Sofia
I don’t sleep. How can I? Every time I close my eyes, I see the muzzle flash. Hear the screams. Feel the concrete scraping my cheek.
I see that woman’s face. The one who died. She was someone’s daughter. Someone’s friend. She died because she was standing near me.
By the time the sun rises, I’ve made my decision.
I pick up my phone and stare at Sergei’s number. My thumb hovers over the call button. This is it. Once I make this call, there’s no going back. I’m admitting I can’t handle this alone. I’m admitting I need him.
I’m giving myself to him.
I could run. I don’t need to run the bratva. I have money. Yuri can have it all.
But that feels like quitting. Some part of my soul refuses to let me give up without a fight.
I have never let a man touch me. My future husband needs to know this will be a marriage on paper alone.
I press call.
He answers on the first ring. “Sofia.”
“I want to meet. Today.”
“When?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Nelson is waiting.”
I roll my eyes. Of course he is.
“I’ll meet you somewhere neutral,” I say.
“No.” His voice is firm. “You’re not safe in public. My house. One hour.”
I want to argue. I need to push back. It’s in my DNA. But he’s right. I’m not safe anywhere except behind his walls.
“Fine.”
He hangs up.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the desk I pushed in front of my bedroom door last night. I hate that I’m scared. I hate that I need him.
The one man who is strong enough to protect me is also the one man dangerous enough to own me.
But I need to survive more than I need my pride.
I shower quickly, washing away the dried blood from the scrapes on my knees. The water stings. I think about how close I came to dying.
I checked the news last night once I got home. Three people died on that sidewalk. Four others were hurt.
I know I didn’t pull the trigger, but I feel responsible for those deaths.
I dress carefully. Dark jeans, boots with a reasonable heel, a black sports bra and then a tee. I clip my hair back. Minimal makeup. I want to look composed. In control. Even though I’m falling apart inside.
I grab my lipstick and my knife. My phone. My wallet. The panic button necklace that didn’t do shit last night. I look around my room—the room I’ve lived in my entire life—and something twists low in my stomach. I’m not just leaving for a meeting. I’m leaving something behind.
Stop being dramatic, I tell myself. This is just a meeting.
But I know better.
I walk downstairs. The house is quiet. My father is probably still asleep. Or dead. I should check on him, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to see his face. I don’t want to hear him tell me I’m weak for accepting help.
Gregor never came to the house last night. Never called or checked on me. He’s either dead or he’s been bought.
I don’t know which is worse.
I do know I will not trust any of my regular guards, all of whom are suspiciously absent.
I step outside, immediately feeling exposed.
There’s an SUV parked at the gate. And leaning against it, arms crossed, is Nelson.
I shake my head. I can’t believe this is the guy that’s protecting me. He looks like a surfer. Or maybe a quarterback. Very all-American athlete vibes.
I walk down the driveway and step through the small gate.
“Morning,” he says.
“You’re still here.”
“I’m always here.” He opens the back door. “Ready?”
I look back at the house. The compound that’s supposed to keep me safe. I’m pretty sure the enemy is within. I’m safer at my true enemy’s house.
And that’s disturbing.
“Yeah. I’m ready.”
I slide into the backseat. Nelson gets in the front. Another man I don’t recognize is driving.
We pull away from the compound. I watch it disappear behind us and feel a strange sense of relief. And loss. Like I’m leaving something behind I’ll never get back.
Maybe I am.
The drive takes twenty minutes. We pull up to a high-rise in Midtown. The kind of building that screams money. Security is everywhere—cameras, guards, reinforced glass. Nelson leads me through the lobby to a private elevator that requires a keycard.
“Penthouse,” he says, swiping the card.
Of course it’s the penthouse.
The elevator is silent. I watch the numbers climb. My heart is racing. I tell myself it’s just nerves. Just adrenaline from last night.
But I know it’s more than that.
The doors open directly into an apartment. Not a hallway. The apartment. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows with views of the entire city. All black, white and gray. Very cold.
And somehow, it doesn’t feel like him. Sergei seems more—dark. Dark woods. Low lighting. This is all too sterile.
But it’s exactly what I would expect from a cold-hearted bratva leader.
Sergei is standing by the windows, hands in his pockets, looking out at the city like a king surveying his kingdom. Which is very accurate given who he is. He turns when he hears the elevator.
“Sofia.” He dismisses Nelson with a look. The elevator doors close behind me, and suddenly we’re alone.
“This is quite the place,” I say, because I need to say something.
“It’s secure. That’s all that matters.”
I walk further into the room, taking it in. There’s a dining table that could seat twelve. A kitchen that looks like it’s never been used. Everything is pristine. Impersonal.
“You don’t live here,” I say.
“No.”
“Then why are we meeting here?”
“Because it’s private,” he says. “Secure. And because if you agree to my terms, this is where you’ll be staying.”
He gives me the word if, but everything else about him says he already knows how this ends.
I turn to face him. “Excuse me?”
“You can’t go back to your father’s compound. It’s not safe. Gregor is missing, which means he’s either dead or compromised. Either way, you’re exposed there.”
“So your solution is to lock me in a tower?”
“My solution is to keep you alive.” He moves toward me, slow and deliberate. “You called me, Sofia. You asked for this meeting. So let’s not waste time pretending you’re not here to accept my protection.”
“I’m here to negotiate.”
“Then negotiate.”
I take a breath. This is it. Time to lay out my terms. To make sure I don’t trade one prison for another.
“If I agree to this—if I marry you—I want full autonomy over the Baranov businesses. All of them. Legitimate and otherwise. I’m not a silent partner. I’m not a figurehead wife who smiles and looks pretty at your events.”
“Agreed.”
That was too easy.
“I want a contract. Legitimate and enforceable. This is documented as a strategic alliance, not a transfer of power. My assets remain mine. Your assets remain yours. You don’t have a say in what I do with my business.”
He looks thoughtful. Hesitates and looks like he’s going to argue.
“Agreed.”
“I want—" I stop. “You’re agreeing to everything.”
“Because your terms are reasonable.”
“What’s the catch?”
He smiles slightly. “No catch. You run your operation. I run mine. We present as a united front to discourage your cousin and anyone else who thinks you’re vulnerable. In exchange, you get my protection. My resources. My name.”
“And what do you get?”
“An alliance with the Baranov family. Access to your distribution network. A stronger position in the city.”
This isn’t just business for him. There’s something else. Something he’s not telling me.
“I need to know what I’m getting into.”
“You’re getting into a marriage of convenience. Nothing more. I’m not expecting romance or affection. This is a strategic partnership. We both benefit.”
I study his face, looking for the lie. The angle. The thing I’m missing.
I don’t find it.
“Fine. I want it in writing. Today.”
“Kirill is already preparing the contract.”
Of course he is. Sergei knew I’d agree before I even called him. I hate that this guy seems to know me better than I know myself.
It’s unsettling.
“One week,” I say. “I need one week to settle things before we formalize this.”
“Three days.”
“Five.”
“Done.” He extends his hand. “Do we have an agreement?”
I look at his hand. Large. Scarred knuckles. Tattoos that disappear under his sleeve. This is the hand of a man who’s killed people. Who’s built an empire on blood and fear.
This is the hand that’s going to save my life.
I take it. His grip is firm. Warm. I feel a jolt all the way to my toes. Damn it.
I look into his eyes and search. So familiar. Maybe he’s been watching me like Nelson. I’ve been around him for God knows how long and somehow never noticed him.
“We have an agreement,” I say. I hate that I sound breathless.
He doesn’t let go right away. He just holds my hand, studying my face like he’s memorizing it. Like this handshake means more to him than it should.
“You’re making the right choice,” he says quietly.
“I hope so.”
He releases my hand and pulls out his phone. “Kirill. Bring the contract.”
Five minutes later, Kirill walks in with a leather portfolio. He sets it on the dining table and opens it. “Standard terms.”
“Pre-nup?” I ask as I flip through the pages. “I don’t see any language about protecting our assets.”
“The only way this marriage ends is when one of us dies.”
My eyes jump to his. “What?”
“There will never be a divorce.”
There’s no heat in his voice. No threat. That somehow makes it worse.
That should be terrifying. But it’s oddly comforting. I’ll never have to be with a man. I’ll never have to trust a husband.
It’s almost too good to be true.
“Okay.”
“I’m not trying to steal your empire, Sofia. I’m trying to keep you alive long enough for you to run it.”
I pick up the pen. It feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. One signature that will change my entire life. Good or bad—that’s yet to be determined.
But I am out of options. I want to live, even if that means I need my enemy to save me.
I sign on the dotted line.
Sergei signs next. Then Kirill witnesses it. It’s done. In five days, I’ll be Sofia Sokolov.
The thought makes my stomach flip.
“I’ll have your things moved here today,” Sergei says. “The penthouse is yours. Full security. Nelson will be your primary detail. There are three other guards rotating shifts. No one gets past them.”
“My classes?”
“You won’t be attending classes until after the wedding.”
“I didn’t agree to that.”
“Yes, you did.”
Arguing is useless.
And I wasn’t all that set on putting my fellow students at risk.
“Fine.”
“You’ll be safe here,” Sergei says.
“Will I?”
“Yes.”
“How can you be so sure?”
"Because I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt you."
He says it simply. Like it's not a threat. Just a fact. I should be horrified. Instead, I feel relieved.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen what this costs.”
“What does it cost?”
Something dark moves behind his eyes. “Everything.”
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. I can’t catch my breath. I can’t tell if he’s warning me or promising me something. Maybe both.
Before I can ask what he means, his phone rings. He steps away to answer it. I hear him speaking in rapid Russian. His tone is sharp. Angry.
He hangs up and turns back to me. “I have to go. Your things…I think it’s better we buy new.”
“Why?”
“Your father can’t be trusted.”
“You think my father would hurt me?”
“Would he protect you?”
I don’t want to admit the truth. “I’ll have some things delivered.”
“No. Make a list. Give it to Nelson. Someone will pick it up. Nothing that leads back to you here.”
“What the hell is going on? How much danger do you think I’m in?”
He doesn’t answer. My stomach drops.
Holy shit. This is far more serious than I thought.
“Okay. I see. Well, I guess Nelson and I are going to know each other intimately.”
“The hell you will.”
He sounds murderous.
“Are you going to be the one buying me panties, Sergei?”
The man jerks, and I swear I heard him groan.
“My housekeeper will pick up what you need.”
I grin. “I like black. And no lace. But definitely satin.”
I see his jaw flex. Good. So I can get to him too.
“Five days, Sofia.”
He walks into the foyer, and then he’s gone.
I don’t know if I won anything.
But for one second there, it felt like I got under his skin.
I’ll take that. It may be the last win I get for a while.