Sophia's POV
Maria.
The realization hit me like ice water as I stared at the text message on my phone. It had to be her. The fragile blonde woman who'd clung to Vito's hand in that hospital room, who'd looked at me like I was stealing something that belonged to her.
What could she possibly want to tell me?
The question haunted me through a restless night and an anxious morning. By the time 2 PM approached, I'd changed outfits three times and rehearsed a dozen different conversation starters, none of which felt adequate for whatever confrontation was about to unfold.
The café on 47th and Madison was one of those charming little places that catered to wealthy women who had nothing better to do than spend their afternoons gossiping over expensive pastries and imported tea. Soft classical
