Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
SOFIYA
My first thought when I got into Nikolai’s car was to pay attention to where he was taking me, so that if I ever had a chance to escape or communicate with the outside world to get help, I’d have a sense of where we are.
That plan lasted about thirty seconds.
The second we hit the road, all those thoughts flew right out the window. Nikolai is distracting—in the way he reached over to buckle me in, his tattooed hands flexing on the gearshift, veins rippling over his forearms. It’s how he blasted rock music and drove with one hand, like a professional driver.
Apparently, I have a thing for that.
He’s been letting pieces of himself slip. Talking about his brother, his mother, and his time in jail. It’s strange; hearing these things about his past makes him more human, less like the devil I’ve painted him to be.
Maybe we’re not so different after all. Both raised by people who should’ve loved us but didn’t. The difference is I didn’t let it ruin me. Nikolai let it twist him into someone who takes whatever he wants, no matter the cost.
Why am I so drawn to him? Over the last few days, my self-control has been hanging on by a thread. Starting with the pool—his big, tattooed, naked body, slick and wet, so close I could feel the warmth radiating off him. The way he snapped the bikini string against my overheated skin. Watching the movie with me last night.
When I need to remind myself of who he truly is, I stare at the “wedding ring” tattooed on my finger—a reminder of the brutal man who put it there.
I’m lost in thought when a faded billboard catches my eye: Koporye Fortress – one mile. My pulse quickens. Koporye Fortress is a historic ruin not far from St. Petersburg. It’s not much, but it’s a clue. It helps narrow down our location.
Minutes later, we pull up to a modest but well-maintained two-story house at the end of a gravel road. It’s definitely not what I expected for a shopping trip.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“A private boutique,” Nikolai says, slipping off his sunglasses and tossing them onto the dashboard. “The owner is an Italian woman named Valeria. She caters to people like me.”
“Assholes?”
His lips twitch. “People with refined tastes who value discretion.”
Like a perfect gentleman, Nikolai opens my door and then leads me inside. The interior couldn’t be more different from the plain exterior. It’s elegant and inviting, with plush velvet chairs and crystal chandeliers.
Within seconds, two women glide toward us, their faces lit up as though they’ve spotted royalty.
“Niko. What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.” A petite woman in her forties, with a heart-shaped face and friendly eyes, steps forward and kisses him on the cheek.
“Sofiya, this is Valeria, the owner of the boutique. And, Valeria, this is Sofiya, my wife.”
Her eyes widen, and she blinks rapidly. “Wife?”
“It’s new,” Nikolai offers.
“Of course,” she says, recovering quickly. “Congratulations to you both.”
“It’s not really a congratulations situation,” I clarify. “More like condolences.”
Nikolai barks out a laugh while Valeria looks momentarily stunned. “My wife has an interesting sense of humor,” he says, swatting my ass in warning. I flash him a sugary-sweet smile.
“We’re here for Sofiya today, not me.”
Valeria releases a nervous titter and then shifts her attention to me. “All right, Sofiya. What are you looking for?”
I shrug. “I only need a few things. The basics.” What do I need to look good for? I don’t leave the estate. As confident as Nikolai seems that Roman will cave to his deal, I know better. The Syndicate will find a way to get me out. Somehow. I hope.
Nikolai runs a finger down the center of his lips. “I thought you wanted to bankrupt me?”
I give a half shrug. “Can’t be bothered.”
“Oh, come on. Are you honestly going to give up that easily?” He cups my chin, meeting my gaze. “Go wild. Whatever you want—it’s all yours. And trust me, nothing in here is cheap. Hell, buy two of everything just to piss me off.”
I raise a brow. If he feels so strongly, I’m game.
“In that case.” I cross my arms and glance at Valeria. “I need a whole new wardrobe. Head to toe. Your most luxurious pieces—cashmere, silk, suede. If it doesn’t have a string of zeros on the price tag, don’t bother showing it to me.”
“Very good.” Valeria reacts as though this is the most normal request she’s ever heard. She steps back and gives me a thorough once-over as if taking my measurements by sight alone. With a bright smile, she claps her hands. “Why don’t you head to the back fitting room? My staff and I will bring everything to you.”
“That's fine. I'm happy to go through the racks on my own.”
Valeria holds up a palm. “Absolutely not. You relax. It’s my job to find you beautiful clothes.”
“Thank you, Valeria. I’ll show my wife to the fitting area,” Nikolai says.
With a possessive hand on my lower back, he leads me through the luxurious store to a fitting area, where the walls are adorned with velvet wallpaper. The air is scented with expensive perfume, and one section is entirely covered in mirrors.
One of Valeria’s assistants enters the room with snacks and champagne, offering both to us, but I wave her off, having eaten breakfast recently. They are obviously pulling out all the stops for Nikolai and his deep pockets.
I sink onto a cushioned bench, chewing on my thumbnail—a nervous habit I’ve never been able to kick. Nikolai, of course, notices. He leans in, gently pulls my nail from my mouth, and traps my hand in his. I try to tug it free, but his grip is firm and warm. God, his hands are so big.
“Such a bad habit,” he scolds softly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He gives me a pointed look, the kind that says don’t bullshit me .
“Fine. It’s just… I don’t want to be beholden to you. That’s all. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to drain your bank account, but I’d rather do it by donating the money to charity or something.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “I’ll make you a deal. However much you spend here, I’ll match it and donate the same amount to a charity of your choice.”
“You’re saying the more of your money I spend, the more good I’ll be doing?”
“That’s what I’m saying.” His blue eyes gleam, and I hate how easily I lose focus when he looks at me like that. For once, he’s not brooding or angry. He almost seems relaxed. Maybe that’s why Yelena was so eager for him to take the day off.
“Fine,” I tell him, stealing my hand back because it’s a generous offer, and I’d be a jerk to turn it down. “Hope you don’t come to regret that promise.”
“I’m going to enjoy watching you spend my money more than you know.” He grazes his fingertips along the side of my neck, letting them linger at my collarbone. Tingles explode at his touch. No matter how much I think I hate him, I don’t hate his touch. “What cause would you like to donate to?”
I take a breath and try to focus, even though it’s hard with his leg pressed firmly against mine. “Back in Moscow, I used to volunteer at this small dance school for underprivileged kids. The place was underfunded, understaffed, and barely holding on. The kids were so talented and so eager to learn—it broke my heart. Without that school, they’d never have had the chance to dance. It’s an important cause. That’s where I want the money to go.”
He dips his chin. “Consider it done.”
“Seriously?”
My pulse stumbles. With no hesitation or questions, he’s willing to give money to a cause I care about. I look down at my hands, suddenly unsure of what to do with them.
I’m sure he only agreed because he wants me to spend freely, but the gesture still means something.
“Seriously,” he repeats. “Now I want to know how come you haven’t been dancing? There’s plenty of room in my home.”
“How do you know what I have or haven’t been doing? Does Emil report everything I do to you?”
He shrugs and reaches for the champagne, pouring us each a glass. “I watch you sometimes through the security cameras.”
My head snaps up. “You do what?”
“Don’t play ignorant. You’ve been around bratvas long enough to know most homes have cameras everywhere.”
“Yeah, but…” The words die out. He has a point, but the fact that he admitted to watching me is all kinds of fucked up. “Do you watch me in my bedroom? When I change? When I sleep?” My voice rises with every question that tumbles from my mouth.
“As tempting as that is, no.” His fingers trail idly along the rim of his champagne glass. “Even men like me have limits. I respect your privacy in your room. But when you’re in the library, the music room, or other common areas, it’s fair game.”
My fingers press against my temples. “What do you think I’m going to do? You have security everywhere, and I’m wearing an ankle monitor.”
He chuckles, the sound a low ripple over my skin. “It’s not about security. I like watching you. And if I’m honest, I was hoping to see you dance again.”
“Again?”
“I was at your final recital. That’s how I knew you were going to the club afterward.”
“Oh my God. You were there?” Shock steals the air from my lungs. I don’t know why I’m surprised. It actually makes sense.
His eyes soften. “Your dancing was… I don’t have the right words for it. Beautiful, yes, but more than that. It was powerful. You were born to dance, moya sladost.”
A sharp ache spreads through me, and I have to look away. His words unlock something fragile. But at the same time, he’s the reason my career is nothing more than a shattered dream. “I don’t dance in your home because it reminds me of everything I’ve lost. Of the future you stole from me.”
Like Hades, he dragged me down into his world without warning. It’s almost funny that the dance I choreographed turned out to be a preview of my own life.
A shadow crosses his expression. “You are my wife, Sofiya. I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll fly in the best dance instructors in Russia or build you a studio worthy of the Bolshoi. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Anything except freedom.”
A muscle twitches in his cheek, but that’s the only response I get before Valeria enters the room with two of her assistants, wheeling in rack after rack of designer clothes. But my brain is stuck on everything he just said. Does he truly care if I’m happy or is he trying to ease his own guilt?
Maybe this is his way of making peace with the fact that he stole my life. But why should I let him feel better about it? The idea of him building me a studio or flying in instructors is so absurd it almost makes me laugh. He’s offering me the world, but not the one I wanted. The one I worked so hard for. And yet, there’s a messed-up part of me that wants to believe he cares. Even a little.
“So, what do you think?” Valeria asks, pulling my attention toward her. She motions to everything laid out in front of me. It’s not a few items like I imagined, but a ton of clothes. Dresses, evening gowns, casual clothes, coats, boots, blazers, heels, and accessories, including silk pajamas.
My eyes go wide. “I don’t think I’ll have time to try everything on.”
Nikolai flicks his wrist toward the racks, his eyes glued to the phone in front of him. “Choose what you like, and we’ll take it.”
I like dressing up as much as the next girl, but I’ve always been on a budget. Even when my parents were trying to pretend we were still rich, I’d shop at the sample sales that designers held. Despite Roman and Liza’s wealth, I never wanted to take advantage. A fashionable wardrobe was never high on my list of things to spend money on anyway.
But right now, it seems I have no choice. Oh well, it’s for a good cause.
Four hours and a catered lunch later, I’ve tried on more clothes than I thought humanly possible. Valeria and her assistants have been tireless in their efforts to dress me, head to toe, for every occasion imaginable.
Each time I thought we were done, Valeria would waltz in with yet another must-have item I needed to consider. Everything is gorgeous, but I’m still holding out hope that I won’t be around long enough to wear half of it.
Whenever I start to say it’s too much, Nikolai casually reminds me how much money I’m raising for the dance school. He knows how to motivate me.
I thought he’d spend the day glued to his phone, doing whatever bratva bosses do, but instead, his focus has been entirely on me. It should have gotten under my skin, but it didn’t. Every time he zipped up my dress or knelt to adjust the strap on my heel, I liked how his touch lingered. I like how he looks at me with unapologetic admiration and tells me when I look beautiful or sexy.
When was the last time any man other than Alex paid me a real compliment? It’s been ages, and with Nikolai, I know he’s not saying it to be polite. He means it.
And that realization terrifies me because hate and anger are all I have to keep him at arm’s length. If I lose that armor, I’m in trouble.
I’ve tried on one last item, a slinky cocktail dress that caught my eye earlier. It’s completely unnecessary—just like the silk lingerie sets, riding boots, and faux fur coats I know will probably end up collecting dust in the back of a closet.
I step out from behind the privacy screen and stand in front of the full-length mirror. The dress is stunning—it hugs my curves beautifully and is made from a sheer, emerald-green fabric. The plunging neckline and thigh-high slit practically dare anyone to look away. Nikolai will hate it because it shows a lot of skin, which makes it worth every penny.
Plus, it’s for a good cause.
Nikolai stepped out of the fitting room a minute ago to take a call. I pop my head around the corner to find him pacing at the far end of the boutique, phone pressed to his ear. At the front of the store, Valeria and her assistants are busy packing up everything I’m buying, and given how generous I’m being with myself, it’s a hell of a lot. Everything they didn’t have on hand will be delivered to the estate later on.
I’m about to step back behind the privacy screen when something catches my eye on a side table tucked against the wall.
A phone.
Valeria’s cell phone. My heart thumps wildly. She must have forgotten it here after she called one of her suppliers to ask about a pair of suede boots I was interested in.
I bite my lip, considering my options. The phone is probably locked, and Valeria is bound to notice it’s missing, but she might not realize it was me who took it. And this could be my one and only chance to reach out to Liza and let her know I’m okay.
Screw it.
I dash across the room, and my fingers curl around the phone, lifting it off the table before I dart behind the privacy screen. Heat creeps up my neck. I don’t even want to think about what Nikolai will do if he finds out what I’ve done, but I have to take the risk.
I shimmy out of the dress and pull on my jean shorts and a floaty blouse I chose that I planned to wear home. Powering down the phone, I tuck it into the back of my waistband, right where Nikolai’s men holster their guns. It’s a snug fit, but the high-waisted shorts keep it secure.
“Did you want to take the dress?” Valeria’s voice causes me to freeze in place. “We’re all packed up at the front.”
“Uh, yeah, that sounds great. I’ll be out in a sec.” I smooth down my clothes, praying there’s no telltale bulge showing. As long as I’m careful to keep the blouse loose around me, it shouldn’t be visible.
I’m on edge as I step out from behind the screen, clutching the dress. Please, God, don’t let this be the moment she realizes her phone is gone. When I face her, she’s smiling, dangling a pair of sparkly gold heels from her fingers.
“I thought these might work well with the last dress you tried on,” she says, giving me a little wink.
“They sure will.” I force a smile. “I’ll take them.”
“Perfect,” Valeria chirps, clearly thrilled. “You’re going to knock your husband’s socks off, pairing that stunning gown with these sexy heels.”
“Oh really,” Nikolai’s smoky voice cuts through the room. Both Valeria and I look up to find him leaning casually against the doorframe, his tattooed knuckles brushing along the edge of his jawline. His gaze is fixed on me. “Not so fast, wife.”
What the hell does he know? A cold sweat breaks out along my spine. As I hold my breath, waiting for what he’s going to say, Nikolai’s lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile. “I think I’m going to need my own private fashion show at home for that dress and those heels.”
Valeria laughs lightly while it feels like my throat is closing up. “In that case,” she remarks, “please excuse me while I get the staff started on loading your car.”
My nerves feel like live wires under my skin as Nikolai stalks toward me, slowly tucking a strand of hair behind my ears. “You have no idea what a tease it’s been watching you try on clothes all day.”
Instinctually, I step out of his reach. One wrong move, and he’d feel the phone stuffed into the waistband of my jean shorts. “I didn’t mean for it to be,” I say robotically.
His eyebrows pull together. “Everything okay?”
“Of course.” I rub at my temples. “Only a headache. It’s been a long day.”
He tilts his head. “You did raise over three hundred thousand dollars for your efforts.” When I don’t respond, a shadow passes over his expression. “Let’s go. I have painkillers in the car.”
I nod and follow him out of the changing area. As I thank Valeria and the staff on the way out, my thoughts are already miles away. If I pull this off, I could be talking to Liza sooner than I ever imagined possible.