Chapter 18
SONYA
Morning seeps in slow and gray through the curtains, doing nothing to warm the chill in my bones. It had been fully dark when I’d woken from the clutches of a dream. Now, I watch Matvei sleep.
If only I could sleep, too. But every time I close my eyes, I see blood blooming through his shirt, and I recall the way his body tensed against a pain he didn’t want me to see.
I gently touch his forehead, checking for fever. None. His breathing is even while he sleeps, but maybe I should have demanded he go to the hospital.
Matvei stirs before his eyes open. He looks confused when he realizes I’m watching him. I let the silence linger, unsure what to say. There’s a fragile truth between us now, stitched together by last night’s fear and this morning’s uneasy peace.
My fingers tighten around the quilt as uncertainty gnaws at me, each second stretching like a thread ready to snap. I reach out and brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, trying to anchor us both in the present before the world intrudes again.
Matvei’s hand reaches out, calloused fingers grazing my wrist before intertwining with mine. There’s a gentleness in the way he squeezes my hand, something new. The quiet stretches as dawn slowly raises its head outside the window.
“You really scared me last night.” The words slip out quietly.
Matvei’s brow furrows. I’m instantly annoyed, and not sure whether it’s the hormones or the circumstances. I sit up, glaring at him. “You came home from who-knows-where, at two in the morning, with a freaking bullet hole in your shoulder. Was I not supposed to be frightened?”
He sits up slowly, carefully, the quilt falling away from his bare chest, making it difficult to focus on his face.
“You may be used to this, Matvei, but I’m not. If I’m going to stay here, I’m not going to spend every night unable to sleep because I’m worried about where you are and if you’re okay. If you’re going to come home at all—”
As the words tumble out, I recognize that this is all something a person in a relationship has every right to ask, but I’m not Matvei’s girlfriend or his wife.
“I’m not going to stay here and worry about you,” I finish, aware of the subject I’m dancing around.
“You have quite a lot of demands,” Matvei replies, his voice thick with sleep. He rubs his hand over his face, the stubble causing a rasping noise. His blue eyes find mine, and one corner of his mouth curls up. “You worry about me?”
My cheeks grow warm and I look away. “I have to use the restroom. Then I’m going to make the one cup of coffee I'm allowed because I have work to do, and someone woke me up at two this morning.”
I’m watching the coffee drip when a hand on my shoulder makes me jump. I turn around and notice Matvei’s face is still a bit pale, but his eyes are clear and focused. He’s wearing a fresh shirt and dark joggers, his face freshly shaven. I faintly smell the scent of his cologne.
One of the oddest things about staying with Matvei has been seeing him in casual clothes. I’d gotten used to him in a suit and it’s bizarre to see him looking so… normal.
“What are you doing?”
I shrug. “Making coffee.”
“I can see that.” He moves around me and leans against the counter, wincing slightly. I have to bite back the urge to ask if he’s okay. “The better question is, what are you thinking about?”
We sit in silence for a moment, the only sounds the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the percolating coffee. I know he's waiting for me to answer, but I don't know where to start.
“Do you think Samson has something to do with you getting shot?” I finally manage to say.
Matvei looks at me. “Don’t you?”
My sigh is the only answer he needs. I cross the kitchen to the table and pick up my phone. I unlock it, and hand it to Matvei.
"What is this?" he asks, peering at the image on the screen.
"I was looking for something in Samson's office a while back. Probably a pen, I don't remember exactly what. Anyway, I found a false bottom under one of the drawers, and I was too curious not to look inside. That's what I found."
"Why did you take a picture?" he asks without looking up, still puzzling out the image.
"I'm a lawyer. I know the secrets kept in the false bottom of a drawer are never anything good.
Plus, I guess a part of me was starting to realize Samson was bad news, even if I wanted to ignore it.
" My gaze drops to my toe and the invisible pattern I'm tracing over the decorative tile in a repeated, nervous pattern.
"If there’s one thing Samson’s good at, it's pretending to be everything he isn't."
When I look up, I'm surprised to find Matvei watching me with something akin to empathy or at least understanding. He and I haven't talked about the past much. Our conversations have been about ensuring our baby and I stay safe. I haven’t told him much beyond what I shared about Samson in Prague.
Matvei stands up straight, wincing again. I bite my tongue and pour two cups of coffee, following him as he pads out of the room.
"My brother has spent many years perfecting the mask he wears to cover his anger and dangerous cunning. He's clever, but the thing he truly lacks is the actual intelligence to become what he mimics."
"Yeah, I get that now." I sigh. "He’s become really good at it. He certainly seems to have Genevieve Mancini fooled."
"Maybe so, but I have no doubt she's using him as much as he's using her."
I'm not so sure. Genevieve seems simple to me, but that opinion is quickly abolished with Matvei’s next words.
"Genevieve Mancini isn't nearly as innocent or ditzy as she would have others believe." The grin Matvei flashes me over his shoulder as he opens the door to his office is knowing.
"What do you mean?"
"Genevieve and I casually dated for a short time," he says as he sets my phone on his desk and sinks into the chair, gesturing for me to pull one over as he opens his laptop.
When were you going to tell me? I nearly demand, but again, realize I have no leg to stand on when it comes to his romantic past.
"Oh?" I reply instead, trying to sound as disinterested as possible even though my heart has picked up its pace in the last few seconds.
"It was nothing," Matvei says as he types away at his computer.
"A few social events, nothing more. We never went out to dinner or spent time alone. It was a fleeting thought of mine to try to get to the Mancini’s through her, but I soon realized she was far too greedy and power-hungry for my taste. "
What is your taste in women? Another question that is unasked. I watch as he continues to type and click. Finally, something pops up that causes him to smile in triumph.
"What's all that?"
"His suppliers, where he keeps his materials, the people he's blackmailed, and his offshore accounts."
I lean over his shoulder, trying to figure out what I'm looking at. It appears to be some sort of spreadsheet with multiple tabs. "You got all of this from that one picture I showed you? All I saw were a bunch of random numbers and letters."
"The one thing Samson learned from our father—his own, personal code. Even I don't use it."
"Shit," I breathe. "I knew it had to be something important."
"This changes everything," he says. I've never seen Matvei so animated, moving from tab to tab, his eyes glued to the screen. "I'll have to redesign my strategy because this makes it clear he's after both of us."
Matvei's words ricochet in my head for a moment before I manage a reply. "Both of us?"
"Of course."
"I know Samson's a jerk, but he can't be the one coming after me. He's been trying to get me back."
The moment the words are out of my mouth I know I shouldn’t have said them. Matvei freezes, then slowly turns to look at me. "He’s what?" The words drip with venom.
I flush. "It's no big deal. Really. He’s been sending me messages about wanting me back. He says he misses me, he needs me. I’ve ignored them. He’s a married man now, and even if he wasn’t, I want nothing to do with him ever again."
The words tumble over each other, my voice rising an octave. It's not enough to calm him. Matvei's eyes spark with fire and rage, a stark contrast to the quiet, focused anger I've seen before. This is different. This is personal.
He's on his feet in a heartbeat, storming out of his office with strides so long, I have to jog to keep up with him.
"Matvei, don't." I have no idea what he's going to do, but I know I have to stop him. "I promise, it's not a big deal. I haven't answered him once."
"He crossed the line," he snarls as we climb the stairs to the second landing.
He pauses to catch his breath before pushing himself off the banister.
He's in pain, but he's ignoring it, his mind racing, planning.
"He's tried to kill you twice. I'm not letting him get away with this, Sonya. I'm not letting him get to you."
"You're hurt, Matvei," I say, trailing him to his room. "It hasn't even been twelve hours since you got shot. You're in no condition to be running around and going after Samson. I'm not some princess whose honor you have to defend."
Matvei turns, his face a mask of fury, hands clenched into fists at his side. "You're carrying my child. That is enough of a reason right there."
It's clear the conversation is over and there is no stopping him. He disappears into the closet, emerging in dark jeans and a black henley. He sits on the bed to put on his boots, grabs a jacket, and heads back downstairs with me in tow.
"Evgeny."
I greet him as he comes out of the kitchen, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. He looks like he hasn't slept in days, dark circles shadowing his eyes.
"Please tell Matvei whatever he's planning to do to Samson is not worth it. He's still hurt."
The big man's eyes widen as I approach him. If anyone is able to stop Matvei, it's Evgeny. But he seems to have only registered one word.
"Hurt?" His gaze snaps to his boss, looking him up and down.
"I'll tell you in the car," Matvei snarls as he stalks past me. "Samson's been after Sonya."
Evgeny's eyes swing back to me. I return his look with a pleading one of my own, but he responds by downing the rest of his coffee and leaving his mug on the entryway table before following his boss.
“Damn it.” I charge after them to the garage.
Matvei yanks the door open with his good arm, rattling the frame so hard I half expect the plaster to crack. His pounding footsteps echo in the big, concrete space. The beast that rules the Bratva with an iron fist has taken over. He pulls open a car door, but Evgeny slams it shut again.
"You're not going," Evgeny says without hesitation.
Matvei whirls toward him, teeth bared. "You don’t order me around, mudak."
Evgeny's eyes are sharp, calculating. He's built like a boulder, all muscle and quiet patience, and I know if it comes to blows, he'll win.
But there's something gentle in his gaze as well as a flicker of concern as he places a hand on Matvei’s good shoulder.
“If you go after Samson now, you won't come back.
You're hurt, and he's expecting you. He wants you angry and distracted.
You're compromised. You think I can't see it?”
Compromised? By what?
Something passes between the two men. Something I don’t understand, something I’m not supposed to see.
Matvei shoves his hand off, nearly stumbling. "Sonya's in danger. You know what he's capable of."
"Which is exactly why you need to keep your head.
" Evgeny blocks the door, arms folded. "I'm not letting you walk out there half-cocked, bleeding, and emotional.
We need intel. Samson's got partners, and he managed to burn down an entire warehouse last night.
And now he has the Mancinis behind him. If we misstep, they'll finish what he started. We can’t go after him without all the details. "
After Evgeny's warning, an uneasy silence fills the garage. Matvei glares at Evgeny, his bulk still blocking the car door. For a moment, both men just stand there. Then, without a word, Evgeny hands Matvei the keys and his weapon.
“Matvei, wait—"
Both men turn, surprised I’m still there. I wrap my hand around his good arm as Evgeny rounds the car to the driver’s side and Matvei prepares to get in. I plant my heels and pull until he stops and turns to me, anger and determination darkening the blue of his eyes. "Please—"
I’m not sure what to ask for and I search frantically, afraid he's going to grow annoyed and leave before I can think of anything.
"Promise me you'll come home in one piece, okay? Our baby needs you."
For a moment, I think he's going to turn around and leave without saying anything. His eyes close briefly. When he opens them, he puts his hand to my cheek.
"I will be back."
I watch as both men get into the car and drive off, left to wonder if this is the way things will always be between us. Though I don’t know exactly what “this” is.
My hands find my middle, pressing there instinctively.
If I'm going to be the kind of mother this child needs, I'm going to have to figure out exactly how I fit into their father's life.
If I do at all.