that slip-up, too scared to confide more in her, too afraid that I had broken my mother’s trust and put us in danger.

“My real name is Sophia Agostini,” I continue, the words spilling out before I can second-guess myself. “My mother and I fled New York when I was a little girl. We changed our names, moved to England, and started over. She did it to protect me from my father’s world—a world I never wanted to be a part of.”

Justine blinks, processing what I’ve just told her. Then, to my surprise, she lets out a low whistle. “Well, shit. And here I thought you were going to tell me you secretly hated cats or something.”

I can’t help but laugh, even as the weight of the situation presses down on me. “No, I don’t hate cats. But I am the daughter of a man who was deeply involved in the mafia. My mother took me away from all of that, and we’ve been in hiding ever since.”

She leans back against the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You’re not Sarah Lacey—you’re Sophia Agostini. You’re basically mafia royalty, and you’ve been hiding out here in London, pretending to be a regular old English girl?”

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