Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
Sofia
T he foundation of their relationship was honesty, but Sofia felt like a hypocrite. The secrets she kept from Viktor made her feel like she wasn’t doing much and were intentionally keeping him in the dark. What kind of person was she if she couldn’t be bold enough to involve him in her discoveries? Granted, she still had no idea how deep the truth ran or the details surrounding the murders, but she knew enough, didn’t she?
She wanted to tell him, but the thought frightened her. Exposing everything to someone as unpredictable as Viktor left her feeling unnerved. Still, she figured she owed it to him. If she wanted him to open up to her, she needed to reciprocate. Honesty had to run both ways.
She found Viktor in his study, seated at his desk, exuding the aura of a man who perpetually held authority. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing the sinewy strength of his forearms as he scanned a stack of documents. He didn’t look up when she entered, but the awareness of her presence was palpable.
"You’ve been hovering," Viktor said, his tone clipped. "What do you want?"
The cold edge in his voice made her hesitate, but only for a moment.
"We need to talk," Sofia said, her tone steady despite the storm raging inside her.
That caught his attention. Viktor’s head lifted, his sharp eyes narrowing as they pinned her in place. He leaned back in his chair, exuding a dangerous calm.
"Talk, then," he said. "But be careful what you say."
She hesitated, fingers curling into fists at her sides. There was no easy way to say it, no way to soften the blow.
"It’s about my father," Sofia began, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "And what he did—to you, to your family."
Viktor froze, his expression darkening like a thundercloud. His voice, when he spoke, was deathly quiet. "Choose your next words carefully, Sofia."
The warning sent a chill through her, but she pressed on. "Konstantin... he wasn’t just involved in laundering money for the Bratva. He—he was part of the plan. The one that led to your family’s deaths."
The silence that followed was deafening, a void that reverberated around the walls of the room. Viktor’s face was unreadable, his eyes locked on hers, but the tension radiating from him told her everything she needed to know.
"You’re lying," he said.
"I’m not," Sofia replied, her voice firm. "He admitted it to me. He was part of the betrayal. He set you up, Viktor."
She saw the moment the truth landed, disbelief giving way to something far darker. Viktor stood abruptly, the force of his movement knocking the chair backward.
"You knew," he said, his voice rising, each word laced with venom. "You knew, and you didn’t tell me."
"I only just found out," Sofia said quickly, taking a step back as he advanced. "I didn’t know how to?—"
"Don’t," Viktor cut her off, his hand slamming down on the desk. "Don’t you dare stand there and make excuses."
His rage was a living thing, filling the room and pressing down on her. For the first time, Sofia felt the full force of Viktor Ivanov’s fury, and it terrified her.
"I was trying to protect you," Sofia said.
"Protect me?" Viktor’s laugh was cold and hollow. "You protected him. Your father. The man who had a hand in murdering my family. And you expect me to believe you didn’t know?"
"I didn’t!" Sofia shouted, tears welling in her eyes. "You think I would keep something like that from you? I hate him for what he did, Viktor. I hate myself for not seeing it sooner."
Viktor wasn’t listening. He turned away, pacing like a caged animal, his hands raking through his hair.
"You should have told me the moment you found out," he said, quieter but no less dangerous.
"I was scared," Sofia admitted. "I didn’t know how you’d react."
Viktor spun to face her, his eyes blazing. "You didn’t know? I’ll tell you how I react, Sofia. I react by questioning every word you’ve ever said to me. Every touch, every look. Was it all a lie?"
His words cut deep, and Sofia felt the tears spill over. "You don’t mean that."
"Don’t I?" Viktor challenged, not hiding the scorn. "You’ve been in my bed, in my life, and all the while, you’ve been hiding this."
"It wasn’t like that," Sofia said, sounding desperate now. "I’m trying to make it right."
"Make it right?" Viktor barked out a laugh. "There’s no making this right, Sofia. Not for him. Not for you."
The room felt like it was closing in, the raw emotion between them a raging storm. Sofia moved closer, her tears falling freely now.
"Please," she choked. "You have to believe me. I’m on your side, Viktor. Always."
Sofia's chest rose and fell rapidly, her heart hammering in her ears as Viktor's cold eyes bore into her. The quiet between them stretched, thick and suffocating, and she could feel every inch of her skin tingling from the fury radiating off him. He was still angry. Still betrayed. And she had no right to expect otherwise.
She wanted to speak—to apologize, to explain herself, but the words stuck in her throat, trapped behind the wall of his anger. She had shattered everything. He had trusted her, and she had lied to him.
Viktor, though, didn’t say a word. His hands, now clenched into fists at his sides, twitched with restrained violence. He was still fighting to tame himself, to not let the rage he was feeling spill over completely. But it was there—thick and heavy, every breath a struggle to stay composed.
Then, without warning, he moved. It was fast, swift, as if the last shred of control he had was being ripped away. He grabbed her by the wrist, rough enough to send a shiver of fear through her. His face was inches from hers, and his voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through her like a blade.
“Do you understand what you’ve done?” His words were harsh, venomous, and his breath was warm against her skin. “You think you can just walk in here, confess your sins, and expect me to forgive you? That’s not how this works, Sofia.”
Sofia’s mouth went dry, her pulse quickening at the sharpness of his words. Her eyes searched his face, trying to find the remnants of the man she once knew beneath the storm of anger and hurt. But there was nothing there. No softness. No warmth. Only a coldness that made her stomach churn.
She should’ve expected this. She’d known the moment the words left her mouth that this would be the reaction. But knowing it didn’t make it easier to bear.
Her breath hitched as he pulled her toward him with a force that left her gasping. “You lied to me,” he growled, the words heavy with accusation. “You kept this from me, and now you expect me to just forgive you?”
Sofia's stomach twisted painfully. The truth was out, but it didn’t feel like the relief she had hoped for. It felt like the end of something—something that she wasn’t sure she could salvage anymore.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” she managed, her hands instinctively pressing against his chest, as if she could push away the storm brewing between them. “I thought... if I kept it hidden, it wouldn’t destroy us.”
“Get out.” His voice was low, so low that she thought he might not be speaking to her at all. But then his eyes darkened further, sending goosebumps racing up her arms. It wasn’t just fear this time; what she felt was something far more distinct, causing her to withdraw. Flinch, to be more accurate. “Get the hell out of here, Sofia.”
“Please—”
He shook his head. He wasn’t screaming at her like before, nor was he throwing things. He stood before her, rocking slightly, his hands hidden in the pockets of his trousers. His shoulders were rigid, as if he were bracing for something more, but his expression had fallen slack. He seemed on the verge of giving up, holding on by a thread. “You found out something as devastating as this and kept it from me under the pretense of protecting me. But you’re just a hypocrite. You say you want total honesty and inclusion between us, right? Well, congratulations, you just managed to ruin even that.”
She started to reach for him again, but he held up a finger. As quiet sobs escaped her, he continued, “If this were anyone else, I’d have done the unimaginable. But you’re you. Sofia. My wife. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? This… right here is the problem.”
“I can… I can make this work. Please give me another chance?—”
“I said get out!” This time, his voice erupted in a growl that reverberated across the room. He was angry—and rightly so. Even though she knew he would never physically hurt her, it didn’t stop her from feeling trapped in something irreversible.
So, she turned and walked away from him. She made her way to her room and crawled under the sheets, pressing her face against the pillows to scream. The sound was muffled, but that was the trick, in a way—releasing some of the pressure just to feel a little better.
She was not the one who’d killed his parents, but alone in her room she realized she might have twisted the knife deep in his heart. And that hurt, too.