Page 39 of Forced Arrangement

Sophia steps forward again, her voice steady and sharp. “We may be engaged, but don’t think for a second that our engagement is intended to thwart you, Guiseppe. This family is mine. You’ll either fall in line or fall off the map.”

Her words hang heavy in the air as Guiseppe turns on his heel and storms off, his followers reluctantly trailing after him. The rest of the men linger, their expressions worried as they process what just happened.

One by one, they nod in respect to Sophia, acknowledging her as the new leader.

Chapter Fourteen

Sophia

The sound of the shots I fired rings in my ears long after the contest has ended. I can still feel the weight of the gun in my hands, the recoil, the cold satisfaction that settled in my chest when Guiseppe missed his first shot. This wasn’t about proving him wrong. This wasn’t even about winning. It was about survival.

I’d stood in front of the men who had once followed my father and demanded they follow me. And they had. Well, most of them. For now, that was enough.

But the real victory came when I saw the flash of fear in Guiseppe’s eyes, even if he tried to mask it with arrogance. He’d underestimated me. They all had.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my room, staring at my reflection. I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me. There’s a sharpness in her eyes that wasn’t there before, a hardness that I’m not sure I like. But this is who I have to be now.

My mother had always warned me, “Never let them see the cracks”. But cracks were inevitable when you were holding this much weight on your shoulders.

I glance at the engagement ring Angelo had slipped onto my finger earlier. It feels foreign on my hand, like it doesn’t belong to me, a symbol of a life I haven’t chosen. And yet here I was, wearing it, playing a part I don’t fully understand yet.

I feel faint suddenly, and I press and hand to my chest. I sit down clumsily in the chair near the mirror, the room spinning a little as I try and collect myself. My stomach turns a bit and I hunch forward, closing my eyes.

What’s wrong with me? Is this some kind of delayed reaction to the stress of the day?

I hunch over and wait for the wave of discomfort to pass. It’s been a stressful few weeks. Surely that is all that is wrong with me.

A knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts. I already know who it will be. Feeling slightly less peaked, I rise cautiously and go to open the door.

Angelo stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable as always, but his eyes…they soften when they landed on me. It’s subtle, but I’ve spent enough time around him now to know his tells. There’s something comforting in that, even if I’m not ready to admit it.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “I’m fine. That went…better than I expected.”

“You did better than they expected,” he corrects, his voice low, his gaze lingering on me for a moment too long. “You handled yourself well.”

The compliment feels strange coming from him. I wasn’t supposed to care what he thought. But I did. Maybe too much.

“All those years in the shooting club, all the competitions,” I say, shaking my head. “I thought my mother was just promoting interests that our wealthy friends enjoyed.” My mouth twists a little. “Turns out she was making sure that I could protect myself.”

“She was a wise woman,” Angelo says.

I nod, and pace away to look out the window. I can’t think of my mother. Not right now. The thought of her feels like holding my hand too close to an open flame. At a certain distance, the thought is comforting and brings joy, but the moment my fingers move too close, the pain is there, sharp, staggering and permanent.

“Costa’s not done,” I say, avoiding the weight of Angelo’s stare by turning toward the window. The city skyline stretches out before me, a reminder of how far I am from the life my mother and I built. “He’s going to come at me harder next time.”

“I’ll handle Costa,” Angelo replies, his voice taking on that hard edge I’d come to recognize. “You don’t need to worry about him.”

I turn to face him, my frustration bubbling to the surface. “That’s the problem, Angelo. I’m not here for you to handle things for me. I can’t lead this family if you keep swooping in every time someone threatens me.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he steps closer, his hand brushing against my arm, a touch that sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re right. But you’re not alone in this. You don’t have to be.”

There it is again—the softness, the vulnerability he tries so hard to hide. And it’s always moments like this that make it harder to keep my walls up. I want to believe him. I want to let him shoulder the weight with me. But I can’t shake the feeling that letting him in means losing some of myself in the process.

“I’m not used to relying on anyone,” I say quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve spent my whole life running, taking care of myself, handling things on my own. It’s hard to just…let that go.”

His hand slides down to my wrist, his fingers wrapping around it in a way that isn’t possessive, but grounding. “You don’t have to let it go, Sophia. Just don’t carry it all alone.”

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