Sofia
I don’t love running. I love what it gives me. Endurance. Speed. The satisfaction of knowing that if someone ever came after me, I would not go down easily.
Anton runs twelve feet behind me. Close enough to react, far enough that I can pretend I’m alone.
We’ve had the same route for two months. I know every crack in the pavement. I know which trees have exposed roots worth avoiding, which stretches get slick when it’s damp. I know the usual runners.
My earbuds are in, but the volume is low.
Force of habit. I don’t like not being able to hear.
But I don’t want people to assume I’m approachable.
I push hard, smiling to myself because I know how much Anton hates when I do that.
Anton is two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle. He’s a brick wall. A mountain.
And neither one moves fast.
“Sofia!”
A laugh escapes my lips, but it dies when I hear the engine.
It’s wrong. Too loud. And way too close.
“Sofia!”
This time it registers Anton isn’t yelling at me because I’m running too fast.
Danger.
I feel it in my bones. Goosebumps cover my scalp down to the tip of my toes. Fight or flight kicks in. And I want to fly.
I glance over my shoulder and see it coming.
I see the black SUV speeding down the sidewalk, and it's coming straight at me.
Anton hits me from behind.
It's not a tackle. He throws my body. I feel myself flying through the air before the ground comes up to meet me. The wind is knocked from my lungs. Pain radiates through my arms and legs. My ears are ringing.
No—it’s screeching tires.
I'm on my hands and knees, pushing myself up despite the fact I can’t draw a clean breath. I stand, swaying a bit as I take stock of the situation.
The SUV is gone. I see the black vehicle already hopping the curb and speeding down the road.
And then I see him.
Anton is on the ground fifteen feet away.
I stumble toward him.
He's breathing. I can see it. I tell myself I can see it.
"Anton." I'm on my knees beside him. "Anton, can you hear me?"
He makes a sound. Not words. A groan.
I pull my phone from the pocket of my leggings and call 911. I realize I only have one earbud in. Another man runs up while I’m trying to tell the dispatcher where we are. He’s the first one to approach. Everyone else scattered.
“Are you okay?” the man asks.
I nod. “I think so.”
He’s talking to me at the same time the dispatcher is giving me instructions about what not to do with Anton.
“Help him!” I shout at the only person that seems to give a shit.
I end the phone call with the dispatcher. I need to focus on Anton.
“Are you hurt?” The man is staring at me and ignoring Anton. Blue eyes. Blonde hair. He looks vaguely familiar. Maybe I’ve seen him on campus…
Not him. My mind slides somewhere else entirely. Green. Not eyes—ink. A tattoo. Coiled and watching. And cologne, cedar, expensive. I blink the flash of memory away.
“I’m fine. Help him.”
He pulls out a phone and turns his back to me.
“Anton.” I take his hand and brush my thumb over the back.
He’s alive, but he’s out.
The stranger turns back and looks at me. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I get the impression he’s talking about me.
In the distance, I can hear sirens coming.
I keep holding Anton's hand.
I keep talking.
I look up again, and the man is gone.
“Thanks for the help,” I mutter.
I ride in the back of the ambulance with Anton. It’s only after I’m pushed to wait in the waiting room that I realize I’m alone. I glance around feeling very exposed. And alone. I am rarely alone in public. I can’t explain what I feel.
I want to be the fierce, independent woman I pretend to be, but I’m also not an idiot.
I call Gregor, my other guard that fills in when Anton needs a day off. I barely get out the words before I hear shouting. I can tell he’s running and try to tell him things are not that serious.
But he isn’t listening to me.
Gregor arrives within twenty minutes, flanked by two more guards.
His face is pale, his jaw set in that way that tells me he’s furious and terrified in equal measure.
Anton is like an uncle, but Gregor is like a brother.
Or a close cousin. He’s been with me for about four years.
Anton rarely relinquishes his head guard duties, but when he does, it’s usually only to Gregor.
Makes a girl feel loved.
Except the look on his face right now tells me he’s furious. Scared and furious.
“Sofia.” He crosses the waiting room in three long strides. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. It’s Anton. “
He sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the tension radiating off him. “You’re bleeding.”
I look at my hands. “It’s nothing. Just scrapes.”
The police arrive a few minutes later to get my statement. Gregor is practically sitting in my lap to keep them from looking at me.
“Walk me through what happened,” one says.
I tell them. The run. The engine. Anton throwing me out of the way. The SUV speeding off.
“Did you see the driver?”
“No. He had on sunglasses and a hoodie. The hood was up.”
“Plates?”
I shake my head. “There weren’t any. I don’t think. It happened so fast.”
They exchange a look, like they don’t believe me. Gregor is tense. In our world, we know what it means. It didn’t occur to me until just that second.
I was the target. That driver was trying to run me over.
“Any reason someone would want to hurt you, Miss Baranova?”
I keep my face neutral. “No.”
It’s a lie, but it’s the lie I have to tell.
I can’t explain to the NYPD that I’m the heir to a criminal empire and my cousin just flew in from Moscow to challenge my claim.
I can’t tell them about the would-be assassin on the bike last week or the fact that I sleep with a knife under my pillow and a gun in the drawer by my bed.
Some cops are on our payroll. These aren’t them. But I’m pretty sure they know who I am. They know who my father is. And they know what my father is suspected of being. They’ll never prove anything, but they know.
“This looks like a case of reckless driving,” the first one says after a pause. “We’ll check traffic cameras in the area, see if we can get a description of the vehicle or the driver. In the meantime, I’d recommend being more aware of your surroundings.”
I want to laugh. I want to scream at him that I’m always aware of my surroundings. That I’ve spent three years training myself to notice everything. I see threats in every shadow and danger in every stranger.
Instead, I nod. “Thank you.”
They leave, and I’m alone with Gregor again.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
He looks at me. “For what?”
“Anton. I know you two are friends.”
Gregor’s jaw tightens. He and Anton have worked together for years. They’re not just colleagues, they’re brothers in the way men who’ve bled together become brothers.
“It’s not your fault,” he says.
“He saved my life.”
“That’s his job.”
It keeps becoming someone’s job to save me.
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
Gregor is quiet for a moment. Then he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “This wasn’t an accident, Sofia. You know that.”
“I know.”
“This was a hit. Someone tried to kill you.”
I replay it in my mind for the hundredth time. The deliberate acceleration. This wasn’t some drunk driver or distracted teenager. This was calculated.
“Second attempt in a week,” I say.
“I know.”
“Are we having trouble?” I ask.
Gregor shrugs. “No more than usual.”
“I need to talk to my father.”
“Already knows. I called him before I came here.”
Of course he did. My father will be furious. Not because his daughter was almost killed—though I’m sure there’s some paternal concern buried deep—but because it happened under the watch of his men. It reflects poorly on his operation. It shows weakness.
“What did he say?”
“He wants you home. Immediately.”
I shake my head. “I’m not leaving until I know Anton is okay.”
“Sofia—“
“I’m not leaving.”
Gregor studies my face, then nods once. He doesn’t argue. He knows me well enough to know when I’ve made up my mind.
We sit in silence. I watch the clock on the wall. Time moves differently in hospitals. It crawls. Every minute feels like an hour, but somehow two hours pass before a doctor finally emerges.
“Family of Anton Magnuson?”
I’m on my feet before the doctor finishes the sentence. Gregor is right behind me.
“I’m Sofia Baranova. He’s my bodyguard.”
The doctor looks between us, probably trying to figure out the relationship. “He’s out of surgery. He has a fractured leg, three broken ribs, and a severe concussion. He’s lucky to be alive.”
Lucky. I think about Anton throwing me out of the path of that SUV. He didn’t have time to think. He just acted. He chose to take the hit meant for me.
“Can I see him?”
“He’s in recovery. He won’t be awake for a few hours. You’re welcome to wait. “
“I’ll wait.”
The doctor nods and disappears back through the double doors.
I sink back into the chair. My hands are still shaking. I press them flat against my thighs.
“Sofia.” Gregor’s voice is gentle. “You should go home. Get some rest. I’ll stay with him.”
“No.”
“You’re in shock. You need to go home. Your father will want to talk to you. “
I know he’s right. “I’ll be back later.”
Gregor looks relieved. He makes a phone call, speaking in rapid Russian. Arranging for more guards. Securing the hospital. Making sure no one can get to me.
I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes.
Someone tried to kill me.
I think about my father’s words. Don’t die.
I open my eyes and stare at the fluorescent lights overhead.
I won’t die. Not today. Not from some coward in an SUV who can’t even look me in the eye before trying to kill me.
Two of my father’s men appear. I’m rushed into a waiting car and taken home.
My father is waiting for me. He looks angry—at me.
“What happened?” he asks.
I tell him and wait for his reaction.
“You’ll have two guards at all times,” he says.
“Do you think it could be Yuri?” I ask coolly.
He scoffs and immediately starts coughing. “Why would Yuri want you dead?”
“You told me he wanted me dead so he can take over.”
“I don’t think I said exactly that.”
“You told me not to die. Who would want me dead? Yuri. Yuri wants my seat.”
“That’s a strong accusation.”
I know there’s a chance it could be one of my father’s enemies. But the timing feels off.
I throw my hands up. “I’ll deal with it.”
I walk out of the living room and head upstairs to my room to shower and change. The water stings the scrapes on my palms and knees. I’ll have bruises in the morning, but nothing compared to what Anton is dealing with.
I dress in a pair of jeans, tennis shoes and a sports bra. I pull on a tee and slip my lipstick into my pocket. I wish I could carry a gun, but that would be too obvious.
I feel the danger. Someone is gunning for me. I will be ready.
Two guards escort me back to the hospital. I probably look like a celebrity flanked by two guards as we move through the hallways. Gregor is in the room. He stands from his chair and greets me at the door.
“How is he?” I ask.
“Hasn’t come to.”
“I’d like to sit with him.”
“I’ll be right outside the door,” he says.
I move into the room and look at the mountain of a man that has been at my side every day for years. Not having him with me is like not having my right arm. I feel terrible for all the grumbling I’ve done. I’m always bitching at him for smothering me.
I take his hand and stare down at his bruised face. One eye is swollen. He looks smaller in the hospital bed, which is strange because Anton has never looked small a day in his life.
I pull a chair close and sit beside him.
“Thank you,” I whisper, even though he can’t hear me. “Thank you for saving me.”
I stay for another hour watching him breathe. Watching the monitors. Making sure he’s alive.
When I finally leave, Gregor drives me home in an SUV surrounded by three other vehicles. An entire convoy for one person. It would be excessive if someone hadn’t just tried to run me down on a public street.
When I return home, my father is still up.
“Anton?”
“He’ll live. Fractured leg, broken ribs, concussion.”
My father nods slowly. “He performed his duty.”
That’s all he’ll say about the man who saved his daughter’s life. No praise. No gratitude. Just acknowledgement that Anton did what he was paid to do.
I realize that’s all we all are in his world. Expendable pieces.