Page 161 of Sinful Honor

They behaved as if they were friends, as if they’d known her forever—not cool.

The drive over was uneventful and quick. She seemed exhausted, another minus point on my subconscious guilt-list.

She fell asleep before we reached Castello dei Pietra, and when her head sank against my shoulder, it was as if something within me had re-arranged itself.

We were home.

Sophie was finally home.

“She will need clothes,” Alessio suddenly said and turned around.

I stared at him for a full five seconds. “She’s my responsibility. I don’t need you to take care of her, or even think of her. Especially not about what she is or isn’t wearing.”

Alessandro arched one eyebrow and suppressed a grin, then turned back and shared a look with Cristo.

Fuck them.

Sophie was mine.

And I would take care of her every need.

We passed the new gate, which closed behind us rapidly.

“How’s the new security system working out?” I asked.

Cristo had stayed back at home these last couple of weeks to oversee the implementation of our new and improved security system.

“It’s good. Actually, it’s amazing. We’re using AI to identify everyone, and its pattern-prediction of movement is eerily accurate,” Cristo said.

“How’s Mamma?” Alessandro asked—the one question I dreaded.

“Well, she went from furious, to pissed, to concerned when Vincenzo Salvini called and told us about Gabe in the hospital. Then she went back to pissed when she found out he released himself,” he said and met my gaze through the rearview mirror.

“Big brother made a big pooh-pooh, and Mommy is very angry.”

I flipped him the bird.

We stopped at the house, and I carried a sleeping Sophie inside, ignoring my aching body and head, which was hurting and throbbing like a bitch.

Craig Donnelly got me good.

Upstairs I opened the door to our room—the one I hadn’t been in since she left.

As soon as I’d laid her down on the bed, the phone in my pocket started to vibrate.

I put the blanket over her, then pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and put it on the nightstand.

She hadn’t had a single sip since we left Dublin.

I was about to leave the room, when I turned back, then scribbled a short message on a piece of paper.

Call 3 on the house phone if you wake up.

Or go explore.

The house is yours now.

Then I stared at her for a while before I left her alone in the room—with the door unlocked.

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