32. Sophia
THIRTY-TWO
SOPHIA
“ I ’m closing in on her. She’s getting sloppy, and her movements are more chaotic.”
Andrei’s voice comes through the speaker, hollow and numb. Every call he makes with an update chips away at my heart a little more.
It has been nearly a month since Elena ran. That night when we uncovered her betrayal, Andrei drove straight to confront her, but she and the baby were already gone. Since then, he has been tracking her across Europe, always one step behind. She was last spotted in Tuscany two days ago. Now, she vanished again.
Maxim has flown out to help him more than once, but it hasn’t made a difference.
Which only strengthens my belief that she’s innocent.
How could someone like Elena—a sheltered girl who has never left Miami—outmaneuver Andrei and Maxim? She has been groomed her entire life to marry a man her father chose for her, not to be some cunning fugitive. Beyond that, I’ve seen the way she looks at Andrei, the love in her eyes.
Maxim doesn’t see it that way. He argues that if she is innocent, she wouldn’t be running. And as much as I hate to admit it, he has a point. Especially now, with everything suddenly quiet—no emails, no threats, no new leaks.
“Keep me posted,” Maxim says, hanging up the call with a press of his thumb.
“This is a fucking mess,” he mutters, leaning back against the headrest. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, his frustration evident. “I’ve got Luca’s IT guy running facial recognition. Her photo’s been flagged with European police. She’s a ghost—there one second, gone the next.”
I bite my tongue, holding back a sharp retort as I merge onto the expressway.
Maxim and I have been at odds about this from the start. He doesn’t understand how terrified she must be. Alone. With a newborn. Is it any wonder she ran? If she’s innocent, she probably thinks they’ll never believe her. Or maybe the real traitor is feeding her lies, manipulating her into staying on the run. She’s still young. Impressionable.
I glance at Maxim, his hand now resting over mine.
“I’ve missed you,” he says softly, his voice gravelly and strained.
I steal another glance at him, taking in the weariness etched into his features—his crumpled clothes, the dark circles under his eyes, his unshaven jaw. He looks utterly drained. Between the fallout with the DEA, stepping back into his role, and rushing to Andrei’s side at all hours, it’s no wonder he’s exhausted. He left for his last trip at three in the morning, calling me at 1:45 a.m. to say he didn’t know when he’d be back. That was over a week ago.
“This might sound ridiculous,” I say, my voice soft, “but when I drop you off, take a shower. And sleep, Maxim. You can’t live on coffee and energy drinks forever.”
His grip tightens over mine. “Stay with me tonight.”
My stomach twists.
“Please,” he adds, his voice raw, his eyes pleading.
God, I want to say yes. I want to stay with him and let myself be pulled into the safety of his arms. But I can’t. Not now. I’m not in the right place mentally—or emotionally—to handle what would come next.
If I stay, I know how it will end. We’ll fall back into old patterns, and I’ll use sex to escape the way I used to. For a fleeting moment, I’ll forget the darkness inside me, forget the phantom touch of that man and the scent of that awful place. But the moment the euphoria fades, the trauma will still be there, waiting to drown me.
As we pull into Maxim’s driveway, I put the car in park and turn to him with a soft smile, hoping he’ll take the hint. Usually, this is where he gives me a kiss, murmurs goodnight, and heads inside. But tonight, he doesn’t move. He stays in his seat, head tipped back against the headrest, arm covering his face, and in seconds he starts snoring, I don’t wake him. I pull out my e-reader and let him sleep.
Tap.
Tap .
The sound pulls me from the book. I blink a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness outside the car after staring at my screen for who knows how long.
I glance to my right. Maxim’s still asleep, his breathing steady.
Tap.
Tap.
There it is again. My heart skips as I turn to my left.
A dark figure looms outside the driver’s side window. My heart races, and I slam my foot on the brake, ready to throw the car into drive and get the hell out of here.
Before I can move, Maxim jerks awake. In a blur, he pulls out his gun, arms extending in front of me, the muzzle pointed directly at the shadowy figure.
I gasp, leaning back as far as I can to put space between my face and the weapon.
“Must you people be so dramatic?”
The voice pulls me back to reality, anger quickly replacing my panic. I drop my head against the headrest with a groan.
“Luca, you fucking idiot,” I snarl as I lower the window. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. Ever heardof calling or texting like a normal person? Not creeping up to my car and tapping on the window like some deranged psychopath?”
Luca has the audacity to smirk. “Maybe if you weren’t so engrossed in whatever smut you’re reading, you would’ve noticed I did text you. Check the group chat.”
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I fumble for my phone, which I’d dropped to the floor during my panic. Sure enough, when I open the app, there’s a message from Luca in the group chat.
Wait. When did we get a group chat?
A vague memory surfaces of me, half-asleep at four in the morning, muting the notifications. Andrei and Luca had been spamming it with their constant, pointless banter. Those two have the weirdest, borderline-creepy bromance.
Maxim’s voice breaks my thoughts. “The plan for tonight is to put a bullet in your foot for scaring the life out of Sophia.” His tone is flat, but his eyes burn with annoyance.
“Why must you always resort to death threats?” Luca counters, clearly unbothered. “We both know you’d miss me too much. You’d feel remorse for killing your best friend.”
Maxim snorts. “Are you on drugs?” He lowers the gun but doesn’t put it away. “When the hell have I ever given you the impression we’re friends?”
Luca gasps in mock horror. “You wound me, Volkov.” He makes an exaggerated gesture of wiping away a tear. “Now what am I supposed to do with the matching friendship bracelets I bought us?”
Maxim glares at him, but there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips. “You’re insane.”
“And you love me for it.” Luca grins before his expression turns serious. “Alright, enough stalling. Can we focus? We’ve got work to do.”
“What’s happening tonight?” I ask, cutting through their back
They both turn to look at me, a deadly glint flashing in their eyes. Whatever they have planned for tonight, it’s not a casual outing.
“We finally found someone who’s been slipping through our fingers,” Luca says, his tone laced with satisfaction. “He thought hiding underground would keep us off his trail, but he was wrong. The moment he resurfaced, we got him.”
I blink, my mind racing. This has to be about the middleman Maxim mentioned the other night—the one they’ve been hunting for months. He’s the man who brokered the deal with Marcos Antonelli, acting on behalf of a shadowy boss to orchestrate chaos.
“You found him? The middleman?”
Maxim gives me a curt nod, his jaw tight.
True to his word, Maxim has been transparent with me, slowly peeling back the layers of his world. In stolen moments together, he has shared glimpses of his life—his violent upbringing, the monstrous deeds his father committed to shape him into what he is today, and the dark, brutal things Maxim has done in turn. Sometimes, he dives into the gritty details; other times, he holds back, his expression haunted.
I know there’s still so much he hasn’t told me. It’s in his eyes every time he looks at me—an ocean of secrets he’s desperate to unload but hasn’t found the right time or way.
And time is what we’ve been short on. If he’s not off chasing leads with Luca or rushing to Andrei’s side, we’re surrounded by people. Luca’s wife, Cecilia, has been a frequent guest, and while I’ve grown close to her over the past month—bonding over shared experiences—it’s not the same as having Maxim to myself. Part of me is relieved by the distractions. My heart can only handle so much horror at once. But another part of me is selfish, craving uninterrupted time with him, yearning for a future where we’re not constantly looking over our shoulders.
It has been this way since the start. The “sharing nights,” as I jokingly call them (much to Maxim’s irritation), weren’t meant to be anything more than a space for him to open up. But even that arrangement felt risky at my house, where temptation loomed large. I’d voiced my concerns to Maxim, and he promised to find a better solution—one that would respect my decision to take things slow. I didn’t expect him to turn it into a romantic gesture, yet that’s exactly what he did.
A memory washes over me, softening the tension of the moment.
It was a week later when Maxim texted, telling me to get dressed because he was picking me up in two hours. I’d assumed he was still out of the country with Andrei, so hearing he’d come home early—just because he missed me—already made the night feel magical.
When I opened the door, he handed me a blindfold.
“I’m taking you on our first official date night,” he said, his voice low and playful.
I’d been confused. “But we already had our first date at your restaurant,” I pointed out.
“That wasn’t a real date,” he replied, stepping closer, his ocean-blue eyes locking onto mine. “Luca interrupted it. It doesn’t count.”
I hesitated, eyeing the blindfold warily.
“Trust me,” Maxim murmured, his voice softening as he took my hand in his. He held the blindfold out again, his gaze imploring.
And I did. I let him slip it over my eyes.
Forty minutes in a car to the airport. Eight hours on a plane. Two hours in another car to our hotel. One final hour in yet another car.
And now, here I am, staring dumbfounded, heart pounding, with a huge grin spreading across my face. The gorgeous city of Paris sparkles below, a sea of golden lights stretching to the horizon. I’m on top of the Eiffel Tower, wrapped in the crisp night air, wearing a stunning, dark blue, off-the-shoulder cocktail dress with a daring high slit Maxim picked out just for this occasion. Every shimmer of the dress catches the light, a perfect reflection of how I feel inside.
I clutch a glass of my favorite sweet red wine, unable to stop the rush of emotions flooding through me. Right now, I feel like the happiest, luckiest woman in the world.
At first, I didn’t believe him when he told me he rented out the Eiffel Tower just for us. “That’s not possible,” I’d said, laughing at the absurdity.
Maxim’s response? A confident smirk and, “Nothing is impossible for me, malyshka.”
Even now, his words echo in my mind, sending a thrill through me. My fingers trail absently to the necklace around my neck. The delicate chain holds a tiny charm—a small key he’d given me earlier tonight. I roll it between my thumb and forefinger, letting the weight of it ground me. This night has been nothing short of magical: soft smiles, laughter, lingering kisses, whispered confessions under the full moon. We danced under the stars with no music but the rhythm of our hearts, our only witnesses the shimmering lights of the city below.
Maxim’s hand lands gently on my shoulder, pulling me back from my thoughts. His touch is warm and steady, grounding me in the present. His piercing eyes search mine, his expression questioning.
“Are you alright?” he asks softly.
I nod quickly, but he doesn’t buy it.
“Are you sure?” he presses, his voice laced with concern.
Another nod.
He doesn’t move, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer. Then, his eyes drop to where my hand still toys with the necklace, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Without a word, he steps out of the car and walks to my side. The door opens, and he offers me his hand.
“Let’s go,” he says simply, his tone unreadable but firm.
I take his hand, letting him help me out of the car. The air feels heavier now, charged with something I can’t quite place.
“Where are we going?” I ask, unable to mask the nervous edge in my voice.
“To see a man about getting some answers.” His grip on my hand tightens slightly, anchoring me to him.
Answers? My stomach churns uneasily.
I hesitate, pulling my hand away. “Wait.”
He stops immediately, turning back to me. His expression shifts, and patience and understanding soften the sharp edges of his features.
“Why do I need to be there?” I ask, my voice quieter now. I already have an idea, and the thought twists my stomach into knots. Maxim has told me things before—things I’ve struggled to process about how he gets information. I’m not sure I can stomach seeing it firsthand.
His lips curl into a wicked smile, one that sends a shiver down my spine. “Because you know the person.”
I blink, his words slicing through my hesitation like a blade. “What?”
He doesn’t elaborate; he just stands there with that infuriatingly smug look on his face. My curiosity flares, battling against the unease.
“If it becomes too much, you can leave the room,” he adds, his voice softer now, as if reading my thoughts. “But I need you there, malyshka.”
I swallow hard, torn between trepidation and the burning desire to know who this mystery person is.
After a moment, I nod, sliding my hand back into his. “Let’s go, then.”
His smile widens, a flicker of pride in his eyes as he threads his fingers through mine. “That’s my girl.”
And just like that, the moment of hesitation passes. As we walk hand in hand, my mind races. Whoever this person is, they must be important for Maxim to bring me along.