Page 76 of Carnival Master

She bites her lip, conflict clear in her eyes. “I know what he is, what he’s done. But he’s still my father.”

“And he’ll keep trying to tear us apart unless we stop him.” I brush a strand of red hair from her face. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Sofia takes a deep breath and unlocks her phone. Her fingers shake as she dials the number we got from Phoenix.

“Federal Bureau of Investigation,” a voice answers.

“I... I need to report organized crime activities.” Sofia’s voice steadies as she continues, “My name is Sofia Moretti. I have information about Jimmy Moretti’s criminal enterprise in Dawsbury.”

I squeeze her hand as she details years of her father’s illegal operations, providing dates, names, and locations that will give the feds everything they need for tomorrow’s raid. And then she tells them about tomorrow’s meeting. The feds arrange a meeting for the morning beforehand to get more evidence in person.

When she hangs up, tears streak her cheeks. I pull her into my arms, letting her cry against my chest.

I hold Sofia, feeling her tears soak through my shirt. Her body trembles with each sob, the weight of betraying her father hitting her full force. I stroke her hair, letting her process the gravity of what she’s just done.

After a few minutes, her crying subsides. She pulls back just enough to look up at me, her green eyes rimmed red.

“We could never be together with him out there,” she whispers, her fingers clutching my shirt. “He’d never stop hunting us or trying to tear us apart.”

“I know, baby girl.” I cup her face, wiping away a stray tear with my thumb.

She leans into my touch. “Everything I’ve ever wanted was right here, but he’d destroy it all just to keep me in that gilded cage.”

I lean down, pressing my lips to her. She responds with a softness that contrasts sharply with our usual passionate encounters. This kiss holds something deeper.

She breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against my chest. We stay like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, as the distant sounds of the carnival drift through the trailer walls.

35

SOFIA

After calling the feds that night, I sit in the front row, watching Tyson command the circus ring with his usual charisma. My heart pounds as I observe his every move, knowing this is one of the last shows in Dawsbury before we move on.

Tomorrow everything changes—my life, family, everything I’ve ever known.

Tension radiates from his shoulders as he guides the performers through their acts. Even beneath his showman’s smile, I can see the worry in his eyes when they meet mine. He’s been protective today, keeping me close or having Nash or Colt nearby whenever he can’t be with me.

The crowd gasps and cheers at Nash’s and Colt’s death-defying feats as they perform on the trapeze, but my focus remains on Ty. His voice booms through the tent, directing attention to each spectacular moment. I marvel at how he maintains such control despite everything weighing on his mind.

As the final act concludes and the audience exits the cool night air, I remain seated. The emptying tent feels vast and quiet, with only the soft creak of ropes and canvas above. Cleanup crews move efficiently around the edges but fade into the background.

Ty approaches, his ringmaster’s coat catching the gleams of the spotlight. His expression softens as he reaches for my hand. Standing before me in the dimming tent, authority still radiating from his presence, he says, “Step right up, baby girl, into the arms of your master.”

I do as he says and stand, stepping into his arms and inhaling his masculine scent. The familiar mix of leather, musk, and something distinctly Tyson fills my senses. His strong arms envelop me, and I press my face against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath his ringmaster’s coat.

“You were amazing out there,” I murmur, tightening my grip around his waist. Despite what happens tomorrow looming over us, this moment feels safe.

His hand slides up my back, fingers tangling in my red hair as he tilts my face to meet his gaze. Those dark eyes that first caught my attention at the carnival entrance now look at me with such intensity it steals my breath.

“My beautiful girl,” he breathes, thumb brushing my cheek. The calluses on his hands graze my skin. “So perfect in my arms.”

I rise on my tiptoes, pressing closer. His coat buttons dig into my chest through my thin dress, but I don’t care. All that matters is being held by him, breathing him in.

His fingers trace patterns on my back as we stand in the dimming tent. The silence stretches between us, comfortable yet weighted with unspoken thoughts.

“Tell me about your mother,” Tyson says against my hair. “You never mention her.”

My body tenses. The memories I try so hard to keep locked away come rushing back. “She couldn’t handle this life,” I whisper, my voice catching. “The constant pressure, the expectations...”

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