Sophia felt as if she had woken from a dream, suddenly understanding the source of her inner turmoil. She lifted the hem of her dress and turned to run.
She wanted to escape, to get as far away from him as possible, to never be bullied by him again!
But just as she took her first step, he grabbed her arm from behind. With a quick tug, he pulled her back, and she collided into his familiar chest.
His heartbeat was still strong and steady, yet it felt distant, almost unreal.
"Why are you running? I just wanted to ask my Juliet for a dance. Why make it seem like I'm some kind of monster?"
Capone wasn't surprised that Sophia wanted to escape. He knew he'd hurt her in that moment months ago when he'd demanded her compliance in the car. Watching her stumble out, he realized he'd made another mistake, one that even regret couldn't undo. He truly desired her, and even if she was likely to betray him, he couldn't quell that desire.
But she had been so close with another man, the same one she once loved deeply. They could rekindle their old feelings at any moment. How could he tolerate that?
Yes, he was impulsive, but hadn't she gone too far too? She was dressed to the nines, wearing those glass slippers, hoping to dance with that man!
Dream on!
She was his. Juliet belonged to Romeo alone—no polite, princely gentleman would ever take her away.
He'd come here himself to ensure Roger wouldn't show up, and he had a hundred ways to achieve that. In the end, Sophia would never dance with Roger, let alone nurture any feelings for him!
"What are you doing here? Where's Roger? What did you do to him?"
Sophia's voice was a mix of anger and fear. She had been waiting for her prince in white, not this devil in black.
"So worried about him? Dance with me, and I'll tell you."
"Let me go! I don't want to dance with you or even see you. Get away!"
Sophia struggled against him, her body trembling slightly, either from fear or frustration, making her appear even more delicate in his arms.
Yet, between them, she had never held the power. Her fragile, alluring resistance only intensified Capone's desire to possess her.
He wrapped one arm around her waist, his other hand holding her small, cold one.
"Why is your hand so cold? Are you underdressed, or is your circulation poor?" he asked, tightening his grip slightly to pass some warmth to her.
But all she felt was pain. Her hands, her heart, even the scars on her back—long since healed—seemed to ache at his sudden presence.
Only now did she truly understand what it felt like to be wounded all over.
"Don't hurt him. Whatever's between us has nothing to do with anyone else! Don't drag innocent people into this, or I'll never want to see you again!"
"Oh, really?" Capone raised an indifferent brow, though his gaze darkened. "Are you that worried about Roger? How would he feel if he saw you, dressed in the gown he had custom-made for you, dancing in my arms, trembling with pleasure? What would his face look like then, hmm?"
"You're despicable. A monster!"
Sophia struggled, but Capone only tightened his hold, leaning close to her ear. "Please me, and I won't touch him."
Sophia's face turned pale as she looked up at him. "You promise?"
"Yes," he replied.
In truth, he despised himself for this—for needing to rely on threats to keep her close.
He wanted to see her smile so badly it hurt, but all he could do was force tears from her.
The gentle strains of a waltz drifted in from the ballroom, and Capone seized her for a dance with an unyielding grip.
Tonight, she would dance this waltz with him, and with him alone.
Sophia's body trembled, not from fear, but from heartbreak. Her every step was stiff, reluctant.
Surely, she must be the worst Juliet in history.
Capone had no idea how to comfort her. They moved in silence to the music, clumsily stepping on each other's feet. He didn't mind, but Sophia, barefoot, felt sharp pain each time his leather shoes pressed down on her. Yet she made no sound, no complaint—she simply followed his lead, numb, turning in circles.
His patience finally wore thin. Bending down, he kissed her forcefully, his arm tightening around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground.
Even on ordinary occasions, his domineering kisses left her breathless; now, in this position, Sophia felt as if her heart was lodged in her throat. If he pressed any harder, he might just pull her heart out entirely and swallow it whole.
She had nothing left but that heart—a heart once given away that could never be reclaimed. At the very least, she could choose to stop loving him. If he refused to leave her even that last bit of autonomy, she truly felt she wouldn't survive.
Fortunately, Capone released her just before she suffocated. Her feet touched the ground again, though his arms remained firmly wrapped around her. Leaning against a nearby camphor tree, he held her close, his kiss growing softer but more insistent, his agile tongue prying open her lips despite her resistance, claiming her with determination.
Her lips were as sweet as ever, like rose petals steeped in honey—a taste that was addictive.
She struggled, turning her head, pressing her lips tightly, and even using her small tongue to push him away. But the more she resisted, the less willing he was to let go.
"Let go of me, let go… How many times are you going to violate me before it's enough? How much humiliation will finally satisfy your hatred? I don't want to see you. Just go!"
Sophia pulled free from him, wishing with all her heart that she had never known the man before her. Was this really the same person she had once trusted with all her heart?
Capone's gaze was so intense it seemed to burn holes in her. "I just wanted to dance with you, Sophia. I didn't want to hurt you. I never wanted to take out my anger on you."
If only she hadn't lashed out at him so thoughtlessly that day, he wouldn't have lost control in the car and forced himself on her.
He had become used to watching her quietly, lingering close to where she worked and lived without letting her know, often just a wall away.
He hadn't come to see her in her worst moments; he knew she wasn't happy since she'd come back. But he was worse off than she was.
Her words cut deeply. She was asking him how many more times he would force himself on her.
He could never rewrite the past, nor could he control the future. He once thought that being in love meant forever. But it turned out their "forever" was so fleeting.
"Sophy…" He lifted her face, looking through the mask at her trembling lips and tear-filled eyes. "Do you hate me?"
Perhaps she had loved him once, but the hate had likely never ceased.
"I hate you! I told you long ago, Capone—I will never forgive you!"
"Those photos… they weren't taken by me, and I certainly didn't leak them to the media!" He didn't even know why he was explaining this to her. The investigation would take time, but he would never stoop that low.
Sophia laughed coldly. "But you're the one who personally sent me to that place, aren't you?"
Capone was speechless; he couldn't deny it. Only now did he understand what Mandy and the others meant when they said that kind of stain would follow her forever.
No one could control everything. He wasn't a god, and some things would always be beyond his reach.
"I'll find out where those photos came from and who sold them to the media. I'll make it right," he promised, his voice stiff. "You've suffered, but you betrayed me too. Let's call it even."
Sophia looked at him as if he'd just told the world's greatest joke. "Even?"
Her entire life had been turned upside down because of him. She had given him her heart and sacrificed her reputation as a young woman, only for him to declare it "even."
When had she ever betrayed him? Since her rescue, if not for her feelings toward him—her captor—there wouldn't have been so much turmoil. Her family watched her with worry and disapproval, yet he clung to his belief in her supposed betrayal, never once giving her a chance to explain.
And he certainly never showed an ounce of remorse.
Capone tilted her face toward him, his fingers lingering on her soft skin as he asked quietly, "Sophia Diaz, what exactly do you want me to do?"
Did she really not understand his heart?
If he could truly let her go, if he had never loved her, he wouldn't have dragged his injured body from the harbor to Hokkaido. He wouldn't have called all his remaining trusted brothers back to help with his business just so he could stay close to her, watching over her. He wouldn't be lying there with an IV, thinking about the tiramisu she'd made with her own hands.
He wouldn't have kept his promise to her, sending that brown envelope to Henry Diaz, offering the Diaz family a lifeline when they needed it most.
His injuries were severe—damaged organs, broken ribs that even grazed his heart. Cronus's hatred had left him battered. He should have been able to endure it, trained as he was from a young age to withstand cruelty, but this time he couldn't withstand it.
"You don't have to do anything," she said coldly. "The greatest mercy would be if you never came looking for me again."
Capone chuckled. "But what if I insist on coming back?"
Granting such mercy was simply impossible for him.