Chapter 7 Sophia
SOPHIA
The morning sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master bedroom, but it brings me no comfort.
I’ve been awake for hours, staring at the ornate ceiling, replaying last night in my mind.
The way Mikhail’s voice softened when he found me in the tunnels.
The tenderness in his touch as he carried me back.
The confusion in his whispered question that he didn’t know I heard.
“What are you doing to me?”
I don’t have an answer for him. I don’t even have an answer for myself.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. “Come in,” I call, expecting one of the silent guards who seem to materialize whenever I need something.
Instead, Elena enters carrying a breakfast tray.
The petite redhead moves with quiet efficiency, setting the tray on the bedside table.
Her blue eyes meet mine briefly, and I see something there I haven’t seen from anyone else in this house: sympathy.
“Mr. Artyomov asked me to bring you breakfast,” she says, her voice soft with a hint of an accent I can’t quite place. “He said you didn’t eat much yesterday.”
“I wasn’t hungry.” I sit up, pulling the sheet around myself. I’m wearing one of Mikhail’s shirts, the fabric soft against my skin and smelling faintly of his cologne.
I loathe that the scent comforts me.
Elena busies herself opening the curtains, letting more light flood the room. “You should eat anyway. You need your strength.”
There’s something in the way she says it that makes me look at her more closely. She’s maybe thirty, with delicate features and a slender build that makes her look almost fragile. But there’s steel in her eyes, a hardness that speaks of survival.
“How long have you worked for Mikhail?” I ask, reaching for the coffee on the tray. It’s prepared exactly how I like it, which means someone has been paying attention.
“Five years.” Elena moves to the closet and begins selecting clothes for me. “He saved my life.”
I pause with the cup halfway to my lips. “What do you mean?”
She glances at the door then back at me. For a moment, I think she won’t answer. Then she sets down the dress she’s holding and comes to sit on the edge of the bed.
“I was married to a man who worked for the Morello family,” she says quietly.
“Adrian’s enforcer. He was…not a good man.
He kept me locked up, beat me when he was angry.
One night, he came home drunk and violent.
It was…worse than normal. I defended myself.
” Her hands twist in her lap, her next words barely a whisper. “He didn’t make it.”
My breath catches. “Elena…”
“I knew his family would kill me for it. They don’t care about self-defense or abuse.
They only care about blood for blood.” She looks up at me, the ghosts of her past haunting her eyes.
“I had nowhere to go. The Morellos were hunting me. So I did something crazy. I went to their biggest rival and begged for protection.”
“Mikhail.”
She nods. “Everyone said he would kill me on sight. That he hated the Morellos so much he’d torture anyone connected to them.
But when I told him my story, showed him the scars…
” She touches her wrist absently, tracing the faint white lines there.
“He gave me a job. A home. Safety. He’s protected me ever since. ”
I set down my coffee, my mind reeling.
This doesn’t fit with the cold, vengeful man who kidnapped me.
Who forced me to marry him.
Who showed me photos of my father’s execution.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
Elena stands and returns to the closet, pulling out a simple blue dress.
“Because I see the way you look at him. The confusion. You think he’s a monster, and maybe he is.
But monsters are made, not born.” She lays the dress on the bed.
“Mr. Artyomov wasn’t always like this. Before his sister died, he was different.
Harder than most men in his position, yes, but not cruel. Not cold.”
“Nicole.” Her name feels strange on my tongue.
Elena’s expression softens. “You know about her?”
“Only what Mikhail told me. That my father…” I can’t finish the sentence, the words sticking in my throat.
“She was sixteen,” Elena says quietly. “Beautiful, smart, full of life. She wanted to be a doctor, to help people. Mr. Artyomov adored her. She was the only family he had left after their parents died.” She moves to the window, staring out at the gardens.
“When she died, something in him died too. The part that believed in goodness, in mercy. He became obsessed with revenge.”
I think about the photos in his study, the shrine to a girl who will never grow up.
The raw pain in his voice when he talks about her. “He blames my father.”
“Your father and three other men broke into this house,” Elena confirms. “They were looking for money. They didn’t find money, but they found Nicole alone in her room.” Her voice drops to barely a whisper. “She killed herself after.”
The same story Mikhail gave me the night he kidnapped me.
Tears burn my eyes. I blink them back furiously. “I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know.”
“I believe you. But Mr. Artyomov can’t see past his grief. To him, you’re your father’s daughter. His legacy. His sin made flesh.”
“So I’m supposed to pay for what he did? Suffer because of his crimes?” Anger flares in my chest, hot and bitter.
“I’m not saying it’s right.” Elena returns to the bed and sits down again.
“I’m saying I understand why he’s doing this.
And I’m saying that underneath all that rage and pain, there’s still a man worth saving.
I’ve seen glimpses of him. The way he checks on his men’s families when they’re injured.
The way he funded a women’s shelter downtown anonymously.
The way he looked at you last night when he carried you back from the tunnels. ”
My cheeks flush at the memory. “That doesn’t excuse what he’s done to me.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Elena reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small cell phone. “Which is why I’m giving you this.”
I stare at the phone like it’s a lifeline. “Elena, if Mikhail finds out…”
“He won’t. Not if you’re careful.” She presses it into my hand.
“It’s a burner. Untraceable. You can call your friend, let her know you’re alive.
But Sophia…” Her grip on my hand tightens.
“Be very careful who you trust. There are people in this house who report everything to Mr. Artyomov. And there are others who would use any information against him.”
“Like who?”
“Marco, for one.” Elena’s expression darkens. “He’s been Mr. Artyomov’s enforcer for years, but I don’t trust him. He watches you too closely. Asks too many questions about your conversations with me.”
A chill runs down my spine. I think about Marco’s cold eyes, the way he follows me everywhere. “You think he’d hurt me?”
“I think he’d do whatever serves his interests.” Elena stands. “Just be careful. And whatever you do, don’t mention Nicole to Mr. Artyomov. Not unless you want to see him at his most dangerous.”
“Why? What would he do?”
Elena’s face pales. “I’ve only seen him lose control once, when one of his men mocked how…she killed herself. Mr. Artyomov beat him so badly the man was in the hospital for weeks. When it comes to his sister, there’s no reasoning with him. No mercy. Just rage.”
I swallow hard, tucking the phone under my pillow. “Thank you, Elena. For the phone. For telling me all this.”
“I’m not doing it just for you.” She moves toward the door.
“I’m doing it because I think you might be the only person who can reach him.
Who can remind him he’s still human.” She pauses with her hand on the doorknob.
“He cares about you, Sophia. More than he wants to admit. I see it in the way he looks at you when you’re not watching.
The way he touches you. Like you’re something precious he’s terrified of breaking. ”
“He has a funny way of showing it,” I mutter.
“Men like Mr. Artyomov don’t know how to show love without violence. It’s all they’ve ever known.” Elena opens the door then glances back at me. “But maybe you can teach him differently.”
After she leaves, I sit in silence, turning the phone over in my hands. I should call Melinda right now. Tell her I’m alive, that I need help. But Elena’s words echo in my mind.
Be careful who you trust.
I hide the phone in the bottom of a drawer, beneath clothes I’ll probably never wear.
Then I force myself to eat the breakfast Elena brought, even though my stomach churns with anxiety.
The day passes slowly.
I wander the mansion like a ghost, always aware of the guards watching me.
Marco shadows me, his dark eyes tracking my every movement. I try to act normal, whatever that means in this twisted situation.
By evening, I’m exhausted from the constant vigilance.
I return to the bedroom and find Elena preparing the bed.
“Mr. Artyomov will be late tonight,” she says. “Business in the city.”
Relief and disappointment war in my chest.
I’m not ready to face him after last night, but part of me craves his presence.
God, what is wrong with me?
Elena finishes with the bed and moves toward the door.
Then she stops, her hand on the frame.
She glances behind her, checking the hallway, before closing the door softly.
“There’s something you should know,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She looks nervous, more nervous than I’ve seen her all day.
“What is it?”
Elena crosses back to me, her blue eyes intense. “About your father’s death. About what really happened.”
My heart starts to pound. “Mikhail showed me the photos. He tortured him. Executed him.”
“Yes, but…” Elena glances at the door again, as if expecting someone to burst through at any moment. “There’s something about your father’s death that Mikhail doesn’t know. Something that could change everything.”