Sophia's POV
The café felt suffocatingly quiet after Vito and Maria had left. I sat alone at our table, surrounded by the remnants of our shattered afternoon tea—broken china, stained napkins, and the lingering scent of expensive bergamot that now seemed bitter in the air. Other patrons had returned to their conversations, but I could still feel their occasional glances, the whispered speculation about what they'd witnessed.
How did everything go so wrong?
The question echoed in my mind as I stared at my untouched pastry, my appetite completely destroyed by the events of the past hour. I hadn't pushed Maria. I hadn't done anything except try to offer comfort to a crying woman. Yet somehow, I'd become the villain in a story I barely understood.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The worst
