Chapter 6
“I don’t know how to fight,” she said.
“I know.”
“Comforting.”
“You’re not fighting anyone.”
He nodded toward the bag.
“You’re reminding yourself what anger feels like.”
Sophia stared at it.
“I’m tired.”
“You can stop.”
“I’m angry.”
“Then don’t.”
She hit the bag.
Poorly.
Dominic caught it.
“Again.”
She hit harder.
“Again.”
Anthony’s voice filled her head.
You’ve let yourself go.
She struck.
You embarrass me.
Again.
Take some accountability.
Again.
You were the bargaining chip.
Sophia screamed and hit until her arms shook.
Finally she stepped backward, breathing hard.
Dominic handed her water.
“How do you feel?”
“Terrible.”
“Anything else?”
She laughed weakly.
“Alive.”
“Remember that part.”
Later, she stood before the wall mirror.
Sweaty.
Hair tangled.
Face red.
“Nico, I look awful.”
Dominic, behind her, went still.
“Nico?”
Her eyes widened.
“Was that terrible?”
“No.”
His expression softened.
“No one’s called me that since my mother died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
He stepped beside her.
“Now look at yourself again.”
Sophia did.
“I still look awful.”
“That’s Anthony talking.”
She looked away.
Dominic touched her chin and gently turned her back toward the mirror.
“Tell me something he no longer gets to decide.”
Sophia swallowed.
“My clothes.”
“Again.”
“My body.”
“Again.”
“My work.”
“Again.”
“My value.”
Her eyes burned.
“My face. My weight. Whether I deserve to eat. Whether I’m intelligent. Whether I’m difficult.”
She was crying now.
“He doesn’t get to decide whether I’m enough.”
Dominic stood behind her without touching her.
Sophia wiped her cheeks.
“This body carried me through every morning when I thought I was losing my mind.”
“Yes.”
“This brain kept trying to warn me even while he was drugging it.”
“Yes.”
“I believed him.”
“That doesn’t make him right.”
Sophia stared at her reflection.
Then something in her posture changed.
Tiny.
But real.
“I’m still here.”
Dominic nodded.
“There she is.”
Three nights later, he took her to a restaurant in River North.
Not a hidden room.
Not a private club.
The front table.
Sophia wore a midnight-blue dress she had chosen herself.
People stared when they entered.
Not because Dominic Raineri was unfamiliar.
Because the woman holding his arm was his nephew’s fiancée.
Or had been.
Dominic pulled out her chair.
“You’re enjoying this,” Sophia whispered.
“Immensely.”
“You said this wasn’t revenge.”
“This isn’t.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe five percent.”
Sophia laughed.
Across the restaurant, phones appeared.
Whispers spread.