Sophia leapt from her car with a snarl on her lips, slamming the door behind her so forcefully she was surprised that the window didn't shatter.

Her fury was singled on one person, and one person only.

Giovanni was waiting for her on the vastly large driveway of the manor, leant against his own car with his huge arms crossed tightly against his chest. Dressed as he had been a few hours prior - when he had been in the bar - the pale blue, short sleeved shirt stretched across his muscles in a way Sophia used to admire. That, along with his grey slacks, tailored to him perfectly, and the smart shoes that adorned his feet, confirmed that Giovanni had very much been out on business today.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, compromising my kill like that?" She spat, making her way without pause towards the main doors or the manor.

Giovanni said nothing in return, her furious words falling on death ears as he stalked towards her with purpose, meeting her before she could get inside, grasping her bleeding arm in his hands and pulling her to a stop.

"How many times were you hit?" His thick eyebrows knitted together, his expression showing genuine concern as he examined her bicep.

"Fuck off."

She ripped her arm from his grasp, despite the pain that burned through her flesh, throwing her middle finger up between them, and turned towards the main doors of the house. She had driven all the way here absolutely furious, her anger growing towards the D'Onofrio by the second. How could one man, whom she knew to be intelligent, be so, so stupid?

In silence, Giovanni followed her inside, of course he did, and followed her all the way to Mercello's office.

Without halting to knock on the heavy oak doors, too eager to escape the man hot on her heels, Sophia stormed inside, her heated glare meeting Mercello's head on.

"If I'm to work for you, I expect to be trusted to do the job without a babysitter!" The fierce words came tumbling from her mouth, her fury getting the best of her.

Mercello stared at her in silence for a heartbeat or two, eyeing her tense stance, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the clenched fists by her side, and lingered for longer on her wounded arm, where she knew the blood had ran down towards her fingers. Then he glanced behind her to the open doorway, where she knew Giovanni stood. Mercello allowed his eyebrows to knit together into a deep frown before finally, his voice broke the thick silence.

"If you ever come in here without invitation, speak to me in that tone, and dare to command me like that again, you will regret it. I don't care how close you are to my wife." His stern words had Sophia's scowl hardening, but she forced her tense stance to relax nonetheless. He was right.

This wasn't Alessandro Barbato, she didn't report to her uncle any more. If she wanted to survive in this world then she needed to follow the rules. Mercello D'Onofrio had already proven himself to be an unforgiving man, if the number of bodies that followed his reign was anything to go by; she had killed enough of his enemies to know not to cross him.

"Did you complete your assignment?"

"Yes."

"And the body?"

"It's in my car," she sighed, jaw clenched, eyes cast low.

"You brought it here?" Mercello snapped. Her eyes shot to his, and darted away again under the weight of his anger.

"I had no choice," she uttered sharply. "If your idiotic brother hadn't blown my cover I wouldn't have been shot and I wouldn't have had to drive around the fucking city for an hour trying to lose the people who put a damn bullet in my arm!"

"Angelo?"

"Giovanni." Sophia scoffed. Of course he had assumed Angelo to be the problem. Giovanni could do no wrong in his older brothers eyes. He was the perfect son, perfect brother and perfect under-boss.

"I see." She heard Mercello sigh, and the shuffling of papers on his desk. "Gio, deal with the body, and then meet me back in my office. Sophia, you can go, go get your arm sorted. I won't be calling on you for a while."

Because of her injury or because she had nearly failed the job?

If it was the latter then her fury towards Giovanni was even more deserved.

***

"I can't believe you got yourself shot," Cal slurred, slumping over the table and knocking over the numerous empty shot glasses in front of him.

Lightweight.

Pablo had bet the idiot he could out-drink him. It hadn't been much of a competition, the younger Italian man had been ready to quit eight shots in, and yet they had continued to twelve; and they had been doubles. Cal was undoubtedly drunk off his face. Pablo wasn't much better, over in the corner of the bar flirting with a very uncomfortable looking bartender. Neither men were even gay, but intoxicated Pablo was apparently open to some experimentation.

She rolled her eyes, this could only end terribly.

"Not the great Russian Shooter any more," Cal laughed, and hiccuped.

"Please, no one has ever called me that," Sophia grumbled, nursing her own glass of vodka. She wasn't in the mood to drink light tonight. She had one goal and one goal only; get so drunk she couldn't remember the day.

She was still so angry with Giovanni. Not because he had blown her cover, not because she had gotten shot as a result. No, she was furious with the man because of what had happened after her conversation with Mercello.

As soon as she and Giovanni had left the office, that heavy handed man had her pinned against the wall of the hallway. There was no doubt that her blood would be left as evidence, smeared along the walls, as Giovanni pressed his hips to hers, trapping her within the heat of his body.

"Gio," she had hissed, a growl of frustration on her lips as she glared at the towering man. "What do you think you're doing, get the fuck off of me!"

But of course he hadn't listened. When did that man ever do anything he didn't want to. Instead he had buried his face in the space where her neck met her shoulders, lips pressed to exposed skin.

"I'm sorry," he had mumbled against her flesh, the vibration of his voice sending shivers through her, and for one terribly weak moment Sophia found herself softening in his arms. "I'm sorry." Again his mouth pressed softly to her skin, dancing a path up towards the delicate spot beneath beneath her ear. In that moment Sophia hated him, and she hated the quiet moan that escaped her.

"I hate you," Sophia had groaned, voicing her thoughts aloud, hating herself more for arching her neck and allowing him to continue his torture.

"No you don't," he'd argued with a throaty chuckle. "If you hated me you would have left by now. Tell me to stop and I will."

Stop, stop, stop. She had screamed the words inside her head but couldn't find the strength to speak out loud, not as she felt one of his hands graze the inside of her thigh; not as she felt his hands reaching for the buttons of her jeans, and a pulse of desire so strong shot though her that she almost wept with anticipation.

But then her eyes had met his, and his mouth, so close to hers, his breath on his lips, the heat of his gaze; all of it had been so wrong. She had pushed him away without another word and escaped.

And now she was sat at her bar, drunk, and quickly on her way to passing out. Her phone lay face up in front of her, and she glared at the text lighting up her screen.

She grabbed at her phone, ready to type out a snarky response but thought better of it. Instead she sent a message to someone else; Isabella.

By the time the woman had responded to Sophia's message, she had managed to sober up slightly.

The dark haired beauty met her outside the bar, sat patiently inside the familiar car with a smirk twisted on her pink lips. Sophia wasted no time in rounding the silver vehicle and took her place in the passenger seat, offering the attractive woman a flirty smile.

"You've been drinking again?" Isabella asked, as the engine of her car roared to life and she drove away from the bar and towards Sophia's apartment without needing any instruction to do so.

"When haven't I been drinking?" Sophia responded bluntly, and then with a much softer tone added, "You look good."

She was focussed on the roads as she drove, but Sophia saw the corner of her wide mouth quirk.

"Do I now?"

"Is that a new dress?" Sophia asked innocently enough, though when her hand found its place upon Isabella's bare thigh it became clear her intention was anything but.

"Not while I'm driving," the other woman reprimanded, but her amusement remained all the same.

So Sophia kept her wandering hands to herself for the entire drive, and then for the entirety of the walk from the apartment building entrance to her front door.

It took all of three seconds once they had crossed the threshold of Sophia's apartment for her to claim those familiar lips that had done so well to tease her in the past. Isabella was pressed up against the wall of her hallway, before she even had a chance to remove her shoes, her delicate hands sinking into Sophia hair and sending a shiver down her spine.

Sophia's movements were rougher than usual as she tugged at Isabella's dress, pulled it over her head and pinned the other woman's hands above her head. Her mouth, slanted across Isabella's pink painted lips, pressed heavy - heavy enough that should she continue with such vigour she knew their lips would be swollen and possibly bruised come the next day.

Isabella said nothing about the new-found roughness to an intimate routine they had established in the past months, only moaned her name and allowed herself to be led towards the bedroom.

***

In the silence that followed their passion, Isabella shifted in the bed, leaning on her side to face Sophia with a narrowed gaze and pursed lips.

"You've seen him again haven't you?" Isabella questioned, eyes sharp as she scanned Sophia, as if she could see the evidence of Giovanni's touch on her skin, where the memory of his hands sill burned.

"Does it matter?" Sophia shrugged dismissively, turning away from her, knowing that if Isabella stared at her for too long, something would give away the conflicting emotions that tortured her. She didn't dare ask how Isabella knew that part of her afternoon had been filled with the overwhelming presence that was Giovanni.

"You're still not over him," Isabella scoffed. "Unbelievable."

Sophia heard the rustle of the bed sheets, and felt the mattress shift as Isabella gathered herself to her feet. They hadn't spoken much of Giovanni before, but it was apparently enough for Isabella to conclude that whatever was between the two women wasn't enough to compete. Sophia could try and convince her otherwise, but she knew ultimately it wouldn't change a thing.

"We're not dating. We're not exclusive. It shouldn't matter," was all Sophia said, because there was no way in hell she could confess the lingering desire that still burned between her and her ex. But her words, they were perhaps shaper than what was needed, and she needn't turn towards Isabella to know that her blunt words had hurt.

"Well it does."

Sophia didn't stop her lover from leaving, didn't once call out her name or glance her way as Isabella gathered her things. She couldn't blame the dark haired girl for leaving, Sophia was self-aware enough to know just how retched she could be at times. She had, without question, used Isabella tonight, used the innocent woman to work out her frustrations about a certain dark haired D'Onofrio. The disgust that wormed it's way inside her as a result was well deserved.

Sophia couldn't see Isabella again after tonight. Not for anything more than to offer an apology.

She stood only to lock the front door of her apartment, to ensure she received no unexpected visitors - be it Angelo looking for another drinking partner for the night, or Giovanni seeking to satisfy unfinished business - and returned to her bedroom. Her body still heavy from the effects of the copious amounts of alcohol that she had drowned herself in earlier, Sophia collapsed into her bed once again. The tendrils of her dirty blonde hair spread across her pillow, curtaining in front of her face and allowing her to feel as if she was hiding from the world.

She knew the ensuing hours would be filled with her wallowing in her own distaste, and she'd be damned if anyone stood in the way of that.

***

disposed of the dead body in the same way he dealt with any issue in his life; quickly and efficiently. Any issue that is, except the shattered relationship between him and Sophia Raptis that he was so desperate to mend.

It was difficult, to win back the affection of a woman who no longer wanted anything to do with him; especially when he knew all too well of the pain that it was clear she still ran from.

Their history was not something one could call 'easy' or 'simple'. It was full of pain, mistakes, and miscommunication. Neither one of them was to blame for what had occurred and served so well as to sever their relationship - of that he was certain. Yet, there was blame to fall in the events that followed such a shattering event - there was blame to placed on his lack of support for Sophia, on his willingness to open up to her so that she to may share the weight of the horrors that lingered in her conscience.

For he knew horrors did linger on her mind, because they still lingered on his.

He had moved too fast today, that was clear in the way she had reacted to him. She wasn't ready for such intimacy, for the intimacy that he so desperately craved between them.

Sex, desire, lust; that was safe, that fell into her comfort zone. But she wasn't ready for any kind of commitment, or emotional intimacy just yet. So for now he would play her game, if it meant being so close to her once again. He would play her game until her superficial feelings of attraction towards him could dissolve into something more concrete.

He wouldn't push her too far from her comfort zone, but he certainly wasn't to let once small set back render him defeated. Not when the reward far outweighed the risk.