Page 7 of Forced Arrangement

“I’m so sorry, Mama,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do.”

The only answer is the rain, relentless and unyielding, just like the world I had tried so hard to escape. But there is no escaping it now. I can feel it in my bones, in the way Angelo looked at me, the way his presence filled the air with unspoken promises.

Justine comes over and kneels beside me, her arm wrapping around my shoulders. “We’ll figure it out,” she says softly. “Whatever this is, we’ll handle it together.”

I lean into her, grateful for the comfort of her presence. “Thank you, Justine. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she replies with a small smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

We stay like that for a while, just the two of us, the rain our only company. I know that I can’t hide from the truth forever, but for a few more moments, I allow myself to believe that everything will be okay. That I’m alone.

But deep down, I know that Angelo’s words have shattered that illusion. This is just the beginning of something far bigger, far more dangerous than anything I could ever have imagined.

Chapter Two

Sophia

We stay by the grave until the rain lightens to a drizzle.

The cemetery grew quieter, and the mourners dispersed. The stillness around us felt heavy, pressing down on me as I stood, my legs stiff from kneeling on the wet ground.

Justine rose with me, her hand on my back, guiding me away from the grave. “Let’s get you home,” she says softly, her voice a balm to my frayed nerves. “You need to rest.”

Rest. The word felt foreign, impossible even. My mind is too full, spinning with thoughts of my mother’s death, of Angelo Castiglia, and of the dangerous past I had thought was buried forever. I want to protest, to tell Justine that rest isn’t something I can afford right now, but I’m too exhausted to argue.

She leads me to her car, a small, reliable hatchback that has seen us through countless late-night drives and spontaneous road trips. Today, it’s a sanctuary, a small bubble of warmth and familiarity from the cold, uncertain world outside.

Justine drives in silence, the hum of the engine the only sound between us.

I stare out the window, watching the rain blur the cityscape into a wash of gray and black. London has always felt like a safe haven, a place where I can blend in, disappear. But now, with the weight of Angelo’s words hanging over me, it feels as foreign and dangerous as the life I left behind.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Justine asks, her eyes flicking toward me before returning to the road.

I hesitate, unsure of how much I could tell her. Justine doesn't know anything about my past. My mother forbade me from saying a word. She always said that I couldn't trust anyone, not while he was still around.

“I’m not sure what there is to say,” I reply finally, my voice strained. “It’s just…overwhelming.”

Justine nods, her lips pressing into a thin line. “That man—Angelo Castiglia—do you know him?”

“Not personally,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “But I know of him.”

“And you’re going to meet him?”

I sigh, rubbing my temples as the headache that has been brewing all day finally begins to surface. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

Justine glances at me again, her eyes filled with concern. “Sarah, what does he want with you?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, and that’s the truth. I can guess, of course—Angelo Castiglia wouldn’t have sought me out if it wasn’t something serious, something dangerous. But what exactly he wanted from me, I couldn’t say.

“I just want you to be careful,” Justine says, her voice filled with worry. “I don’t trust him.”

I can’t help but smile at that, a small, wry smile that holds no humor. “Neither do I.”

The rest of the drive passes in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. By the time we reach my flat, the rain has stopped entirely, leaving the world damp and glistening in the fading light. Justine parks in front of the building and turns to me, her expression serious.

“Do you want me to stay?” she asks.

For a moment, I’m tempted to say yes. To ask her to stay the night, to fill my small flat with her warmth and chatter, to drown out the noise in my head with the comfort of her presence. But I know that isn’t fair. I can’t drag her into this any deeper than she already is. This is my mess, my past, and it’s up to me to deal with it.

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