Page 9 of Forced Arrangement

Chapter Three

Angelo

I've always been a man who's been able to take pride in his integrity. My word is my word—always has been and always will be. But today, I lied.

I lied when I told her that if she didn't want anything to do with me, I would let her go. I knew from the second I saw her that I was never going to let her go, not when everything in me screamed her name, calling her mine.

The rain in London was different from the rain in New York. It wasn’t the heavy, pounding storm that lashed against windows and turned streets into rivers. It was a quieter, more insidious rain—constant, unrelenting, the kind that seeped into your bones and refused to let go.

I watched it through the window of the small pub where I arranged to meet Sophia. The place was old, the kind of establishment that had seen generations pass through its doors, each one leaving its mark in worn wooden floors and fadedwallpaper. It’s the perfect spot for a discreet meeting, far from the prying eyes of the city.

I haven’t seen her in years, not since she was a child. But I remember her—remember the fierce intelligence in her eyes, the quiet strength that belied her age.

She was her father’s daughter, no doubt about that. Carlo Agostini had been a formidable man, one of the few men who had earned my respect in a world where trust was a rare commodity. And now, with Carlo gone, Sophia is the only link left to the Agostini empire.

I take a sip of my whiskey, letting the warmth spread through me as I glance at my watch. She would be here soon, I had no doubt about that. Sophia might have spent years hiding from the life she was born into, but she wasn’t a coward. She knew it was time to face the inevitable.

The place was empty, only a single bartender and the telly droning on in the background. A game of soccer—football—was on. I didn't want an audience for the conversation I was about to have with Sophia, so I had all the patrons dismissed for the evening. The owner didn't seem to mind though, not when I paid him twenty thousand pounds for the time.

The door to the pub creaked open, and I look up just in time to see her step inside. The years have been kind to her—too kind, perhaps.

She is beautiful, in a way that is both understated and undeniable. Her dark brown hair is damp from the rain, curling slightly at the ends, and her hazel-green eyes sweep across the room with a mix of wariness and determination. She is dressed simply, in dark jeans and a sweater, but there is an elegance to her that is impossible to ignore.

She spots me almost immediately, and I see the flicker of recognition in her eyes as she makes her way over to my table. Her steps are measured, controlled, as if she is holding herselfback from running—whether toward me or away from me, I can’t be sure.

“Sophia,” I greet her as she approaches, standing to pull out a chair for her. “Thank you for coming.”

She hesitates for a moment before sitting down, her posture stiff, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” she replies, her voice steady, but I can hear the undercurrent of tension in it.

I sit back down across from her, studying her for a moment before responding. “No, you didn’t. But I’m glad you made the right decision.”

She bristles at that, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And what exactly is the ‘right decision’, Angelo? Coming here to meet you? Or something else you haven’t bothered to tell me yet?”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. She’s sharp, just like her father. “You’re here because there are things you need to know, Sophia. Things that could mean the difference between life and death.”

“Like what?” she asks, leaning forward slightly, her gaze intense. “What is it that I need to know so badly?”

“Drink?” I ask, and she shakes her head.

“You probably spiked it with God knows what.”

“Don’t insult me. If I wanted you in my bed, you'd be in my bed willingly.”

She looks at me and swallows again. “It’s terribly empty in here. Did your overwhelming darkness send everyone running?”

“I rented the whole place. Didn't think you'd want to have this conversation in public.”

“How considerate. Why am I here, Angelo?” I want to close my eyes and savor the sound of my name on her tongue. It’s delicious. But not yet, not now.

I take another sip of my drink, letting the silence stretch out between us for a moment. “Your father is dead.”

She flinches, the words hitting her like a physical blow. She hadn’t known, then. I had suspected as much, but seeing the shock on her face confirmed it.

“When?” Her voice is smaller this time, and I can see the struggle between guilt and grief on her face.

“A week ago.”

Her laugh is sardonic.

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