Chapter 3 - Vladimir
I pace my office, unable to shake the memory of Sofia. I run a frustrated hand through my hair, replaying the aloof tilt of her chin, the cool look in her green eyes as she brushed past me without a word. I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots as if I could somehow pull the image of her indifference from my thoughts.
"Dammit," I mutter, pivoting on my heel to retrace my steps. The plush carpet muffles my footfalls but does nothing to quiet the storm in my head.
I've dealt with disinterest before. Hell, I'm the one who cultivated it, perfected it. But something about Sofia's icy demeanor has gotten under my skin in a way I can't shake. It’s like she’s immune to me, and that is as novel a situation as one can get. She’s so different from the simpering women who usually fall over themselves for my attention.
I'm surprised by this pull toward her, by the urge to unravel the mystery of her remoteness. I wonder why she’s so intent on keeping the world at a distance.
Something tells me she doesn’t know it herself. I know I didn’t imagine her flustered look when I told her I think she finds it easier to keep people at arm’s length than to let them in.
There was a flicker of hope in her eyes, like someone finally understood her.
But still, she maintained that cold exterior.
Giving up on wearing a path in my floor, I drop heavily into the chair behind my desk. My phone sits innocently on the polished wood surface, and I snatch it up, unlocking it with more force than necessary.
The photos Lara sent from the gathering fill the screen. My eyes are immediately drawn to Sofia, standing apart from the crowd. Even in the stillness of the image, her poise is evident. Back straight, chin lifted, those green eyes sharp enough to cut.
"What is it about you?" I murmur, zooming in on her face. The corners of her mouth are turned down slightly, a subtle display of displeasure that shouldn't fascinate me as much as it does.
I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking as I shift. "You're not the first woman to play hard to get, Sofia Orlov," I say to the empty room, my voice gruff. "So why can't I get you out of my head?"
The silence offers no answers, and I find myself scrolling through more photos from the event. In each one, Sofia maintains that air of detached elegance. It's infuriating. It's intriguing.
I toss the phone onto the desk with a clatter. "This is ridiculous," I growl, standing abruptly. "You're Vladimir Zolotov. You don't chase after ice princesses."
But even as I say it, I know it's a lie. The memory of her sarcastic quips, delivered with a razor-sharp smile, sends an unexpected thrill through me. It's been a long time since anyone has challenged me like that.
I move to the window, staring out at the city below. My reflection stares back at me, black eyes narrowed in thought. "What are you hiding behind that frosty exterior, Sofia?" I muse. "And why do I suddenly want to find out?"
I run a hand through my hair, frustrated by my own uncharacteristic fascination. "This isn't like you, Vladimir," I mutter to myself, turning away from the window. "Since when do you care about getting to know a woman beyond the surface?"
But the urge to unravel Sofia's mysteries persists, gnawing at me like an itch I can't scratch. I find myself grabbing my keys, my feet carrying me toward the door before I can think better of it. It’s something I’ve never done, so unlike me, but ever since she disappeared from the party like a ghost, I’ve been wondering what she’s up to.
On the way to my car, I call my intel team, demanding a location for Sofia Orlov. Even though I had never laid eyes on her before the party, my team knows every member of our alliance. It’s their job to keep a tab on each one, to come to me should something sketchy surface. She’s never come to my radar before, and now, she’s the only one I want on it.
An hour later, I'm parked across the street from a dimly lit bar, my hands gripping the steering wheel as I watch Sofia through the grimy windows. She's seated at a corner table, surrounded by a group of rough-looking men. The tension in my shoulders ratchets up a notch.
"What the hell are you doing here, Sofia?" I growl under my breath, leaning forward to get a better view.
Her face is composed, that familiar icy mask firmly in place. But there's something in the set of her shoulders, a barely perceptible tension that speaks volumes to my trained eye.
One of the men leans in, his tattooed hand gesturing emphatically. Sofia's response is surprisingly warm, her mouth opening into a laugh.
"Careful, Printsessa," I murmur, my jaw clenching. "You're playing with fire."
I watch as she navigates the conversation with practiced ease, her ability to hold attention evident even from this distance. Just then, another man comes up to the table. I watch as he pulls out three guns and hands them to the man with the tattooed arm, who pays for the delivery in cash.
“What the hell?” I think to myself, my pulse rising so fast I can feel my veins throb. Sofia laughs and picks up a gun, playfully pretending to fire it, and one of the men takes it from her hand and pockets it, handing her a shot instead.
She pouts flirtatiously and downs the drink. Where the hell is that ice-cold treatment I got, huh? Why is she being so damn friendly with this wretched group of thugs?
"Who are you really, Sofia Orlov?" I ask the empty car, my curiosity burning hotter than ever. "And what kind of trouble are you mixed up in?"
My knuckles turn white as I grip the steering wheel tighter, a wave of unexpected anger washing over me. One of the men, a burly guy with a neck tattoo, leans in close to Sofia. Too close. His meaty hand brushes against her arm, and I feel a growl building in my chest. He glides it down and places it around her waist. I see the way he looks at her—like she’s a piece of meat he plans to have.
My protective instincts flare up, surprising me with their intensity. I've never felt this… possessive before. Not over anyone.
Sofia's response is cool, her body language subtly shifting away from the man's touch. But I can see the flash of rage in her eyes, a crack in that playful facade she has on.
"Damn it," I mutter, my hand hovering over the door handle. Every fiber of my being wants to storm in there, to put myself between Sofia and these thugs. But I hold back, knowing that revealing myself now could make things worse.
She’d never trust me again. And right now, it’s her trust I want most. I need it—to know why she’s running with this grimy crew.
As I drive home, my mind races with thoughts of Sofia. The danger she's clearly involved in. The secrets she's keeping. I park in my driveway, but I can't bring myself to go inside just yet.
"I have to do something," I say to the empty night air, running a hand through my hair. I think of my siblings, of the lengths they've gone to protect their family and alliances.
At this moment, Sofia needs protection. For herself, and from any trouble she may bring our way. A plan begins to form in my mind, bold and potentially reckless.
***
I pace the length of my living room, my mind churning with possibilities, each step bringing me closer to a decision that could change everything. My plan is bold, unexpected—exactly what's needed to keep Sofia safe and strengthen both our families' positions.
Nikolai and Dima won't expect this, I think to myself, a hint of a smirk tugging at my lips.
Without hesitation, I pull out my phone and dial a number I rarely use. It rings twice before a gruff voice answers.
"Zolotov. What do you want?"
"Nikolai," I reply, my voice steady. "We need to talk. You, me, and Dima. It's about the future of our families."
There's a pause, then a chuckle. "Intriguing. Tomorrow, noon, our office."
"I'll be there," I confirm, ending the call.
As I prepare for bed, my mind is eerily calm. I know this is an insane step, yet why does it feel like the right one?
***
The next morning, I dress with precision, each movement deliberate. Dark suit, crisp white shirt, deep-blue tie. Armor for the battle ahead. I need to look perfect, to play the part of being worthy.
As I adjust my cufflinks, I catch my own gaze in the mirror. Sofia is fearless, I think to myself. So fearless, she could bring chaos to her doorstep and ours. I’m doing this for our families and, more importantly, to keep her safe. I’m certain her brothers don’t know what kind of company she’s been keeping.
The drive to the Orlov brothers' office is silent, my focus razor-sharp. I park, take a deep breath, and step out into the cool air. My strides are confident as I enter the building, nodding to the security guard who knows better than to stop me.
In the elevator, I allow myself a small smile. By the time I leave this building, everything will have changed.
I step into the Orlov brothers' office, the tension palpable in the air. The room is bright, with heavy curtains drawn apart to let in the midday sun. Nikolai and Dima sit behind a massive mahogany desk, their faces impassive. I take the seat across from them, my posture relaxed but alert.
"Vladimir," Nikolai begins, his voice gruff. "What's so important you needed to drag yourself here?"
I meet his gaze steadily. "I have a proposal that will benefit both our families."
Dima leans forward, his eyes narrowing. "And what might that be?"
"A marriage alliance," I state bluntly. "Between myself and Sofia."
The brothers exchange a look of surprise, then skepticism. Nikolai's lip curls slightly. "And why would we consider such an arrangement?"
I lean forward, my elbows on my knees. "Think about it. Our territories side by side, our resources combined. We'd be unstoppable. You’re both married to my sisters, and I would be married to yours. It sends a strong message to those who might try to find cracks in our alliance. That we are, truly, unbreakable.”
"Sofia isn't a bargaining chip," Dima growls, his protective instincts flaring.
"No, she's not," I agree, my voice firm. "She's a strong, capable woman who deserves respect and protection. I can offer both, along with the advantages to our families."
I stand, pacing the room as I continue my argument. "Imagine the power we could wield together. The Zolotov and Orlov names united. Our enemies wouldn't dare move against us."
My passion is evident in every word, every gesture. This isn't just about power or alliances anymore. It's about Sofia, about protecting her from whatever dangers she's mixed up in. But I can't reveal that knowledge, not yet.
"I'm serious about this," I finish making my point, my voice low and determined. "I wouldn't have come here if I wasn't. Give me this chance, and I promise you won't regret it."
I watch as Nikolai and Dima exchange a loaded glance. The skepticism in their eyes begins to waver, replaced by a flicker of consideration.
Nikolai leans back, stroking his chin. "You make some compelling arguments, Zolotov. I can't deny the potential benefits of what you propose."
"It could strengthen our position in the south," Dima adds, his voice gruff but thoughtful. "And expand our reach into new territories."
My heart races, but I keep my expression neutral. I hadn't expected them to warm to the idea so quickly.
"But what about Sofia?" Nikolai asks, his brow furrowed. "She's not exactly… approachable."
I can't help but smirk. "I've noticed. She’s ice cold for sure."
"You say that now," Dima chuckles, "but wait until you're on the receiving end of her sharp tongue."
I straighten, my voice firm. "I can handle it. I respect her strength."
Nikolai nods slowly. "Very well, Vladimir. We’re open to this arrangement."
I dip my head in acquiescence. Relief washes over me. They've accepted the idea. I might have a chance to protect Sofia after all.
"Don't get your hopes up," Dima warns. "Our sister isn't easily swayed."
I meet his gaze steadily. "I wouldn't want her any other way."
As they continue discussing potential terms, I allow myself a moment of quiet satisfaction. This alliance could be the key to keeping Sofia safe from whatever danger she's involved in. And perhaps, in time, I might even crack that icy shell of hers.
***
I stride out of the Orlov brothers' office, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. A sense of accomplishment courses through me, mingling with an unfamiliar anticipation. The hard part is over, but now comes the real challenge: Sofia.
"Mr. Zolotov," a voice calls out. It's Nikolai's assistant. "Your car is ready."
I nod curtly. "Thank you."
As I make my way to the exit, my mind races with thoughts of how to approach Sofia. Her reaction will be unpredictable at best, hostile at worst. I can almost hear her sarcastic tone already: "An arranged marriage? How quaint, Mr. Zolotov. Did we time travel back to the 1800s?"
"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" I murmur to the imaginary Sofia in my mind, a smile playing on my lips. The thing is, whatever danger she’s putting herself in is now my responsibility to keep her safe from, even if she fights me every step of the way.