Chapter 10 - Sofia
My steps falter as I stride into the kitchen, frustration simmering beneath my skin. There he is, Vladimir Zolotov, the bane of my existence, casually leaning against the counter as if he’s got nothing to worry about. His broad shoulders fill out his crisp white shirt, and he sips his coffee with infuriating nonchalance. My jaw clenches. How dare he act so calm, given he’s keeping me hanging for an answer?
I force myself to move, each step deliberate as I approach the coffee pot. The rich aroma fills my nostrils, but it does little to soothe my frayed nerves. My hands tremble slightly as I pour, and I silently curse my body's betrayal. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing how he affects me.
The silence stretches between us, thick and oppressive. I can feel his dark eyes on me, observing, always observing. It makes my skin prickle, and I resist the urge to fidget with my hair or smooth down my blouse.
Just as I'm about to retreat with my coffee, his deep voice cuts through the quiet. "Good afternoon, Sofia."
I freeze, my back still turned to him. My mind races, debating whether to acknowledge him or maintain my icy facade. In the end, I opt for cool indifference, taking a sip of my coffee before turning to face him.
"Is it?" I reply, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "I hadn't noticed."
He smiles, catching me off guard.
"I've made a decision," he states, his voice low and steady.
Despite my best efforts, curiosity piques within me. I raise an eyebrow, silently prompting him to continue. My heart, traitor that it is, begins to quicken its pace.
Vladimir sets his cup down with a soft clink, his dark eyes never leaving mine. "I'll let you carry on with your mission and won’t tell anyone about it," he says, and for a moment, I allow myself to feel a flicker of hope. But, of course, there's a catch. There's always a catch with him.
"On one condition," he continues, his tone brooking no argument. "You come to me at the first sign of trouble. No exceptions. And you keep me informed of every move you make."
I can't help the scoff that escapes my lips. "You expect me to report to you like some kind of subordinate?"
"I expect you to prioritize your safety," Vladimir counters, his voice growing harder. "This isn't a game, Sofia. The people you're dealing with are dangerous. If you’re doing this, then we’re in it together. You have to promise me that."
I bite back a retort, knowing deep down that he's right. But admitting that would mean showing weakness, and that's something I can't afford. Not with him.
"And how do I know I can trust you?" I challenge, crossing my arms over my chest.
Vladimir's expression softens almost imperceptibly. "You don't. But right now, I'm your best option."
My mind races, weighing Vladimir's offer against the very real risk of my brothers discovering my plans. The thought of their reaction sends a chill down my spine. I can already see Nikolai's thunderous expression, hear Dima's disappointed sigh. They’d threaten to bar me in a room or something. But the alternative…
I meet Vladimir's steady gaze, my chin tilting up defiantly. "Fine," I say, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "Your terms are… acceptable. Together," I force the words out, hating how they make me feel beholden to him. "It's preferable to being locked away like some fragile doll, I suppose."
Vladimir's lips quirk into what might almost be a smile. "Glad we could come to an agreement, Sofia."
I roll my eyes but find myself nodding. "Thank you," I manage, my voice a mix of reluctant gratitude and lingering wariness. "I… appreciate your help."
***
The next morning, I ask the housekeeper where Vlad might be.
“He’s in the living room, Mrs. Zolotov,” she tells me.
I pause, taking in the moment. No matter how many times I’ve heard it, being called Mrs. Zolotov shocks me to my core. Once again, I remember I am married to Vladimir Zolotov.
I enter the living room, and it’s a pretty sight: a beautiful arched roof, sunlight slanting through the windows that hits the furniture at different angles.
Vladimir looks up from his laptop, eyebrow raised.
Here goes nothing. He wants updates? Fine. I’ll give them to him—anything to keep our little secret.
"I'm thinking of meeting that guy again. The one from the club," I announce, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Tonight."
Vladimir's expression darkens. "Sofia—"
I cut him off, already anticipating a protest. "You said you'd help, not dictate my every move. I need to do this."
Vladimir rises abruptly, his imposing figure blocking my path. "You're not ready," he states, his voice a low rumble of disapproval. "Going in unprepared is a death wish. He could get violent. It’s only a matter of time before someone finds out who you are. You’re married to me, and there are photos of us out there from the wedding."
I bristle, my hands clenching at my sides. "I guess that’s just a risk I’m willing to take."
His dark eyes bore into mine, unrelenting. "This isn't about calculated risk; it's about the strategy to make sure you don’t fail. You need training."
"Training?" I scoff, crossing my arms. "And I suppose you're offering to be my personal instructor?"
Vladimir nods, his expression serious. "Exactly. Fighting techniques, disguise skills, understanding power dynamics, and subtle changes in behavior. These are crucial."
My pride stings at the implication that I need his help. I'm tempted to refuse outright, to prove I can do this on my own. But a small voice of reason whispers in the back of my mind, reminding me of the stakes.
I chew my lower lip, considering. "And how long would this… training take?"
"As long as necessary," Vladimir replies, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. The logical part of me knows he's right, but admitting it feels like swallowing glass.
"Fine," I finally concede, my voice tight. "But this doesn't mean I'm incapable."
Vladimir's expression softens slightly. "No one said you were, Sofia. This is about giving you every advantage."
I nod curtly, still not entirely comfortable with the arrangement. "When do we start?"
"Now," Vladimir says, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. "Unless you're not up for it?"
I narrow my eyes at him, rising to the bait despite myself. "Oh, I'm ready. Let's see what you've got, old man."
***
I stand in the center of Vladimir's study, watching him with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. He moves with practiced ease, his hands deftly applying makeup to his face. Within minutes, his sharp features soften, age lines appear, and his skin tone changes subtly.
"The key is in the details," Vladimir explains, his voice gruff but patient. "A slight change in posture, a different way of walking. These can make you unrecognizable."
I lean against his desk, arms crossed. "And how exactly did you become an expert in disguises? Didn't realize the Bratva offered cosmetology classes."
Vladimir chuckles, holding back a laugh. “Years of infiltrating rival territories with my brothers."
My eyebrow arches. "Really? I find that hard to believe."
He turns to face me, looking decades older than he did moments ago. "It's true. We once spent three months posing as dock workers in St. Petersburg to uncover a traitor."
Despite myself, I'm intrigued. "What happened?"
"We caught him," Vladimir says simply, reaching for a wig. "But not before I learned how crucial a convincing disguise can be."
I watch as he adjusts the gray-streaked hair over his own. "And your brothers? They were as adept at this as you?"
A smile passes over Vladimir's face. "They have their strengths. Mark is our tech expert, and Abram is our strategist. I’m the chameleon."
“Chameleon, huh?” I find my heart tugging to learn more.
“I was young,” he admits, “when I learned to observe more than I speak. The more you observe, the more people confuse you to be their friend.”
I find myself absorbed in Vladimir's words, a side of him I never expected to see. It's strange to think of this man, with all his intensity and aloofness, as someone who used to lurk in shadows, transforming himself into whoever the situation demanded. There's a vulnerability in the way he speaks about himself, giving me a glimpse into his strengths, which, in the wrong hands, can become a weakness.
He trusts me, and that makes me feel weirdly warm and fuzzy. Afraid I might slip up in a moment of weakness and let him see me soft, I gesture to the array of supplies. "So, are you going to teach me or just reminisce all day?"
“Straight to business, always, aren’t you?” he says gruffly, and motions at me to join him in front of the mirror.
We work in companionable silence for a while, Vladimir guiding my hands as I attempt my own disguise. His touch is firm but gentle, and I find myself relaxing in the unexpected camaraderie. At last, I look at my reflection, unable to recognize myself.
"Not bad," I admit, my usual icy tone softening slightly. "I suppose you do know what you're doing."
Vladimir's eyes meet mine in the mirror, a hint of amusement in their depths. "High praise indeed, coming from you."
I roll my eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "Don't let it go to your head. I still think this whole arrangement is ridiculous."
He turns to face me, now looking like a weathered old man. "And yet, here you are."
"Here I am," I agree quietly, surprising myself with the lack of hostility in my voice.
We clean and pack up in silence. “Thank you,” I say, at last, acknowledging what must be acknowledged. After all, he has given me his precious time, all to let me run things the way I want. It’s more than anyone’s ever done for me before.
I’m about to bid goodbye when Vladimir's expression grows serious. He clears his throat. "Sofia, there's something we need to discuss."
I tense immediately, guard rising. "What is it?"
"Remember the promise you made in exchange for my help? That you’d give me anything in return?" he asks, his voice low and steady.
I nod warily. "Of course. What about it?"
Vladimir's gaze is unwavering. "I have my first condition. Starting tonight, you'll be sleeping in my room."
His words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I blink, certain I've misheard. "Excuse me?" I manage, my voice a mix of disbelief and nerves.
Vladimir remains unruffled, his eyes locked on mine. "You heard me correctly, Sofia. You are my wife, and it’s time we play our roles before the staff begin to talk."
My mind races, thoughts tumbling over each other. Sharing a room? With him? The implications send a shiver down my spine—part apprehension, part something else I refuse to name.
"That's… that's completely inappropriate," I stammer, struggling to maintain my usual composure. "Surely you can't be serious."
"I'm entirely serious," he replies, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It's non-negotiable."
I open my mouth to protest further, but the words die on my tongue. I did agree to his terms, didn't I? And without his help… I clench my jaw, hating the realization that washes over me. I need him.
"Fine," I say finally, my voice clipped. "But if you think this means anything beyond what it is—a practical arrangement—you're sorely mistaken."
Vladimir's lips quirk in the barest hint of a smile. "Wouldn't dream of it."
As I turn away, my heart hammers in my chest. What have I gotten myself into? This man, this infuriating, enigmatic man, has upended my carefully constructed world in a matter of days. And now… now we'll be sharing a room.
I take a steadying breath, squaring my shoulders. This is just another challenge, I tell myself. Another obstacle to overcome in pursuit of my goal. I can handle Vladimir Sokolov. I have to.
But as I glance back at him, catching the intensity in his gaze, a flush creeps down my neck, and I find myself thinking back to our kiss.