19. Nikolai
19
NIKOLAI
I pace my office, every muscle taut with rage. The screen showing Sofia’s apartment mocks me with the inside of a drawer where my cameras have been shoved. My malishka figured it out, just as I knew she would. She’s too intelligent not to have connected the dots.
My phone remains silent. No calls, no texts. The void of her absence claws at my chest.
“You’re wearing a hole in the carpet,” Dmitri says from the doorway.
I pin my brother with a lethal stare. “Did you need something?”
“The Italians are?—”
“You’re more than capable of handling it without me.” I check my phone again. Nothing.
The memory of her beneath me, trusting and open, haunts every moment. One perfect night before it all shattered. The urge to go to her gallery, to force her to face me, pounds through my veins.
But Sofia isn’t some common associate I can intimidate into compliance. She requires... finesse. Strategy.
“You’re obsessing,” Dmitri says.
“Get out.”
He lingers in the doorway. “Nikolai?—”
“Now.” Ice coats each syllable.
The door clicks shut behind him. I unlock my phone, pulling up the last image of her from the cameras, curled up on her sofa peacefully before she discovered my betrayal.
The rage builds again, but this time, it’s directed at me for miscalculating and allowing her to make me lose control. My hand tightens on the phone until the case creaks.
I should have waited. Should have bound her to me more completely. Now she’ll run, try to hide. But she doesn’t understand—she’s already mine. Has been since the moment I saw her.
I pull up her number again, fingers hovering over the keys. But what could I say? Sorry means nothing when you’ve violated someone’s privacy so completely. And I’m not sorry for watching over her, protecting her, only for losing her.
The phone clatters onto my desk. I need to make a plan. Sofia is too precious to risk with hasty action.
A sharp knock interrupts my dark thoughts. “Enter.”
Vadim steps in, clutching a worn manila envelope. His face is grave. “Sir, we found it. The sealed adoption records.”
My pulse quickens as I snatch the file from his hands. As I spread its contents across my desk, the paper feels heavy with secrets.
Sofia Castellano.
My breath catches. Not Henley—Castellano. The name blazes from the page like a brand.
Birth certificate. Rome, Italy. Mother: Maria Elena Romano. Father...
“Fuck.” The curse slips out before I can stop it. Antonio Castellano. The head of one of Italy’s most powerful crime families.
Images flash through my mind—the way she moves, her natural grace, those fighting skills she displayed. The pieces click into place with sickening clarity.
The documents detail a frantic transfer to America when she was six. Castellano’s legitimate wife had discovered his mistress and threatened to expose everything. Sofia was smuggled out of Italy and placed with the Henleys to protect mother and child.
My fingers trace her original birth name. She has no idea who she truly is. Who her father is, or that she has power running through her veins.
“There’s more, sir.” Vadim hands me another paper. “Her mother was killed in a car accident two months after Sofia’s adoption. The wife’s involvement was suspected but never proven.”
The rage building inside me threatens to explode. My Sofia, torn from everything she should have known, is hidden away in Boston, her true heritage buried under lies.
The pieces click into place with brutal clarity. The Henleys’ deaths weren’t random. Cut brake lines. A professional hit disguised as an accident—just like what happened to Sofia’s birth mother.
My hands curl into fists, crumpling the adoption papers. Someone knows. Someone has been tracking her, waiting. And by digging into her past, I may have painted a target on her back.
I snatch up my phone, dialing her gallery. One ring. Two. Three.
“You’ve reached Sofia Henley at?—”
“Fuck.” I slam the phone down. My heart pounds against my ribs as scenarios flash through my mind. The Italians could have people watching her right now. The wife who ordered her mother’s death could have learned Sofia survived.
I dial Vadim’s number, and he picks up on the second dial tone. “Get me everything on Lucia Castellano,” I bark at Vadim. “Phone records, travel history, current whereabouts. And find out who else has accessed these adoption records.”
I pull up the camera feeds from outside Sofia’s gallery. Nothing unusual. No suspicious vehicles. But that means nothing—professionals know how to stay hidden.
The irony twists in my gut. I installed those cameras to protect her, to keep her safe. Instead, my obsession with uncovering her past may have exposed her to the dangers I wanted to shield her from.
I glance at my wrist. It’s three hours until her gallery closes—three hours during which anything could happen while she’s angry and distracted, not watching her surroundings.
I snatch my jacket from the back of my chair, already moving toward the private elevator. My footsteps echo through the empty corridor as I punch the button for the garage level.
“Get me everything on those records within the hour,” I bark into my phone at Vadim before ending the call.
The elevator doors open to reveal my waiting Bentley. I slide behind the wheel, the leather seat doing nothing to calm my racing thoughts. The engine purrs, and I peel out of the garage, taking the corner sharper than necessary.
My hands-free system connects as I navigate through afternoon traffic. I dial Sofia’s mobile, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.
“Hi, you’ve reached Sofia. Please leave a?—”
I cut off her voicemail with a curse, swerving around a slow-moving sedan. The gallery number is next, but it rings endlessly before hitting the automated message.
“You’ve reached Sofia Henley at?—”
“Damn it.” I end the call, pressing harder on the accelerator.
Traffic crawls at a red light, and I resist running it. My mind cycles through worst-case scenarios—Lucia Castellano’s hitmen, the Italians making a move, and Sofia leaving town to escape me. Each possibility sends fresh adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I try her mobile again, straight to voicemail. The gallery line continues to ring unanswered.
A horn blares as I cut through traffic, ignoring the angry gestures from other drivers. Nothing matters except reaching her gallery and seeing her safe with my own eyes. Even if she hates me, even if she runs—I need to know she’s protected.
The ten-minute drive stretches into an eternity. My phone remains silent, with no word from her or my men. The uncertainty claws at my chest, foreign and unwelcome. I’m not used to this loss of control, this fear.
I burst through the gallery doors, making them slam against the walls. The sharp sound echoes through the space as I scan for threats, my heart thundering.
Sofia stands behind the counter, cataloging new pieces. Her head snaps up at my entrance, green-gold eyes widening before narrowing to slits. No signs of danger, no evidence of intruders. Just her, safe and whole and furious.
“Get out.” Her voice could freeze hell itself.
“Sofia—”
“In case you missed the silence from your phone and the blank screens from your little spy cameras, I’m not talking to you.” She turns back to her work, dismissing me like a servant.
The relief at finding her unharmed wars with fresh rage at her defiance. I stalk toward the counter, but she doesn’t flinch or look up.
“We need to discuss?—”
“No, we really don’t.” She slams her catalog shut. “I have nothing to say to someone who violates my privacy and treats me like a possession to be monitored.”
“It’s not that simple.” My fingers curl around the counter’s edge, knuckles white with restraint.
“Actually, it is.” She finally meets my gaze, and the hurt beneath her anger cuts deeper than any blade. “Leave. Now. Or I’ll call the police.”
“You’ll call the police?” My voice falls to a lethal murmur. In two strides, I circle the counter and grab her throat, backing her against the wall. My fingers flex against her pulse point. “Try it.”
Sofia’s breath catches, but she doesn’t struggle. Smart girl. Her eyes blaze with defiance even as her body responds to my touch.
“You think I won’t silence your phone before you can dial? That I don’t own half the force in this city?” I lean closer, inhaling her scent. “You’re going to listen now, malishka . Your life depends on it.”
Her throat works beneath my grip as she swallows. “Let go.”
I release her throat but keep her pinned against the wall with my body. The hurt and betrayal in her eyes cut deeper than I expected.
“The cameras. Breaking into my apartment. My missing things.” Sofia’s voice trembles with rage. “What kind of sick obsession?—”
“I’ll tell you everything.” My hand slides to cup her face, thumb brushing her cheek. She jerks away from my touch. “But you need to listen first. Your life is in danger.”
She scoffs. “More manipulation?”
“Your real name is Sofia Castellano. Born in Rome to Maria Elena Romano and Antonio Castellano.”
The color drains from her face. “What?”
“I found your sealed adoption records. Your mother was killed two months after sending you to America. The same people who murdered her may have killed your foster parents.” My fingers tighten on her jaw. “And they might be coming for you next.”
“You’re lying.” But doubt creeps into her voice.
“I’ll show you the documents. Everything I’ve found.” I lean closer, willing her to understand. “Yes, I put cameras in your apartment. Yes, I broke in. I’ve been watching you, protecting you?—”
“Stealing my underwear? My hair ties?” Her eyes narrow. “That’s not protection; that’s perverted stalking.”
Shame burns through me, foreign and unwelcome. “I won’t deny my obsession with you.
I brush my thumb across her cheek, my pulse racing at her defiant glare. “From the first moment I saw you, you consumed me. Every thought, every breath—just you. I couldn’t bear not knowing what you were doing.”
Sofia tries to pull away, but I hold her firm. “That’s not normal, Nikolai. Breaking into my home, taking my things...”
“Normal?” I let out a harsh laugh. “Nothing about how I feel for you is normal. You’re under my skin, in my blood. When I’m not with you, I can’t focus. Can’t think. I was so fucking intoxicated with you I had to jerk off over your sleeping form.” His jaw clenches. “What the hell? I said I’d tell you everything. I even came in your water bottle one night. You would have consumed my cum the next morning…”
“That’s disgusting,” she spits, but her pupils dilate.
I grab her jaw, making her meet my eyes. “It’s how deeply I feel for you, malishka . How completely you’ve possessed me. I’ve never...” My voice roughens. “I’ve never lost control like this. Never needed someone the way I need you.”
Her breath catches. “Nikolai...”
“Fight it all you want. But you feel it, too. It’s beyond reason, beyond sanity.” Our foreheads touch. “I won’t apologize for wanting every part of you. For needing to mark you as mine in every way possible.”
Her lips crash into mine with devastating force. The taste of her anger and desire floods my mouth as she kisses me with raw desperation. My hands slide into her hair, gripping tight as I devour her. She moans, pressing closer, her body betraying her need despite everything.
The kiss turns savage, teeth clashing, tongues battling. The wall provides perfect leverage as I press her against it, letting her feel the full extent of my arousal. She matches my intensity, raking her nails down my back through my suit jacket.
Then suddenly, she tears away, chest heaving. “That’s the last kiss we’ll share.” Her voice cracks. “Nothing good can come from this. From stalking. From violations of trust.”
“Stalking is the highest form of flattery.” I trace her swollen bottom lip with my thumb. “You’ll understand eventually. Everything I do is to possess you, protect you.”
“You’re insane.” But she doesn’t pull away from my touch.
“Perhaps.” I lean close, my lips brushing her ear. “But you need to come with me now. Your safety depends on it. The people who killed your mother, your foster parents, are still out there.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Not against this level of danger.” My fingers flex against her jaw. “Come with me willingly, or I’ll force you. Your choice, but you’re leaving with me either way.”
The challenge sparking in her eyes tells me everything I need to know. Sofia shifts her weight, ready to bolt or fight. I’ve seen that stance before, knowing she won’t come quietly.
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” I murmur, reaching into my pocket.
“Go to hell.” She tries to duck under my arm, but I catch her easily.
In one fluid motion, I press the pre-loaded syringe against her neck and depress the plunger. Her eyes widen in disbelief as she realizes what I’ve done.
“You drugged me? You absolute bastard—” The words slur as the sedative takes hold. Her knees buckle, and I catch her against my chest, cradling her head as she goes limp.
“Shh, I’ve got you.” I brush the hair from her face as her eyes flutter closed. She fights it to the last moment, trying to glare at me even as consciousness slips away. Then she’s out cold in my arms, peaceful despite her fury moments ago.
I lift her carefully, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her shoulders. Her head lolls against my chest as I carry her toward the back exit, where my car waits. The sedative will keep her under for the drive to the safe house—long enough to get her somewhere secure.