Page 27 of Forced Arrangement

Angelo trusts him, that much is clear. And if Angelo trusts him, I’ll have to find a way to make things work between us. I’m not looking for friends in this world, but if Franco is going to be part of my life now, we have to find some kind of common ground.

The elevator doors slide open, and I step inside, my mind already racing ahead to the next challenge.

Justine will be landing tomorrow, and I can’t wait to see her, to have some piece of my old life back. Angelo was not pleasedwith the idea of bringing an innocent into this mess, but he had agreed to Justine flying out when I made it clear she would just do so on her own if she didn’t hear from us soon.

As the elevator rises toward the penthouse, I can’t shake the feeling that things are only going to get more complicated from here.

Franco is right about one thing—this isn’t a game. And if I’m not careful, I could end up being just another casualty in a world that doesn’t forgive mistakes.

Chapter Ten

Angelo

The streets of New York blur by as the car speeds through the city.

I sit in the backseat, my mind a battlefield of thoughts, every detail of the day replaying in my head. The feel of Sophia’s hand in mine, the taste of her lips, and the weight of Franco’s scrutinizing gaze all linger in my mind.

I have always prided myself on being in control—of my emotions, of my surroundings, of my life. But since Sophia showed up, everything has felt just a little more precarious.

Franco is silent beside me, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but I know that won’t last long. The man is like a hawk—always watching, always assessing. I can practically feel the questions brewing behind his cool, dark eyes.

Finally, after several blocks of tense silence, Franco shifts in his seat, turning to face me. “What are you doing with her, Angelo?” he asks, his voice low and steady, cutting straight to the point.

I don’t look at him, keeping my gaze on the passing cityscape. “You know why she’s here. We’re protecting her.”

“That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it,” he replies, his tone sharp. “If this is about keeping her safe, then fine. But if you’re just fucking her because she’s convenient or you think she’s hot, then we’ve got a problem.”

My jaw tightens, and I finally turn to meet his gaze. “And why’s that?”

“Because there are plenty of hot women out there with a lot less baggage,” Franco says bluntly. “You don’t need to get mixed up with her if that’s all this is. She’s got enough shit to deal with. If you’re not serious, walk away.”

Anger flares in my chest, a cold, controlled burn that I barely keep from showing. “She’s not just some woman, Franco. She’s important to me.”

Franco doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. “If she’s important, then treat her like it. Because if you’re not ready to deal with the fallout of all of this, you need to back off now.”

I lean forward, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You’re overstepping.”

Franco’s expression remains impassive, but I can see the tension in the set of his jaw. “Maybe. But someone’s got to say it. You’re not thinking straight when it comes to her, and that’s dangerous—for both of you.”

I glare at him, my fists clenching in my lap. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze piercing. “Do you? Because from where I’m standing, you’re letting her get under your skin. And that’s going to complicate things.”

I hold his gaze, the car engine the only sound in the confined space. Franco is loyal, I know that, but he’s also pragmatic—brutally so. He isn’t afraid to speak the truth, no matter how much it stings.

“I’m handling it,” I say finally, my voice cold as ice.

Franco studies me for a long moment, and then nods once, a subtle gesture of acquiescence. “Fine. But just know this—if you screw this up, it’s not just your ass on the line. It’s hers too.”

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes in my pocket, interrupting the moment. I pull it out, glancing at the screen. The number is blocked, but I know exactly who it is.

“Costa,” I mutter under my breath, the name tasting like poison on my tongue.

Franco’s eyes darken, and he leans in slightly, listening as I answer the call.

“Angelo.” A slick, oily voice oozes through the line, sending a shiver of disgust down my spine. “I hear you’ve been busy. Bringing dear Sophia back into the fold, hmm? How touching.”

“Costa,” I greet him, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “I’d say it’s nice to hear from you, but I’d be lying.”

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