Chapter 8 Sofia
Sofia
Unknown Location — Before Dawn
The safe house, if that’s what Archer called this, didn’t feel safe.
It felt like a bunker—thick walls, minimal windows, locks that whispered instead of clicked. The air smelled faintly of metal and old secrets, like the building remembered the other people who had hidden here before me.
People who’d survived.
At least I hoped they had.
In the clothes Archer had given me at the last safe house, I sat on the edge of the bed. Archer had insisted I try to rest. Instead, I perched there, my coat still on, boots still laced. I hadn’t been able to make myself undress. Taking off armor—even borrowed armor—felt like tempting fate.
My shoulder throbbed where I’d hit the pavement outside the hospital. Every little ache was a reminder of how close it had been. Inches. Seconds. A different angle and—
Taking a shuddering inhale, I stopped the thought before it finished. I wouldn’t do that to myself.
My hand drifted to my stomach, fingers splayed, protective and reverent all at once.
It was still very early. There was no movement yet.
No flutter. Just the quiet, undeniable truth that I was no longer only surviving for myself.
Yet I knew this early, it was a fragile existence that could easily be lost.
The stress, the attempt on my life—all of it chipped away at the protective cocoon that my little bean floated in.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered again with more confidence than I actually had, like it was becoming a mantra. “I will not let them take you.”
The words didn’t shake as I spoke. They settled.
Something inside me had shifted since the hospital. Not fear—something denser. Heavier.
Purpose.
I’d spent my whole life avoiding violence.
It had been ingrained in me by my mother after her history of abuse at her father’s hands.
When she had found out she was pregnant and her boyfriend, my father, up and left, my grandfather had beaten her so badly she almost lost me.
That’s when she began to make her plan to leave for New York.
As soon as she’d saved enough, she’d taken me, and we’d set off for the city.
Still, those survival instincts had become second nature to her and, in turn, to me.
Making myself quiet and small so as not to draw attention to myself.
Walking the long way home to avoid bullies.
I’d become a peacekeeper. A pacifier. Letting men be loud while I was silent so I didn’t raise their ire.
Choosing peace even when it cost me something precious—my sense of self.
Like my mother, that choice had almost killed me once, but I’d survived. Just as I would this time.
The truth was brutal and clarifying: fear hadn’t protected me. Maksim had. Archer had. Violence—controlled, deliberate, unapologetic—had.
And now it was my turn to decide who I was going to be.
I stood, wincing at the throb in my shoulder, and crossed the room. Once I was in front of the mirror bolted to the wall, I stopped. Insanely, I barely recognized the woman staring back. Pale, yes. Bruised, yes.
But her eyes, though familiar, were different.
They weren’t hunted.
They were… awake.
A knock sounded—soft, deliberate. Archer.
“Come in,” I said as I turned to face him.
He stepped inside, scanning out of habit, then relaxed a fraction when he saw me standing. “You should rest.”
“I will,” I replied. “Soon.”
He nodded once, then hesitated. “Most people… fall apart after something like tonight. It wouldn’t make you weak.”
“I know,” I murmured quietly.
“But you’re not.”
Lifting my chin a fraction, I met his gaze. “It would seem I don’t have that luxury.”
Something that looked an awful lot like respect flickered across his chiseled face. “Maksim will want you protected. Safe. Kept away from anything and everything that could be a danger to you and that little sprout.” He pointed at my stomach.
I smiled faintly. “Yeah, well, that’s going to be a problem.”
His brow lifted in surprise.
“Don’t get too worried. I’m not asking to run guns or plan executions,” I continued with a small chuckle before I sobered. “But I won’t be blind or vulnerable. I won’t be a pawn on someone else’s board. I want you to teach me.”
Archer studied me for a long moment, then inclined his head. “Hmm. Okay. I guess I need to tell him you’re stronger than he thinks.”
“If you do… tell him,” I paused, voice steady, “that I won’t be afraid anymore.”
Archer left without another word.
With a new determination, I sat back down, finally unlacing my boots, letting the tension drain inch by inch.
Outside, the darkness hummed—unaware, indifferent, alive.
We’d driven until the lights of the city had become a glow in the night sky.
I wasn’t sure exactly where we were. Archer had told me this was a “friend’s” place.
Somewhere out there, men were plotting my death. Yet instead of terror, what I felt was resolve. They had shown me the rules of this world. Now I would learn how to survive in it.
Not by hiding.
Not by pleading.
But by standing beside the man I loved—and becoming someone worth protecting.
I lay back on the bed, one hand on my stomach, the other curled into the pillow that I wished was one that still smelled faintly like him. I missed his scent.
“Your father is dangerous,” I whispered to the life inside me. “But so am I, now.”
The thought didn’t frighten me.
It felt like coming home.