“Treadmill? Yoga?”
“Maybe I’ve taken a few kickboxing classes.”
“Now that I believe.” I laugh a little, knowing full well this woman can definitely fight to save her life. If her punch last night is anything to go by.
And the way she was able to get a knife to my throat? Few people can accomplish that. And I work out, too. A lot. I also train in the art of Jiu-Jitsu. We set the table together and dine on the meal before us as the storm intensifies. After we eat, I leave Sophia to check why the generator hasn’t kicked on yet. It should have kicked on a few seconds after the power went out. The fact it hasn’t troubles me.
I head into the garage, searching in the dark with my heavy-duty flashlight for the generator. I kick it on, and nothing happens.
Fuck.
The starter button isn’t working, so I look for the recoil. Shit, the cord is broken.
I head back into the house and the wind slams against the windows with a vengeance.
I stalk to the main living room where Sophia has brought a few of the candles in from the kitchen and placed them strategically around the space.
“It almost makes the room look cozy,” she says as she sits on the couch. “Almost romantic.”
I blink, not even touching that comment, and sit on the armchair next to the couch, keeping a good amount of space between us. “So, why do you hate storms so much?” I need her to open up to me, so it’s best to start with something small.
“When I was little, I grew up in Napoli. We were poor and couldn’t afford much.”
I nod my head to let her know I’m hearing every word. I know a little about Italy. Naples is a beautiful city.
“We had a small stone house with a tiled roof. It was so freaking old, we had to put wedges on it to prevent it from falling on us. I swear it was more like living in the Flintstone’s home. And my father would tell us dreams of America. I wanted to get to America so badly to have a new life.”
“Ah, the American dream.”
She smiles. “One night, there was a terrible storm on the island, much like this one.” She gazes out the window. “We didn’t have the means to keep our house steady, and the winds came and broke a window. It was like the window breaking created a wind tunnel that took our roof clear off the house.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Tears fill her eyes. “My father tried to keep us safe, but he ended up losing his life that night when a tree crashed into the house.”
I want to hold her, comfort her, but I stand my ground. “Sophia, I’m so sorry that happened to you. How old were you?”
She stares into my eyes, a single tear tracing down her cheek. “Thirteen.”
“I lost my father when I was around that age too.”
“How?”
I hate dredging up these old memories. I hate it all so much. My father, sick in his bed while my mother tried to care for him, to no avail. “Cancer,” I answer. “My mother tried to take care of us after he died, but she had a rough time of it all. My life was heading nowhere until one day my friend, Xavier, told me to leave town with him. I did it and never looked back.”
Sophia smiles, and it lights up her pretty brown eyes. “I’m happy to hear that.”
“What about you? How did you get to America?”
The smile disappears and I want to rewind to the moment before I asked that question. “That’s a story for another day.”
I don’t urge her to continue because I know she needs to trust me more. I want to broach the subject of Bishop, but before I can, something crashes in the distance.
“Stay here,” I tell her.
Chapter 4
Sophia
* * *
I can’t believe I’m sitting here telling Dean all my stories. I should know better. I’m the type of girl who never lets her guard down, but there’s just something about him. A simple kindness glows through him that I can’t turn away from. It makes me want to open up. It makes me want to spill all my secrets to him, but I know I can’t.
I can’t tell him because if I do, he’ll never let me go through with it. I can’t tell him my plans.
Dean heads off to the other side of this ginormous house to check on the sound of the crash. When he doesn’t return after a few minutes, my mind gets the best of me. What if it wasn’t from the storm but from Bishop’s men coming for Mia?
I grab my knife, never letting this baby too far away from me at any given time. I move through the house, knife in one hand, flashlight in the other.