Chapter 32
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
SOFIYA
Nikolai hasn’t left my side in two days. He should be out running his empire—making deals, crushing rivals, and doing whatever it is bratva kings do. Instead, he’s holed up in bed with me, bringing me food, icing my ankle, indulging me with ‘90s horror movies (and a few action flicks because I’m generous), and even climbing into the bath with me.
And then there’s the sex. Honestly, I’m starting to think my ankle is the least of my problems. The way he keeps me pinned to the bed every chance he gets, it’s a miracle I can walk at all.
We’re living in a bubble, tangled in silk sheets and bad decisions, giving in to the attraction that’s been simmering for so long. But bubbles pop. And when this one does, I’m not sure where we’ll stand. He’s still on one side, and I’m on the other.
I’m still lying in bed, wrapped in sheets that smell like Niko, when he walks in with a tray piled high with food.
My heart does a stupid flip at the sight of him. He’s wearing nothing but gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, his dark tattoos stark against his skin, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing as he moves. He looks impossibly handsome for a man who was up most of the night with one hand buried in my hair and the other around my throat.
With a devious smile, he lowers himself onto the bed, the tray balanced in his hands. It’s stacked with fruit, eggs, pancakes, a steaming mug of coffee, and a Russian cheese Danish perched on top like a cherry on a sundae.
“Is all this for me?” I ask as he sets the tray down beside me.
“Maybe I can convince you to share,” he deadpans, sliding into bed beside me. “Although I already enjoyed the most delicious breakfast of all.”
My cheeks redden. Oh yes, he certainly did.
“I bet Yelena was floating around the kitchen knowing that you were bringing me breakfast in bed.” In truth, he’s done this every morning, and Yelena is downright delighted.
“You can say that. She had the platter ready and waiting the moment I came downstairs. And see the pomegranate seeds.” He holds one up to my mouth, and I open so that he can slide it between my lips. “Good for fertility, she pointed out.”
“She’s on that again? I hate to tell her, but I’ve had the birth control shot.”
His eyes narrow playfully as he places the tray on the bed between us. “You did, did you?”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “Calm down. It helps with menstrual cramps. I’m not very experienced, as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now. Having sex with a stranger in the bathroom was a first for me.”
“I know.”
I arch a brow. “How do you know?”
“Because I’ve kept tabs on you over the years.”
My jaw falls open. “Please explain ‘keeping tabs’.”
Niko’s lips twitch into a faint smile, and he reaches for my hand. “Exactly what it sounds like. You were my wife, Sofiya, even if you didn’t realize it. I had someone keeping an eye on you. Roman protected you well, but I still knew where you lived, your school, your teachers… and every boy who got too close.”
I should be angry, but instead, it feels oddly comforting, like he was watching out for me, even from a distance. Jesus, is this a sign of Stockholm Syndrome?
“Then I’m sure you know none of those boys held my interest long enough for me to keep them around.”
“That’s the only reason they’re still alive.” He smiles, but I’m not entirely sure he’s joking. “How come?” he asks.
“A long time ago, a man saved me from something terrible. I guess I never forgot him. Made everyone else seem like a boy in comparison.”
His eyes flash with approval, and he picks up a strawberry and gently presses it to my lips. I take a bite, the sweetness bursting on my tongue.
“Good girl,” he says, his voice thick as he stares at my mouth.
I chew slowly, narrowing my gaze. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Of course I am.” He leans in, his lips grazing my ear. “You taste better than anything on this tray.”
My cheeks burn, and I fiddle with the edge of the sheet, trying not to look at him. But my mind can’t let go of his words from earlier. “Did you… did you look into the hospital?” I blurt, cringing at how awkward I sound.
He pauses, his expression sharpening with curiosity. “Your medical records said it was appendicitis.”
I lower my gaze to the floor. “Not exactly. It happened after everything in Greece. I didn’t know how to cope. My world had collapsed, and I couldn’t process what my parents were capable of doing to their own children just to save their reputation.” My voice falters, and I grimace. “I felt like a burden to Liza and Roman, just lying around all day. I had no interests, no motivation. I knew they were worried about me, but—” I break off, swallowing hard. “It wasn’t about ending things. I just wanted to feel numb for a while, to escape it all.”
Niko’s brows draw together, worry etched into his features as his hand slides over mine.
“It was a bad mix: sleeping pills and vodka. But waking up to see Liza and Roman so distraught was when I knew I had to change. That’s when I found dance. It gave me a reason to keep going.”
He stills, his voice rough with emotion. “I had no fucking idea. If I knew?—”
“Would it have changed anything?”
He drags a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “I can’t change the past.” His intense gaze connects with mine. “What is it you want? Not what everyone else expects of you. Not what the world thinks you should do. What do you want? Is it to perform in front of a packed theater? Be in the spotlight?”
I open my mouth to say, “Yes, of course,” but the words catch in my throat. Have I ever truly thought about what makes me happy? As much as I enjoyed choreographing and performing that solo for graduation, was it my true passion or just a way to escape Moscow, the Syndicate, and my past?
Niko stays silent, letting me sort through my thoughts before I speak.
“I don’t know if that’s what I want,” I admit finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Dancing lets me lose myself, and I need that. I don’t care about the spotlight—it was never about that. I think it was about proving that I’m worthy of something special after feeling unworthy for so long.”
His hand gently cups my cheek. “You’re not worthless. You’re extraordinary, Sofiya. Talented, kind, and strong as hell. You’ve been worthy all along, moya sladost. It’s the world that wasn’t worthy of you.”
My stomach flips. No one has ever said anything like that to me before, and I don’t know if I believe it. But the conviction in his voice is undeniable. “You’re giving me too much credit. I’m stubborn, but that doesn’t make me special.”
“Yes, you fucking are. And I’ll prove it to you.”
“Oh?”
“I have something for you. A gift.”
I grin. “What kind of gift?”
“I bought you a dance school.”
My eyes widen. Did I hear him correctly? “You did what now?”
He smiles, the lines around his eyes softening. “I saw how you lit up when you talked about the dance school you had me donate to. So, I thought, what’s better than donating to one? Buying you your own school.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Is he seriously gifting me a freaking school like it’s nothing? “I don’t get it, what’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch. A local dance school was struggling, about to shut down, so I bought it. Now it’s yours to do whatever you like with. I’ll fund it entirely. You can make it free, pick the staff and students yourself—all that’s up to you.”
My throat tightens. I can’t believe he’d do something like this for me. It’s overwhelming in the best way, but I’m not sure how to process it.
He must sense that, because his warm palm settles on my thigh. “Whatever your vision is, we’ll make it happen.”
Vision? I bite my lip, doubt gnawing at me. “I’m a dancer. I don’t know the first thing about running a school.”
He snags a blueberry off the platter, popping it in his mouth. “What did you admire about the school you had me donate to? You can model it after that or consider what you’d like to do differently. You’ll figure it out, moya sladost.” His lips graze mine, sending butterflies through my stomach. “You’re meant for this. I know you’ll be incredible because you’re passionate about dance and care about this cause.”
If I’m honest, the idea of building a school, of creating a space where dancers can thrive, is exciting. But starting something this big feels impossible when I don’t even know what my future holds.
I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to look at him as I say the one thing we both know is true. “What happens with the school when this ends?”
By this, I mean us and the insulated world we’re living in.
His hand ghosts over my cheek, forcing me to look at him. His blue gaze is unwavering. “It’s yours no matter what. It’s in your name, and I’ve already set up a trust to fund it. Even if you never want to see me again, it belongs to you.”
I shake my head. Thinking about our end sends a dull ache through me. One way or another, I’ll have to choose a side—Niko or the Syndicate. No matter which side I choose, or which side wins, it will leave me broken.
“Hey, what’s with that face?” he asks, cupping my jaw.
My hand slides up his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle and the ink etched into his skin before resting above the steady thrum of his heart. I swallow hard to find my courage.
“What if you made peace with the Syndicate? We can go to Roman together and negotiate a truce. He’ll understand it if I tell him things have chan?—”
Niko shakes his head before I can get the rest of my words out. “This is not a situation where I can just apologize, and we can be friends again. I made a mortal enemy out of them.” He shrugs, lightly. “I’m pretty sure Roman would shoot me the first chance he got, no matter what you say.”
A knot tightens in my throat. He’s probably right, but I'd never forgive myself if I didn’t do everything possible to protect the people I care about, including him. “But if I can put in a good word…”
“Hey,” he says, rubbing my arm. “Don’t think about all of that right now. I’ll figure out something, I always do.”
I want to believe him, to trust that he can make a plan that won’t end in bloodshed. But I’m not sure that’s even possible at this point.
He cups my face, his eyes smoldering, shadows flickering in their depths. “You’re mine, Sofiya. You’ve been mine since the moment you stepped into that Greek chapel.”
“Tell me there’s no one else,” I whisper. “That I’m the only one.”
I feel so vulnerable asking him this, but I need to know if there are other women, like Eva, still in the picture.
“There’s never been anyone else, and there never will be.”
The raw truth in his tone steals my breath. No one has ever made me feel like this. Seen. Important. Cared for.
His fingers continue their descent, gliding over the curve of my breast and slipping between my legs to ease my shorts aside.
My thighs part, warmth igniting in my core. I can’t resist him, and I’m not going to try anymore. The moment his fingertips brush over my slit, my mouth drops open.
His free hand tangles in my hair, pulling as his fingers slide inside me. The stretch is perfect, the pressure so intoxicating that a low moan escapes me.
“Promise you’ll dance for me soon,” he growls against my skin. “I want to see you just as you were onstage. Free.”
My breath stutters as he teases my clit, giving it a small pinch. My hips jolt forward, but I meet his gaze with a challenge. “And what are you going to do for me?”
His mouth curves into a wicked smile. “Pretty please, moya sladost.” He slides his hands beneath my ass, dragging my shorts off, spreading me wide like I’m his favorite meal.
“I’ll eat your pussy as often as you like.”
“You already do.” I laugh softly, but it quickly dissolves into a sharp inhale as his tongue sweeps through my folds, slow and deliberate at first, before growing more insistent, each flick and stroke making my eyes roll back.
A whine slips from my lips as he tightens his grip on my ass and buries his tongue inside of me. Every nerve in my body sparks to life, tuned to the electricity of his touch.
“Niko.” I draw in a ragged breath, my back arching off the bed. All I can do is clutch the sheet as he devours me. He knows exactly how to make me unravel.
Even if this is all we’ll ever be. Even if this moment is fleeting, something we’ll both look back on when everything falls apart. Even if the future holds nothing but heartbreak, I’ll take this—this feeling of being wanted, of being his, even if it’s temporary.