Sofia
I stare at the envelope on my desk like it’s wired to blow.
Viktor brought it up himself, which means it’s real. He wouldn’t put it in my hands otherwise.
Inside is a single card with an address, a time, and a name I know.
Sergei Sokolov.
Everyone in my world knows that name. He’s the pakhan who controls more of this city than the mayor does. His operation is vast, efficient, and absolutely untouchable. My father has always spoken of him with respect edged in caution.
I know the other families feel the same about him. Sergei Sokolov is not a man people underestimate twice. He will be someone I have to deal with when I publicly take over the family.
May as well get it over with.
I run through the possibilities. This could be a trap. Then again, if Sergei Sokolov wanted me dead, I’d already be dead. Men like him don’t need elaborate schemes.
I’m going.
I dress carefully in dark jeans, ankle boots with a heel I can run in, a black sweater fitted enough to look polished but loose enough to hide the knife strapped to my ribs. My lipstick goes in my front pocket. I pull my hair into a sleek ponytail.
Gregor argues with me for ten minutes about the meeting.
“You do not go to a second location with Sergei Sokolov,” he says.
“I’m going.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“He said to come alone.”
“He can say whatever he wants.”
He hands me the necklace that is essentially a panic button and a tracker. I don’t argue. If something goes sideways, I want my men to find me. I put it on.
“Happy?” I snap. I have to make it sound like I’m pissed to be wearing it.
“Nope. Happy would mean you don’t go.”
We compromise. Gregor and two others will wait outside in the SUV. Close enough to respond if things go sideways, far enough that Sokolov won’t feel like I’m disrespecting his request.
The address is a restaurant in Tribeca that’s upscale, discreet, the kind of place that caters to people who value privacy.
The hostess leads me through the main dining room to a private area in the back. I clock every exit, every person, every possible threat.
And then I see him.
Sergei Sokolov is sitting at a table near the window, backlit by the late afternoon sun.
He’s bigger than I expected, not just tall, but broad through the shoulders in a way that suggests real strength, the kind that comes from use rather than vanity.
Dark hair with silver at the temples, sharp jawline, and eyes that track me the moment I enter the room.
Blue eyes.
Something about them makes my breath catch, but I can't place why. For just a second, my mind reaches for something else. Something darker. Green.
I blink and it's gone.
He stands when I approach. Good manners from a man who’s probably killed more people than I’ve met in my lifetime.
And then his scent hits me like a brick wall. Familiar in a way I can't explain. I know that scent. I know I do. I reach for the memory but—
“Miss Baranova.” His voice is deep and velvety. Very seductive for a murderer. “Thank you for coming.”
“Mr. Sokolov.” I take the seat across from him, keeping my hands visible, my posture relaxed but ready. “I have to admit, your invitation surprised me.”
“I imagine it did.” He settles back into his chair with the kind of ease that comes from never doubting you’re the most dangerous person in any room. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Water is fine.”
He signals the server without looking away from me. The intensity of his gaze is unsettling. Not threatening, exactly, but assessing. Like he’s cataloging every detail, every micro-expression.
A whiff of his cologne hits my nose from his raised hand a moment earlier. My brain glitches. I know that smell, don’t I? But how? I fight the urge to explore that thought. Every second matters here, and I can’t get distracted.
His eyes drop to my necklace, and I swear his lips quirk. The necklace looks like any other pendant.
Does he know?
Of course he knows. He probably wears something similar.
My gaze drops to his hands in search of a ring that would act as his own panic button.
No rings but a lot of tattoos. There’s a refinement to him, but the standard Russian tats across his knuckles and over the back of his hands that disappear into his sleeve say otherwise.
“I’ll get to the point,” he says once the server disappears. “Someone has placed a contract on your life.”
I keep my face neutral even as my stomach drops. “I’m aware people want me dead. That’s not exactly breaking news.”
“This is different. This isn’t a hired hit or a reckless driver. This is a professional contract with a significant payout. The kind of contract that attracts serious operators.”
“Who placed it?”
“I think you know.”
Yuri. Of course it’s Yuri.
“And you’re telling me this because?” I lean back slightly, mirroring his casual posture even though my heart is hammering. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not known for my goodness.”
“Then what do you want?”
He’s quiet for a moment, studying me with those unsettling eyes. “Your father is dying. When he’s gone, you’ll inherit everything—the legitimate businesses, the connections, the power. But you’ll also inherit every enemy he’s made, and he’s made quite a few.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I’m sure you can. But handling yourself against street-level threats is different from handling a coordinated effort backed by Moscow money and old-world connections.”
“You’re referring to my cousin.”
If this man knows about Yuri, things are worse than I thought. Yuri has been busy.
“Yuri,” he confirms. “He has resources. He has backing. And he’s not going to stop with one or two attempts. He’s going to keep coming until you’re dead or until he is.”
I take a sip of water to buy myself time to think. “And you’re offering what, exactly? An alliance? Money to handle my problem?”
“Marriage,” he says. No hesitation.
I nearly choke on the water. “Excuse me?”
“Marriage,” he repeats, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “You need protection. I need guarantees. This gives us both.”
I stare at him. “You’re insane.”
“I’m practical.”
“You’re asking me to marry a complete stranger because you think my cousin wants me dead.”
“I’m offering you the only outcome where you don’t die.” He leans forward slightly. “Your father’s men are good, but they’re not good enough. Anton proved that yesterday. He saved your life, but he nearly died doing it. Next time, you might not be so lucky.”
It’s only a little disturbing he knows about that. It’s not like it made the papers. Further confirmation that it was indeed my cousin trying to have me killed.
Fucker.
“And you think marrying you solves that problem?”
“I know it does. As my wife, you’d be under my protection. No one in this city would touch you without facing consequences they’re not willing to face. Yuri included.”
I laugh but there’s no humor in it. “Let me get this straight. You want me to marry you, tie my entire future to yours, give you access to everything my family has built, all so you can play bodyguard?”
“It’s more than that, and you know it.”
“What I know is that this is the most arrogant proposal I’ve ever heard. And that’s saying something, considering I’ve had men twice my age offer me ‘protection’ in exchange for God knows what.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “I’m not those men.”
“No, you’re worse. You’re the most powerful man in New York. You could crush my entire operation without breaking a sweat. And now you want me to hand you the keys?”
“I don’t need your permission to take power, Sofia. That isn’t what I’m asking for.” His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “If I wanted what’s yours, I’d already have it. What I’m offering keeps you alive, protects your father’s legacy, and spares us both the chaos of a succession war.”
“How noble of you.”
“I’m not noble. I’m strategic.”
I push my chair back, ready to leave. “Then strategize with someone else. I’m not interested.”
“Sofia— “
My hand finds my lipstick before I've made the conscious decision to reach for it. I stand, looking down at him. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me except what you’ve heard through whatever intelligence network you run.
And you think I’m desperate enough to marry a stranger because I’m scared? ”
“This isn’t about fear. It’s about survival.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me. I’ve spent my entire life around men who think they do. So thank you for the warning, but I’ve got it handled.”
I walk away without looking back, and that only happens through sheer force of will because I really want to see if he’s watching me walk away.
His proposal is insane. Rude. And the worst part is, he is not entirely wrong.
It wouldn’t be the first marriage like that. It’s how my mother ended up with my father. Marriage to Sergei Sokolov would make me untouchable.
I hate that I can see it.
I hate even more that part of me wanted to stay and hear what else he had to say.
Gregor sighs when I slide into the backseat. “That was fast.”
“Yep.” I lean forward. “My lunch date, please.”
Gregor groans. “Can you just eat at home?”
“No. I’m not going to hide. I’m having lunch with Tori. Period.”
More cursing.
I slide into the booth across from Tori in a crowded restaurant. I’m not hiding, but I’m not making it easy either.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say.
She’s already ordered for both of us—some kind of grain bowl situation that’s supposed to make us live forever.
“You look stressed,” she says immediately.
“Hectic morning.”
“What happened?”
I take a breath. I’m not sure how to even start this conversation. “I got a marriage proposal.”
Tori’s eyebrows shoot up. “What? From who? Wait—is this arranged? Did your father set something up?”
“No. Nothing like that.” I pause, trying to find the right words. “It was from—” I hesitate. I always have to run things I tell her through a filter. “Sergei Sokolov.”
For a second, she just stares at me. Then she starts laughing, and then it dies. “Seriously? He made front page news a few years ago. Bought off half the police force, they say.”
“Yes. That’s the one.”
“You two are like enemies, right? Why the hell would he want to marry you? Is this sort of thing like a business merger for your two families?”
I pick at my grain bowl, moving quinoa around with my fork. “Something like that. He says it’s strategic.”
I’m not telling her about my cousin trying to kill me. She’d never want to have lunch with me again.
“So romantic.”
“Right?” I smile.
I can’t help but turn my hand and look at the torn skin on the heel it. He could protect me from more of that.
“Are you okay?” Tori asks.
“I’m fine. I fell yesterday on my run.”
She doesn’t believe me. She looks around the restaurant. “Where’s the big guy?”
She’s referring to Anton. She has a little crush on him. “He’s off today.”
“I didn’t know he took days off.”
“He does.”
She nods slowly. Sometimes I wish I could tell her everything about my life.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re actually considering this Sokolov dude’s proposal?”
I almost laugh at her description of him. And if she’d seen him, she would understand. Or maybe she wouldn’t. He’s older and not exactly her type.
“I’m not,” I lie.
“This isn’t medieval Europe. You don’t have to marry some warlord just because he’s demanding it.”
“I know that.”
“From where I’m sitting, it sounds like he’s trying to steal your freedom. You’re already dealing with a lot with your dad’s health.”
“I know.”
“The second you marry him, does that mean everything you have becomes his too? Everything you’ll inherit?”
That’s exactly what this is, though she doesn’t know I’ll inherit much more than my father’s wealth.
“You don’t need him,” she says. “You’ll be so rich, you won’t need to entertain any warlord offers.”
I smile at her lack of comprehension. “Assuming my father leaves everything to me, yes.”
“Then why are you even thinking about it?”
Because he could protect me. Because I wanted to stay.
“I’m not,” I lie. “I already turned him down.”
“Good.” She picks up her fork, stabbing at her bowl. “Because if you’d said yes, I would’ve had you committed for a psych evaluation.”
I laugh. “It was just surprising, that’s all. I knew you would think it was funny.”
“I’m getting a weird vibe here. Like you’re actually thinking about this.”
“I’m not thinking about it,” I insist. “I’m just—processing. That’s all.”
“Good. So, what does he look like in person? Is he dangerous? Scars?”
I laugh again. “No. He’s not that bad.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows rise. “Do tell.”
“There’s nothing to tell. He’s attractive. Older. Muscled.” I say the last part just to get a reaction out of her.
“Oh, shoot, maybe I want to marry him.”
And this is why I need Tori in my life. She keeps me grounded. Makes me laugh.
“I will definitely let him know if I talk to him again,” I tease.
And then I choose to forget all about Sergei Sokolov’s ridiculous proposal.