Chapter 9 - Vladimir
I storm out of the drawing room, my footsteps echoing through the vast halls of the mansion. Sofia's words reverberate in my mind, a relentless reminder of the questionable path she's chosen. My fists tighten and release as I march to my bedroom, trying to shake the unease coiled in my gut.
"Damn it," I mutter, slamming the door shut behind me. The sharp sound mirrors the turmoil within.
I pace the room, my reflection catching in the ornate mirror. Dark eyes stare back, filled with conflict. Sofia's mission… it's madness. Pure, unadulterated madness. And yet…
"She's capable," I grudgingly admit to the empty room. "More than capable."
I drop onto the bed, draping an arm over my eyes. Sleep refuses to come as my thoughts churn. Sofia—her piercing green eyes, the determined line of her jaw—dominates my mind. The sheets tangle around me as I toss and turn.
"I should stop her," I growl, sitting up abruptly. "It's too dangerous."
But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. The truth? I'm intrigued, fascinated by her resolve, her cunning. It's been a long time since anyone has challenged me like this.
I flop back down, staring at the ceiling. "She could get herself killed."
The thought sends a jolt of panic through me. I've only known Sofia for a short time, but the idea of harm coming to her is… unsettling. More than it should be. Sofia Orlov has wormed her way under my skin in ways I don’t know how to handle.
I roll over, punching my pillow in frustration. "Let her do it," I mutter. "Let her prove herself."
The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I know they're true. Sofia deserves the chance to show what she's made of. And if things go south… well, I'll be there to pick up the pieces.
As dawn breaks, I've still not made my decision.
I sit up, running a hand through my disheveled hair. "This is going to be a tough day," I mutter, a wry smile tugging at my lips despite my exhaustion. I can only imagine how pissed she must be.
***
I push open the heavy oak doors of the breakfast room, the scent of freshly brewed coffee hitting me instantly. My eyes, still heavy from a restless night, immediately lock onto Sofia. She's already seated at the far end of the long table, her posture impeccable, her face a mask of cool indifference.
"Good morning," I grunt, making my way to the sideboard.
Sofia doesn't respond, doesn't even look up from the newspaper spread before her. Her light blonde hair cascades over one shoulder, catching the morning sunlight streaming through the windows.
Oh yeah, she’s pissed alright.
I pour myself a cup of coffee, the familiar routine grounding me. "Sleep well?" I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice as I take a seat across from her.
She finally decides to look at me, those green eyes as cold as Siberian ice. "Perfectly, thank you," she replies, her tone clipped and dismissive.
I lean back, studying her. Not a hair out of place, her appearance as composed as ever. It's commendable how put-together she looks when I feel like I've been dragged backward through a hedge.
"Any plans for today?" I probe, trying to gauge her mood.
Sofia takes a deliberate sip of her tea. "Nothing that concerns you, Vladimir."
I feel my jaw clench. "Everything that happens in this house concerns me."
"Is that so?" she counters, one perfectly shaped eyebrow arching. "I wasn't aware I needed to run my daily schedule by you."
The sarcasm in her voice grates on my already frayed nerves, and I don’t fight back.
I open my mouth to change the topic, but she cuts me off with a sharp look. "If you'll excuse me, I have matters to attend to."
With that, she rises gracefully from her chair, leaving me staring after her, frustrated beyond belief.
I watch Sofia glide out of the room, her pin-straight blonde hair swaying with each step. The moment she's gone, I push back from the table, my chair scraping against the floor. Her dismissive attitude has left me with a burning need to act, to do something.
While all I want is to get close to her, it’s going to be impossible if she keeps me at arm’s length. Her deal comes back to mind. If I let her proceed as per her plan, she’d give me anything in return.
What if I asked to be involved in every step? What if I made her promise to come to me at the first sign of trouble? Could that help us get closer?
Or am I sending her into the viper’s nest all because I want to get closer to her?
"Damn it," I mutter under my breath, striding toward my office. I need to give her an answer, and I need to do it now—before she moves from dismissing me to ignoring me entirely.
Once inside, I shut the door firmly behind me and head straight for my computer. My fingers fly over the keyboard as I delve into the murky world of street gangs. The gangsters Sofia mentioned—I need to know everything about them.
Hours pass as I sift through information, cross-referencing names and dates. My eyes sting from staring at the screen, but I push on. Finally, a picture emerges.
The Crimson Crew isn't just some small-time thugs—they're players with connections that run deep. And they're gunning for the Orlovs.
My eyes narrow as I piece together the implications. These gangsters aren't just after money or influence—they want territory. Orlov territory. Fights over running the streets? They’re the worst kind. And Sofia's walking right into their crosshairs.
"Damn it," I growl, slamming my fist on the desk. The urge to protect her surges through me, primal and fierce. But I can't just lock her away. She'd never forgive me, and worse, I'd lose any chance of earning her trust.
I lean back, fingers steepled under my chin. "Think, Vladimir. There has to be a way."
The risks of letting her continue are high, but the potential payoff… If she succeeds, it could cripple our enemies and strengthen both our positions.
And if I support her, maybe she'll finally see me as an ally, not just another obstacle.
My head pounds from the endless circling of thoughts. I need coffee.
The rich aroma hits me as soon as I enter the kitchen, momentarily grounding me. I inhale deeply, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders.
As I pour the steaming liquid into my mug, the familiar routine gives me a moment of clarity. I can't stop Sofia, but I can prepare. Gather intel, set up contingencies, and be ready to step in if things go south.
I take a sip, the bitter warmth spreading through me. It's a risk, but one worth taking. For Sofia. For us.
I turn, coffee in hand, and there she is. Sofia glides into the kitchen, her pin-straight blonde hair cascading over her shoulders like liquid gold. Her green eyes flick to me, then away, dismissive as ever. The chill in her gaze could freeze hell itself.
"Good afternoon, Sofia," I say, my voice gruff from not having spoken for a while.
She barely acknowledges me with a curt nod, reaching for her own mug. The silence stretches between us, taut as a wire.
Little does she know, I’ve reached my decision.