12. Sofia
12
SOFIA
I adjust my emerald dress in the mirror, noticing how it matches my eyes and remembering how he liked the color on me. Eight o’clock approaches, making my stomach twist with anticipation.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I mutter to my reflection. “He’s just a man.”
But Nikolai isn’t just any man. The way he commands a room, the steel in his voice when he gives orders... I press my thighs together at the memory of his hand gripping me as I inched toward an orgasm.
The doorbell rings at exactly eight. My heels move elegantly across the hardwood as I approach the door. I pause, hand on the knob, drawing in a steadying breath.
Nikolai fills the doorway in an impeccably tailored black suit. His steel-gray eyes rake over me with possessive hunger.
“Sofia.” His voice wraps around my name like silk-covered steel. “You look exquisite.”
“Thank you.” My voice is breathy and weak.
“What do you say when I compliment you?” His tone drops lower, demanding.
Warmth creeps up my neck, along with a jolt of excitement. “Thank you... Daddy.”
The gallery owner in me—controlled, independent, sophisticated—should reject this dynamic. But beneath that facade lies a truth: abandonment has left its mark, first with my birth parents, then the Henleys’ sudden death. Nikolai’s dominant presence fills those fractured spaces, his protection wrapping around my wounds like priceless silk over broken marble.
He tilts my face with his fingers. “Good girl.”
My hard-won control shatters beneath his touch, and I lean toward him like a flower seeking the sun.
“You can’t fight this forever, malishk a. I see how much you need this. Need me.”
A whimper escapes my throat. He’s right. I’m tired of fighting, of being strong alone. Just for tonight, I want to relinquish control.
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper.
The restaurant Nikolai chose is exactly his style—exclusive, elegant, and hidden away from prying eyes. The ma?tre d’ leads us to a secluded corner booth where Nikolai can survey the entire room.
“Wine?” He lifts the leather-bound list.
“Please.” I lean back, relaxing into the plush velvet. Without the tension of fighting him, I notice the electric energy crackling in the air.
“Tell me about your first art acquisition.” His question surprises me—most men try to impress with their stories.
“A small Degas sketch.” I smile at the memory. “I found it at an estate sale when I was twenty-two. The family thought it was a reproduction.”
“But you knew better.” His eyes flash with appreciation.
“The paper quality gave it away. That and the distinctive stroke pattern in the corner.” I take a sip of the wine he’s ordered, which is a perfect vintage. “I restored it myself. That’s when I knew I wanted to open my gallery.”
“You have excellent instincts.” His praise warms me more than the wine. “Both in art and other areas.”
“You’re not what I expected,” I observe.
“No?” His mouth quirks up at one corner.
“You’re easier to talk to than I thought.” When I’m not fighting my attraction to him, conversation flows naturally. His intelligence matches mine, and his dry wit keeps me laughing.
“Perhaps because you’ve stopped pretending you don’t want me.” His hand covers mine on the table, thumb stroking my pulse point. “Us.”
Lightning courses through me at his touch, and I welcome the storm this time. “Perhaps.”
Our eyes lock across the table, and the air grows thick with possibility. When his fingers interlock with mine, I don’t fight the intimate gesture. Instead, I savor this deliberate surrender of control.
The waiter sets down my perfectly seared scallops, and the aroma makes my mouth water. Across the table, Nikolai’s steak arrives with a flourish.
My phone buzzes in my clutch. I normally ignore notifications during dinner, but the special alert tone makes my stomach drop. I fish it out, blood running cold as I read the security alert.
“I’m sorry, I have to go.” I start gathering my things. “There’s a situation at the gallery.”
Nikolai’s hand closes over mine. “What kind of situation?”
“Multiple armed individuals spotted on the cameras.” My voice shakes as I read the details. “They’re trying to breach the back entrance again.”
“I’m coming with you.” He’s already signaling for the check.
Once he’s settled the check, he guides me out of the restaurant and to his waiting black Mercedes.
“I can handle this myself,” I protest, but Nikolai’s grip is firm.
“You’re under my protection now.” His voice brooks no argument as he guides into the back of his car. “Anton, to the gallery.”
The driver nods and sets us on course for my gallery. Nikolai pulls out his phone, and rapid Russian fills the car. His voice turns harsh, commanding. The foreign words roll off his tongue with a darkness that makes me shiver.
“What did you just do?” I twist in the leather seat to face him.
“Called reinforcements.” His jaw tightens as he checks his watch. “These idiots know you’re under my protection, yet they persist. Time to send a clearer message.”
“Reinforcements?”
“My brothers.” He slides his phone into his pocket. “They’ll meet us there.”
“Brothers?” In all my research about Nikolai Ivanov, I never found mention of siblings. “I didn’t know you had any.”
“Three.” His lips curve slightly. “Dimitri, Alexi and Erik.”
My brow furrows. “And they’re all coming to my gallery?”
“Yes.” He grabs my hand. “When the family is threatened, we respond.”
“I’m not family,” I point out.
His fingers tighten on mine. “You’re mine, malishka . It makes you as good as.”
The possessiveness in his voice should frighten me. Instead, it sends heat pooling low in my belly.
“Very presumptuous after a first date, Mr. Ivanov.”
His eyes arrest mine. “Once you experience one night with Daddy, you’ll never fucking leave.”
My breath catches. The crude words in his slightly accented, refined voice send liquid heat straight between my thighs. His thumb traces circles on my palm, and I can’t stop the small whimper that escapes.
“Your arrogance is remarkable.” My attempted derision dissolves into something far more revealing, each word carrying the tremor of desire.
“My instincts don’t lie.” His other hand bunches the hem of my dress. “I detect how you tremble when I touch you. How your pupils dilate when I give commands.” His fingers brush higher. “The way you’re soaking through these pretty panties right now, aren’t you, malishka ?”
I squirm in the seat, torn between spreading my legs wider and clamping them shut. “We’re almost at the gallery.”
“That wasn’t an answer.” His voice drops lower, demanding.
“Yes,” I whisper, heat flooding my cheeks. “Yes, Daddy.”
His satisfied growl makes me clench with need. But before he can take things further, the car slows to a stop. I see the gallery’s familiar facade through the tinted windows, and reality crashes back.
“Time to deal with these idiots first.” Nikolai’s hand withdraws, leaving me aching. “Then we’ll continue this discussion.”
Several men in tactical gear hold down the intruders through the gallery’s glass doors. Their precision and efficiency speak of military training.
“Should we call the police?” I ask.
Every head turns to me with looks ranging from amusement to disbelief. Heat crawls up my neck as I realize how naive I sound.
“The law won’t be handling this situation, malishka .” Nikolai’s voice carries menace. “I will.”
The cold certainty in his tone hits me like ice water. This isn’t the charming dinner companion from earlier—this is the dangerous man I’d read rumors about in my research.
The screech of performance tires draws my attention. Three vehicles pull up in perfect formation—a sleek Aston Martin, a matte black Range Rover, and what looks like a heavily modified Dodge Challenger.
“My brothers,” Nikolai says just as three men emerge.
The first moves like a CEO, his Armani suit probably worth more than my typical monthly revenue. His ice-blue eyes assess everything with calculating precision.
“Dmitri,” he introduces himself with a devastating smile that doesn’t reach those cold eyes.
The second brother practically bounces out of the Challenger, all restless energy and boyish features that barely mask something wild beneath. “Alexi,” he says, pulling out a tablet.
The last moves like a predator, his military bearing obvious in every step. He doesn’t speak, just nods once.
“That’s Erik,” Nikolai explains. “He’s not much for words.”
Standing together, the four brothers radiate power and danger. Each is different but appears equally lethal. What have I gotten involved with?
“Now,” Nikolai’s hand settles on my lower back, “let’s discuss what to do with these idiots who dared to cross me.”
I shiver as Nikolai’s hand slides to my waist, pulling me against his side. The message is clear—I’m his. His brothers’ gazes sweep over me with varying levels of interest.
Dmitri’s ice-blue eyes dissect every detail of my appearance, cataloging weaknesses and strengths like I’m a business acquisition. His perfect smile never wavers. “Welcome to the family, Ms. Henley. Your gallery’s financials are fascinating.”
“Stay out of my books,” I snap before I can stop myself.
His eyebrow lifts, amused. “Spirited. No wonder Nikolai’s interested.”
Alexi barely glances up from his tablet. “Your security system is garbage. I’ve already upgraded it. You’re welcome.”His fingers fly across the screen. “Also, your assistant’s been skimming from petty cash. Fixed that, too.”
“What? Sarah wouldn’t?—”
“Three hundred dollars last month.” He shows me the screen filled with complicated data. “Want proof?”
Erik remains silent, positioning himself between us and the door. His tactical assessment of the space reminds me of a soldier clearing a room. When his dark eyes meet mine, I see recognition—he knows I’ve had training.
“My brothers will ensure nothing like this happens again,” Nikolai’s voice rumbles against my side. “The gallery is now under the Ivanovs’ protection.”
The weight of those words settles over me. Everything I’ve built, my careful independence, shifts beneath my feet. These four dangerous men have inserted themselves into my life, and I know nothing will ever be the same.
“I don’t need?—”
“You do.” Nikolai’s fingers dig into my hip. “Twice in one week, Sofia. Or have you forgotten the first attempt?”
My cheeks burn at the memory of fighting off those thugs. “Maybe they’re only coming because of you. Did you consider that?”
His laugh holds no humor. “Without me, you would have been heading to bankruptcy or worse.” He turns me to face him, his steel-gray eyes boring into mine. “Those ‘protection’ demands would have bled you dry within months. I’ve seen their operation—they target successful women, squeeze them until there’s nothing left.”
The truth of his words hits hard—the protection fees they demanded would have eaten through my reserve funds in weeks.
“I had it handled,” I whisper, but the lie tastes bitter.
“Did you?” His thumb traces my jawline. “Tell me, what was your plan when they doubled their demands? When they decide to start threatening your employees? When they began ‘accidentally’ damaging valuable pieces?”
Each scenario lands like a knife to the chest. I’d been naive, thinking I could handle this alone. Running the numbers in my head, I know he’s right—I’d have lost everything.
“Fine.” I meet his gaze. “You’re right. But that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with whatever this is.”
“Comfortable isn’t what I’m aiming for, malishka .” His fingers yank my hair, making me gasp. “Safe is what matters. The rest will come in time.”
I focus on the brothers’ conversation, but their words blur together as reality crashes. Dimitri outlines something about financial pressure points while Alexi mentions cyber warfare. Even Erik contributes with tactical suggestions in clipped sentences.
My mind fixates on one thing only—how I’ve landed myself in bed with the Russian mob. Metaphorically. Though how Nikolai’s hand keeps brushing my lower back might make it literal too.
What would my foster parents think? They raised me to be better than this. To build something legitimate and beautiful with the gallery. I’m standing here while four dangerous men plot revenge against common thugs.
The worst part? I don’t care enough to stop it.
Nikolai’s cologne cloaks me like a drug, clouding my judgment. His touch burns through my dress, marking me as his property. I should be running, calling the police, or doing anything except leaning into his warmth.
“This is wrong,” I whisper, but the words lack conviction.
I crave his possessive touches even as my mind screams about the danger. The steel beneath his refined exterior should terrify me. Instead, it makes me ache in places I shouldn’t.
I watch his hands gesture as he gives orders, imagining those same fingers exploring my body later. Even having a pretty good idea of what those hands have done—what they’re capable of—doesn’t diminish my desire.
What does that say about me?
I may not be as good as I pretend to be. Perhaps there’s darkness in me, too, reaching out to match Nikolai’s. The thought should disturb me more than it does.
His gray eyes catch mine, and that predatory smile tells me he knows exactly where my thoughts have wandered. I’m falling into his web willingly and don’t want to stop.