Chapter 34 Sofia
SOFIA
He came.
I repeated it like a mantra as Andre carried me out of the cell, through the hall, and up the stairs.
Feeling his strong arms around me was physical proof that I wasn’t imagining it.
The sway of his body cutting through the smoky chaos of my uncle’s house was a scene that showed my eyes weren’t tricking me.
He came.
He came to save me.
Despite how much he had to hate me, he’d come to get me out of here.
Because he still cared?
Because he had to do the right thing?
Because… he did love me?
Too many questions flogged my mind, but I couldn’t slow down time to pick at them all.
Details blurred with the speed that he used to extract me.
Pressing me against him, he tried to shield me.
And because I was still ruled by this need to protect our child, I clung to him and dreaded a stray bullet hitting us.
There was no point worrying about that. Orlov men—dressed in all black and military-like fatigues—flanked him as he ran out the front door. Others were outside, but it wasn’t a full-scale invasion.
They moved as one. Practiced, rehearsed, and trained.
We fled the house, and when no one shot at us, I realized they’d come in and killed any opposition to rescue me. Me, the traitor caught between two worlds. Me, the failure who wanted to be led by love and not war. Me, the pawn who’d been expected to help wound others and not assist them and care.
As I held on to Andre and buried my face against the stiff vest he wore, I didn’t feel an ounce of regret that they couldn’t have killed him, too.
After my uncle came home and realized Esmeralda was missing, he’d taken his wrath out on me. Whipping at me. Beating me with his pudgy fists. Kicking at me. I’d protected my stomach, and he hadn’t aimed there anyway, since he valued this child as leverage to use later.
I’d hoped that with every hit and strike, he’d overexert himself and keel over.
From a heart attack. A stroke. Anything.
Instead, he’d stayed in that cell to beat me for defying him and getting Esmeralda away from him.
He’d left telling the guards he wanted to go to the club to relax and get his head on straight.
It was a damned shame he was gone and not dead from this invasion.
“You got her?” a driver asked as Oleg ushered us into a car idling down the road.
Daring to hope this would work, and that we’d get away, I blinked at the dim light from the interior of the backseat.
“Yes. Go. Go,” Oleg ordered.
Like Andre, he was wearing a mask and was decked out in all black. I recognized his voice, though, and when he tugged off his facial covering, he treated me to a scowl. “Fuck.”
If he was this pissed to have to see me again, why’d he risk helping Andre to get me out of there?
“Are you…” Andre paused to tug his mask off too as the car sped away. Deep lines stayed etched on his brow as he studied me.
I hugged my arms around my stomach, nervous at the commotion and shifts of the night. I could adjust. Living with my uncle taught me to take the punches—literally—and roll with changes. But this adrenaline rush of getting out of there felt twisted.
Were they saving me? Or relocating me to where they could punish me?
“Is the baby okay?” Andre licked his lips and continued to catch his breath as he secured me next to him. His worried gaze fell to my arms. “Sofia. Is the baby okay?”
Ice coasted over my soul. I went numb inside. The rush and high of being rescued faded as I realized the why.
They weren’t here to declare war on my uncle or the Giovanni family.
He hadn’t come to get me out of that hell because he loved me or missed me.
The only reason I had been “saved” was because I carried his flesh and blood. His child. I was just a vessel, still only something that could be used. My only value was the fact that I carried his unborn baby.
Nothing more.
I lowered my gaze, too heartbroken and angry to reply.
Why?
Why can’t I be good enough?
Just me?
Why can’t I be loved and wanted just for being me?
I gave and gave. I always considered others and spent my heart on helping and caring for others. But no one could ever see me and repay that favor.
“Sofia,” he repeated firmly. “The baby.”
He reached for my arm, and I snapped my hand up to catch his wrist. I couldn’t bear it if he touched me now, not when I knew he didn’t care about me, only what he could get from me.
“He didn’t hit me there,” I said woodenly. Letting my anger rise up inside me, I flung his hand back and glowered at him, daring him to think I welcomed his touch.
He narrowed his eyes, staring at me with his lips parted. Shocked. Confused. Offended.
I refused to think he looked hurt by my reaction.
“She needs to be seen,” he said into his comms unit, ripping his tortured stare from me. “Have Claire ready to help.”
Mikhail’s voice came in through the phone, the comms link changing to a speaker call as Andre yanked his earbud out and let it hang by the thin cord sewn into his gear. “Is the baby—”
“Have Claire ready to assess her,” Andre replied curtly.
I hugged myself again and closed my eyes. I heard the concern in Mikhail’s voice, too. He was worried about the baby I could bring to them. He didn’t care about me. No one did.
That was the only reason they’d come at all, and I couldn’t blame them.
By the time we arrived at Mikhail’s building, I had slipped into an iciness nothing could thaw.
I had been used. Dismissed. Rejected. And never loved.
Everything passed in a blur, and with this chilly front I hid behind, details didn’t sink in.
We pulled up. Andre carried me out. Claire met us in the clinic, where she was in doctor mode, assessing me. Gentle yet firm, she was on. I appreciated how she didn’t try to act like a friend. And I was glad that Andre ordered Anya to get out of there and stay out of the way for now.
He hovered over me as Claire checked me out. An ultrasound showed no concerns. Other diagnostic measures were done to make sure my vitals were okay, that there was no worry of a concussion, infection, or internal bleeding.
After what felt like hours later but was probably only minutes, Claire helped me sit up.
“A good shower will do wonders, I’m sure,” she concluded.
“The baby is okay, though?” Andre asked. Mikhail stood behind him, his serious expression unyielding.
Claire furrowed her brow and glanced at me. “They’re both going to be fine. Superficial wounds won’t be a pleasant experience, but no lasting injuries are evident.”
“Good.” Andre reached for me, and I flinched.
He reared back, frowning at me. “She said—”
Mikahil set his hand on his shoulder, silently seeming to hint that he should let me stand on my own.
I did, glaring at him. “I heard her. I’d like to shower now, as she suggested.” Nothing would clean this filth from me, this stain of being a Giovanni and thing to be used, not loved. “Then I’ll be ready for you to put me wherever you would like to keep me hostage until this baby is born.”
“What the fuck?” he muttered, scowling at me.
“Perhaps you could rest here,” Claire said. “Not in the clinic, but one of the guest rooms and—”
I glanced at Mikhail’s stern face. Hell no. I was well aware that he didn’t want me in his building.
“No!” Andre replied, like that was bullshit. “She’s coming with me.”
None of them argued, and I had no power to speak up against him either. I had no voice at my uncle’s and as an enemy and a failed spy, I’d have no right to protest here.
Andre led me toward his building. No words were shared between us, and the long walk in the interconnecting corridors felt like a marathon.
I was exhausted. I was bewildered. I was in pain from the beating.
And I was trying my best not to let this anger consume me as Andre and Oleg talked about the mission and what they’d want to keep an eye on as my uncle returned and found me missing.
I should’ve paid attention. They were talking about me, but I knew it was pointless. They’d determine my fate, just like my uncle wanted to.
Oleg headed in another direction in the house, and I slowed in the foyer, expecting Andre’s order to go. I turned to go to my old maid’s room, but he grabbed my hand and growled, “What the hell are you doing?”
I snarled at him and tried to yank my hand free. He didn’t release me, marching me toward his room. “I’m going to clean up in my room.”
He cursed under his breath, shaking his head as he brought me to the master suite. The room where I’d deluded myself into thinking we’d be a couple. Lovers and something more.
“I will handle that. I will…” He glanced at me as he led me to the bathroom and had me sit in the chair. The same chair where he’d sat and I’d tried to help him with his injuries.
I popped right back up, defiant to reject him while he turned the shower on behind him.
He gritted his teeth, as if the sight of me with bruises and swollen marks annoyed him. “Sit down and let me—”
“No.” I stood again, and when he closed in on me, I sidestepped, nearing the shower.
“Sofia, stop. Why are you—”
“I’m not anything,” I yelled. “I’m nothing to you, so don’t pretend otherwise.”
He gaped at me as he cornered me near the shower stall door. “You are mine. You are mine, Sofia.”
“Yes. I understand. You came for me to make sure you’d have your child and he wouldn’t. I’m not stupid.”
He gripped my chin, careful not to touch my injuries where my uncle had hit me, but a firm hold, nonetheless. Fire flashed in his eyes as he walked me into the shower. “Maybe you are. Maybe you are stupid if you can’t realize I’m going to war for you. For us.”
“There is no us!” I squinted under the spray of water, dousing my clothes and all.
He didn’t stop, getting soaked as he stayed with me, in my face. “The fuck there isn’t. I don’t care what he told you. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I love you.”
His fingers remained on my chin as he pierced me with his smoldering, incensed stare. “I love you, Sofia, and you are mine. You.”
My throat closed on me as I tried to breathe through the shock of his words. Of what he was teasing me with.
“I love you, Sofia,” he growled again, as if he had to imprint the concept on me.
I shook my head, nervous to believe it. Scared to get my hopes up. “You can’t…”
“I do,” he argued hotly.
“But I’ve betrayed you and…”
He smirked, stroking his thumb over my cheek. “Betrayal or not. I love you. And you are mine. Nothing will change that. Not anything my family says. Not your uncle and his inevitable reaction to declare war on us. I. Love. You.”
All my fears melted. They seeped out of me under his touch, with his soulful, beseeching stare, and his honest confession of love.
The terror and anger that took over me when it seemed like he’d only come to save my baby, not me, evaporated.
“But—”
His scowl returned as he leaned in. Silencing my doubts with a brutal kiss, he stood there in the water and showed me. He proved that he wouldn’t backtrack or regret his claim.
“But nothing,” he insisted once he ripped his hot, demanding mouth from mine. Panting and breathing faster under the water, we clung to each other. “You are mine,” he promised before drugging me with another possessive kiss.
“I will be yours,” he vowed as he peeled away my soaked clothes.
I sobbed with joy as I tried to push at his gear and clothes.
“Do you understand me now?” he asked as we stripped and kissed, unable to stay apart. “No one and nothing will come between us. Not even me and my worst judgments.”
Naked and needy, as if his touch could cement this bond he spoke of, I whimpered with impatience.
It would take me a while to shed this instant fear and assumption of not being valued or worthy. Of assuming everyone would want to use me for something.
Yet, as he caressed his fingers over my slick entrance, I parted my legs wider. He backed me up against the wall, his muscled arm around my back to cushion me and keep me close.
“I love you,” he growled again before kissing me savagely.
Closing my eyes to the urgency of this all-consuming desire that linked us back together, I caved. I relented. I surrendered to this connection that wasn’t an illusion after all.
He loved me. And as he fed his thick dick into me, stretching me and filling me as far as he could go, I dug my nails into the bunched muscles tensing in his back.
Half of his shirt remained on, a sodden mess of fabric.
Pelting drops of water hit the vest he’d dropped to the floor.
His pants weren’t off, the bulges of the soaked garment between our legs as he thrust up into me and stilled.
I moaned, a muffled sound that he swallowed down without removing his lips from mine.
Sandwiched between the wall and his rock-hard body, I braced myself to take it all.
Aches teased at the periphery of my mind, those reminders that I’d been beaten.
But it all fell away. With every steady push and pull as he fucked me against the wall, I could only focus on this.
On him.
On us.
On the temptation to fully believe him and know that I could trust his love.
In and out, he dragged his rigid shaft. Pressure mounted and built, ratcheting me closer and faster to coming on him, squeezing him and milking him dry.
I couldn’t begin to know if this felt like so much because I’d just been rescued, or if the beating I’d taken skewed my senses.
Maybe it was him telling me that he loved me after I’d let it get to my head that he only wanted me for the baby.
And there was a chance that it all felt more intense from my body changing as our child grew.
It was different. More powerful, but intimidating to accept.
He picked up my thighs, bracing me higher and urging me to hook my legs around his waist. Slick against him, clinging to him as he pushed me to the edge of the precipice, I sucked on his tongue and relished the burning force of this tension.
One more long, steady thrust into me, and I came loudly as I cried out, heavily as I sagged against him and embraced the delicious rub of friction of his hard chest against my sensitive breasts.
Ripping his mouth from mine and breathing harshly, he rested his brow against mine and pumped into me three more times until he came.
Roaring his satisfaction, he lifted his head and stared at me with a smoldering intensity that seared me. I was lax. Numb. Sated and shaking from the force of that orgasm, but under his gaze, I was grounded.
I was his.
Yet a small, nagging voice in the back of my head wondered if it would last.