by Daphne Dawn
“Are you alright, young man?” the old woman asks. “We contacted security because we heard moaning. I thought you were ill or being robbed.”
I can’t speak. I just stare in shock and disbelief. Sophia smiles and takes my hand, as easy going as a summer breeze.
“He was just a bit ill for a moment. Thank you for your concern. We’d better get going now.”
She leads me out by the hand.
As we pass the door, we start giggling like teenagers.
23
Sofia
At this point in my life, there are a few things that I’m ready to admit about myself.
One of those things is that I don’t enjoy spending hours in an art museum or a gallery. Being super quiet and wandering slowly, staring at everything on the walls—it’s just not for me.
There are many pieces of art I like, appreciate, or even love individually, but I had never connected with the whole gallery scene.
Not until this afternoon.
“Antonio, you’ve finally done it. Today, I am a believer in the art gallery experience. Thank you for opening my eyes.”
“That is a sentence I’ve always longed to hear.”
Antonio’s contemplating me with sincerity. He’s really happy to have someone to share this stuff with.
“You really did, Antonio. I’m going to get a membership to the Met, check all the gallery listings from now on.”
Antonio’s earnest expression doesn’t change, but I’m pretty sure he can tell I’m not being completely serious.
“I must’ve really opened your eyes, then.”
We smile mildly at each other, but our smiles are brimming with subtext as one of the paintings surrounding us.
As long as Antonio’s here with me, I could stay here all day—and all night.
But his smile starts to drop. I’d like to think that something deep and contemplative is brewing, some deep insight that maybe he’d like to share with me.
“I must go, Sofia.”
Huh. I’m usually pretty good at being able to deduce this shit—but Antonio’s one step ahead of me right now.
“What do you mean, Antonio? You have something to do now?”
My voice is getting intense—I’m feeling less in control of myself than usual, so I need to watch the fuck out.
“I mean, I understand completely if you do, but would you mind telling me what it is?”
“Just work, Sofia, like I do all the time. Are you okay to return to the mansion on your own?”
The only thing I should be doing right now is pressing Antonio on what work he’s doing exactly and subtly try to get some answers from him.
But I’m not saying a word. I’m just trying to keep my poker face from faltering. That’s a struggle I’ve never had on the job before—but this is the first time I’ve had to hide disappointment while working.
“Okay, I guess I’ll see you later, Antonio.” I mean for my voice to come out chipper, as if I’m completely fine with him just leaving after that.
“Either Marco or Franco will be there when you get back home. I hope that makes you feel better, Sofia.”
It seems as though I’m not hiding my disappointment that well after all. But that does help me feel better.
And did he really just say, ‘When you get back home’?
“Really, it’s okay,” I respond, smiling, trying to keep up the act.
Not looking convinced, Antonio plants a delicate kiss on my lips before swiftly leaving the room.
Standing alone in the gallery, I take a few minutes to collect myself and try to expel the residual emotions I’m feeling from that encounter.
I’m a professional. Apparently, that’s something I have to remind myself of now.
Enjoying myself on the job is one thing, especially if it helps me remain convincing. But growing personally attached to anyone along the way is one of the worst things I can do. It’s clearly past time for me to cut that shit out.
A fresh burst of resolve propels through me as I leave the gallery. When I see the limo waiting for me outside, I realize that I wasn’t even thinking about how the hell I was going to get back to the mansion.
That’s a big fucking detail to have a blank in my mind. I’m not looking forward to seeing how I might screw up next, but if I start now, I might be able to have the concentration and discipline to get back on target.
The limo driver takes off as soon as I get in. The privacy of the soundproof section of the vehicle where I’m riding would make the perfect spot to check in with the voicemails that would be too sensitive to listen anywhere else.
Looking at my phone, there are a fuck-ton of notifications, all from the Senator.
They must be from his office or something. Someone in his position would be too busy to call me multiple times a day—even for a matter like this.
After tapping on the first notification for a voicemail, I turn my phone’s volume down and listen carefully.
“Sofia, I’m just checking in to make sure you’ve got what you need and to make sure you’re actually on the job out there.”
It was the Senator himself, and the message weirdly ends after that.
“Sofia!” The next message starts automatically, and I have to turn the volume down even more for this one. “Don’t you realize how important communication is on a job like this? I thought you were supposed to be a professional. Your lack of contact with me and your lack of results are inexcusable—do you know what that means?”
The message ends, and I stop the next voicemail just as it begins.
This is something else I’ve never dealt with before. Up until now, everyone I’ve worked with had some kind of understanding of these jobs and way more patience.
Does the Senator really not know that by calling my number and screaming at my voicemail, he’s putting the operation in way more risk than me not getting back to him right away?
Apparently, fucking not.
My plan is to not even listen to the third and last voicemail, but when the limo is within two minutes of arriving, I decide to listen while I have the chance—just in case there’s something actually important he needs to tell me.
“This is unbelievable!” The senator’s voice rips through my phone the instant I hit play. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing out there—I don’t know what you’re thinking or doing at all. You need to contact me immediately!”
The limo’s pulling into the mansion’s driveway now, and if this senator thinks I’m contacting him anytime soon, he’s just going to have to keep waiting.
And, apparently, stressing the fuck out.
Fuck, he’s calling me now. I need to answer and get this over with.
“Yeah, this is DiCosta,” I say quietly into the phone.
“Sofia!” The senator’s still in his heightened rage—great. “Do you even know how to operate at this level? This isn’t a game. What are you doing out there?”
“Senator, you’re the one who described this as deep cover. You should know what my success rate is—I will get you results, just not in a day. You realize it’s only been a day, right?”
Marco’s walking out the front door to greet me, and I need to end the call before he gets much closer.
“Look, Senator...”
“You look, Sofia! I don’t care what excuses you have to throw at me. You’re in a whole new world now, and I hope you understand what I mean when I tell you that if you don’t deliver results, you are finished. Think about tha—”
I hang up the phone as Marco gets ready to knock on the window. I will simply have to deal with the enraged senator later, much later, by the look on Marco’s face.
24
Marco
The limo window is tinted, but I know just who is hearing my knocks on the glass and whose face I’ll see as the window rolls down.
One of the most impressive things about this woman is the effect she’s had on me over such a damned short period of time. Before today, you wouldn�
��t catch me running out to the driveway and knocking on a car window for anyone.
Even for me, it’s hard to fucking believe that I’m standing in the middle of the goddamned mansion driveway, peering eagerly into the luxury vehicle.
Yet, here I am. And as the window rolls down, I get a breathtaking eyeful as to why I ran out here like a kid on Christmas morning.
“I was hoping somebody would be home, but seeing you here to greet me is more than I could’ve asked for.”
The way Sofia’s smiling right now is more than I could’ve asked for, and I’m about to tell her that when I notice the way she’s holding her phone.
It looks like she rode all the way back here by herself, so it’s no surprise she has her phone out.
But, the way she’s holding it—her arm outstretched slightly, the screen tilted away from her—looks as if she’s trying to get away from something—or someone—on the phone.
When I open the door for her, I notice the tiniest bit of stress in her smile—and the way she seems to push it away from herself as she steps out the door.
Fuck, it’s none of my business anyway. Whatever shit’s going down in her life, I’m glad she has a place here with us.
A place where she’ll always be treated right.
A place to get away from all the bullshit.
The stress is gone from Sofia’s face by the time I lean in for a kiss. It’s no fucking short greeting kiss, either.
It starts out that way, but it keeps going for a second, then another, and the smallest spark soon takes on a bit of fire.
With our lips still locked, I reach behind Sofia to shut the limo door. My hand finds her ass for a satisfying little pat on its way back to my side.
That puts the perfect punctuation on the kiss, and we both end it right there.
“Wait!” Sofia yells, bringing the moment to an end. “Don’t let the limo drive off with my stuff!”
She does not seem amused at my laughter, but I can’t help myself.
“It’s not a taxi, Sofia. It’s not going far, no matter what—but I’ll make sure it doesn’t go anywhere. And I’ll get your stuff.”
Sofia seems a bit more pleased with that response, giving me a surprised, satisfied little nod.
“That would be terrific, Marco. Thanks. You can leave it, I guess...inside somewhere?”
“You mean, in your room, Sofia? I wouldn’t leave it anywhere else.”
“Ooh, that works. I just have to clear some of these missed texts and calls from my phone. Shit’s been blowing up recently.”
This woman has no problem taking charge, and I must say, I love it. What I love even more is the feeling that there’s a whole lot more to discover.
Sofia smiles slyly as she walks past me towards the mansion, leaving me to get whatever she’s left in the limo and carry it for her. That smile raises my temperature by a couple of notches, easily, and I’m not only happy to carry her stuff inside, I’m fucking looking forward to it.
Just like I’m looking forward to learning more about her, to maybe figuring it out someday. For now, it’s just a beautiful fucking mystery.
The vibe she gives off just being in fucking control is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Even zooming along in one of Bocci’s F1s can’t really compete with it—but it’s still the only thing I can even compare it to.
Carrying Sofia’s bags inside, I see her wandering into the kitchen, doing something on her phone. I’ve never been jealous of a fucking phone before, but, fuck...I’m going to have to come up with something better than whatever’s on there to keep her attention.
After carrying the bags into Sofia’s room, I finally think of something that no fucking smartphone can hope to contend with.
As happy as I am to carry the bags, I won’t even dare to mess with their contents. Sofia knows exactly how she wants all this stuff stored, I’m sure, and there is no lack of storage in this room. So, I leave them carefully in the middle of the floor, already starting to shake with fucking excitement at the time I’m about to show Sofia.
It’s going to be the time of her fucking life, for sure.
At least, I hope it is.
Sofia’s footsteps are coming up the stairs, so I better act fast if I want this to be any sort of surprise. I yank my phone from my pocket, find the number, and dial it as fast as my thumb will allow.
“Marco,” a slightly nervous voice answers, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Hey, I was just wondering if I could get some more time in today.”
“Of course! Anytime, like we agreed.”
“Great, we’ll be there in a bit.”
“We? Are you br...”
Sofia walks into the room, and I hang up abruptly.
“Who were you talking to?” she asks. “Sorry to pry...”
“No, no one. Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Pretty good. I just had a glass of water, and, I don’t know...What’s going on?”
“Pretty good, huh? Do you think you’d be up for the ride of your life?”
Sofia lets a mischievous smile spread across her face as she looks down at the floor for a moment.
“You mean, better than last night?”
She looks back up at me as I take a few steps towards her.
“The ride of your life, Sofia. Are you ready?”
Sofia casually shrugs with a cool confidence that sets my insides alight like a fucking firebomb.
But on the outside, I stay cool myself.
“Sure.”
“Well, if you’re ready, we’ve got a whole fucking F1 racetrack waiting for us.”
25
Sofia
I’ve never been to any kind of racetrack before, much less an F1. I’m awestruck to see the fat black tires attached to flimsy bits of metal. It’s hard to believe people fucking sit in these and race around the track at such fast speeds.
I can’t imagine the thrill they get from doing that.
“Hey, Marco, how’s it fucking going?” a man asks, holding out his hand to Marco as we walk around the pit area.
All the drivers are working on their cars and getting ready for the big race.
“It’s going fucking great!” Marco shakes the man’s hand. “Are you ready for the race on Saturday?”
“Of course. You know I’ll fucking win,” the man says with a smile. “So, who’s she, Marco?” He thrusts his chin in my direction.
“Watch it, Luigi. She’s with me,” Marco growls. It’s a possessive, primal noise. “This is Sofia.”
The man shakes my hand. “You know I can’t fucking do that, Marco. Any hot chick in here is fair game.”
He smiles at me in a suggestive way, one that normally makes any woman weak at the knees. “You should watch him, honey. Call me later if you want a real man.”
“Which part of ‘She’s with me’ didn’t you fucking understand?”
Luigi slaps Marco on the shoulder. “Chill, man. I’d better get back to work if I want this car ready for Saturday.”
Marco and I walk a little farther in the pit area, looking at the cars as we go.
“Hey, Marco,” another man hollers as we approach.
“Hey there, Lando.”
“Who’s this fine-looking woman with you?” He holds a dirty rag in his left hand.
“This is Sofia. She’s with me.” Marco motions toward me.
Lando looks me up and down.
“Keep your fucking eyes in your head, Lando. She’s all mine.” Marco glares at him.
The man shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you, Sofia.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” I reply and wonder how wise it is to be here.
I can feel the testosterone bouncing off the walls all around me. If Marco starts a fist fight, I don’t know what I’ll do.
We pick our way through puddles of oil on the ground, compressors, and other machines I don’t know the name of. I’m sure my eyes are nearly popping out of my head.
“Hey, Marco!” a thir
d man yells. “I was hoping I’d see you here.” He’s tinkering with a car under a tarp.
The two men shake hands.
“Hey, Carmine, this is Sofia,” Marco introduces me.
Carmine isn’t quite the fucking pig the other men are, but he gives me a quick look.
“Nice to meet you, Sofia.” He motions to his hand. “My hand is dirty, or I would shake yours. I don’t think you want grease all over you.”
“No, not really,” I say. “Nice to meet you, though.”
“So, why were you hoping to see me here?” Marco turns to Carmine.
“I need to talk to you about some shit. I know you’re busy right now, but could we talk privately?” Carmine wipes the grease off his hands with a rag and motions his head in a direction away from the mechanics and other people hanging around.
I can tell Marco doesn’t want to go too far away from me so they remain within hearing distance. I can hear almost every damn word they say so I’m not sure how private the conversation really is.
“Hey, man, I know I’m past due on the fucking money I owe you. And we talked about this the other day” Carmine looks around to see if anyone’s paying attention to what he’s saying.
I pretend like I’m not. I’m a badass agent after all. It’s in my fucking blood to listen to other people’s conversations, read lips, or whatever it takes to get the fucking job done.
In this case, I’m learning more and more about a guy who calls me his possession.
“Yeah, you’re like a week past due, but who’s fucking counting. And I already said it’s cool.” Marco glances over at me.
I look away quickly.
“Look, man, is there any way I could have some more time? More than we talked about?” Carmine asks. “Things have gone to real shit at home. I’m really fucking stressed about everything that’s going on. I’m barely able to keep up with our regular bills. And my wife is still really sick. And you know,” his voice trails off. I’m a little too far away but it almost looks like this tough racer might cry any second.
