Page 33 of Captured Innocence

The ache for family would never leave.

CHAPTER 11

Sophia

Innocence personified.

The expression had repeated itself in the back of my head several times during the course of the last few hours, one of the last things Mattia had said to me.

I’d thought about leaving for Paris, skipping the birthday party. I wanted the sanctity and safety of my dorm room, my music, and my computers. My father had no clue that on top of engaging in becoming the perfect wife material, which is what I’d overheard him telling the teachers when guiding them to select my classes, I’d educated myself in the art of hacking into computers. It was a failsafe for the future, something I’d learned on my own just like martial arts training, which I’d begun in earnest.

To see myself as a child dressed in floral material was disgusting. Maybe I’d wear jeans instead.

I glared at myself in the mirror, doing my best to keep from yanking out the scissors and making some minor changes. Snickering, I wasn’t certain I could stop myself once I got started.

“That’s a gorgeous dress.” Celeste said, but after a quick glance in the mirror, I could tell she was lying.

“Mrs. Santiago, my father’s business associate brought me three dresses to choose from. Unfortunately, I think they forgot I was turning nineteen, not nine.” I also didn’t mention Mrs. Santiago was my father’s main whore although not his only one. What was it about men in the mafia? Philandering assholes.

That’s what Mattia will be like.

True. For all the giddy sensations I’d felt from his statement I belonged to him, I no longer had to remind myself it would be as a possession only. Marriage. The way of the Cosa Nostra. How long had it been since a union had been celebrated throughout Italy? Or at least in one of the territories held by the Five Families? Since I was a very young child. I’d watched the televised wedding as millions had, enthralled at the pomp and circumstance. Then I’d learned what the union really meant, the poor girl taken from her home country of Spain, forced to marry a man almost twice her age. I had to wonder what had happened to her.

Celeste pressed her hand across her mouth then laughed. “Okay, it’s awful. You could wear the one from last night.”

“Right. That would go over oh-so well.”

“You wanted to stir the pot last night. Why not at your birthday party?”

Tempting. Very tempting.

Hissing, I stormed toward the window of the bedroom that had looked the same since I was thirteen years old. That’s the last time it had been painted. Of course, that had been right before my mother had started taking a turn for the worse, my father pushing her into a shell. She rarely came out of her room, almost never smiled. I couldn’t stand seeing her the way she was.

I’d always known the real reason for her slide into darkness, even though I’d been told she’d had different diseases over the years. The lies had been too easy for Enzo and my father to tell me. Even Lucia had found it difficult to look me in the eye after all the horrible things that had happened in this house.

“What’s wrong? I mean other than the godawful dress,” Celeste asked from behind me.

“Who said anything is wrong?” Everything was. Except for the beautiful moments I’d had the night before. Even those had been tainted, reality setting in moments after Mattia’s phone had rung, calling him back to duty. While he’d been amazing, tender during all the right moments, my body still ached.

But not nearly as much as my heart.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” I asked absently.

“Uh-oh. Please don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with Mattia.”

Exhaling, the truth was I wasn’t certain at all how I felt. “I don’t know. Just answer the question.”

She thought about it for a little while before answering. “Yes. I do. You’ll know if you love him, Sophia.”

“Yeah, I guess. And yes, I’m fine.”

All the things I’d heard about a girl’s first time were true. The fact he’d simply waited as I’d gotten dressed, guiding me back to the club without saying anything romantic like he had an amazing time, or he couldn’t wait to see me again had driven a stake through a portion of my heart.

I was no fool. I hadn’t expected roses and diamonds sent to me, but maybe a quick call.

“Uh-huh. That’s what you told me six times last night, once on the phone this morning and three times since I arrived. Why don’t I try a different tactic? Did the bastard hurt you? Should I hunt him down with a huge butcher knife in my hand?”

Celeste was the epitome of a good Catholic girl, so her statement brought laughter. I turned around, wagging my finger at her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

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