Page 55 of His Assistant

“I do,” I say bravely. “I know exactly who he is and what he does and what he’s capable of. He told me everything.”

He shakes his head and looks down at his desk. The shame and disappointment are written so plainly on his face. I feel like a child again, being reprimanded for breaking a vase or bombing a math test. Of course, this is much, much worse.

“Okay,” he finally says. “A baby is a miracle, no matter where it came from. I want to be part of my grandchild’s life.”

Finally, he’s seeing reason.

“Of course you’ll be part of his life,” I say, a tear sliding down my face. “I don’t want to do this without you. He’ll need his grandpa around. I’ll need you around.”

He looks back up at me with shining eyes. “Then you can’t let Dominic be involved.”

I stop breathing for a second. What he’s asking is so unfair. Either I let my child be fatherless, or I make myself fatherless? That’s no kind of bargain.

“How could you want that for your grandchild?” I ask harshly.

“How could you want this life for your child?” he asks, gesturing around. “This is the kind of life you’d be giving him. Constant violence and blood feuds. You’d never know if you were safe. Dominic would probably keep you locked away around the clock just to keep his enemies off you. What kind of life is that?”

“We’d be taken care of. My child wouldn’t want for anything ever again. He could go to the best schools. He could be anything he wants to be, instead of just an assistant.”

“So that’s it?” he asks. “You blame me for the fact that you’re ‘just an assistant?’”

“I don’t want to get into this with you,” I beg. “That’s an entirely different conversation. The point is, I can’t deprive my child of a good life, and if you really loved me, you wouldn’t ask me to.”

“Little girl, I have done nothing but sacrifice for you,” he huffs. “And I will continue to sacrifice for you. You can move into my place. I’ll help you with the baby. I’ll close down the shop and take care of him full-time. You could go back to school. Be something better than an assistant if that’s what you want.”

“With what money?” I ask, incredulous. “You were barely scraping by as it was. If you close the shop, you’ll have nothing.”

“I own my home,” he argues.

“For now,” I say. “You’re getting older, and you’re going to need more medical care. Don’t you see how staying with Dominic would be good for all of us?”

He shakes his head. “No, Sofia,” he says sadly. “I see nothing but destruction and pain if you stay with him. And I want no part of it. The choice is yours. I’ve told you what I’m willing to do to help you. But if you still insist on staying with that man, I want nothing to do with you or your child.”

The tears flow freely now, and my face burns. His eyes are cold and empty, though I know that’s just a tactic. He wants to pretend this doesn’t touch him. He wants to act like losing his only child forever is fine with him.

At his core, he’s no better than Dominic but he doesn’t see it that way. He’s prideful and thinks everything in this world should go the way he plans it.

I won’t play into his game. As much as it hurts me, I turn from him and walk out of his office. I don’t look at his face as I go, but I hope it’s pained. I hope it hurts him as much as it’s hurting me, because he’s put me in a shitty situation.

I walk through the destroyed garage without seeing anything. My eyes are so filled with tears, it’s a miracle I make it out of there without tripping on something. Still, I keep my spine straight and my resolve strong.

Nobody else gets to write my story. Nobody else gets to tell me who I can or can’t be with. Not even my father.

When I walk out of the garage, a town car idles at the curb, waiting for me. My heart breaks with every step I take toward it, but he made this decision, not me. I can only hope he’ll come to his senses soon. As angry as I am, I truly don’t want my child to grow up without their grandfather.

Once I’m in the car, the tears start to fall, and they don’t stop.

22

DOMINIC

I’m pacing the entryway of the penthouse when the elevator dings and Sofia walks through it, face blotchy with tears. I barely have a chance to ask her what’s wrong before she throws herself into my arms.

It feels like coming home. We’ve never been like this before. She’s never turned to me just for comfort. I hold her loosely at first, afraid I might scare her off. But as she clings to my shirt, I tighten my arms around her, gently rubbing her back while she sobs against me. I don’t know what made her so upset, but I’m sure as hell going to find out, and punish whoever made her cry.

I lead her into the living room, where we sink onto the plush couch. I don’t spend much time in here, but Chiara insisted we needed a comfortable space to entertain guests.

When she finally sits up and wipes her face, I try to find out what’s wrong. She just shakes her head.