Chapter 13 Sofia
SOFIA
The safe house smells like pine and dust, a far cry from Mikhail’s mansion with its marble floors and expensive art.
But right now, as I press a clean cloth against the bullet wound in his shoulder—right next to the older bullet wound—this cramped cabin in the mountains feels like the only safe place in the world.
“Hold still,” I murmur, my fingers trembling as I thread the needle. The medical kit here is well-stocked, but I’ve never stitched human flesh before. “This is going to hurt.”
“I’ve had worse.” His green eyes meet mine. Despite the pain etched into his features, there’s something soft in his gaze. Something that makes my heart skip.
I take a breath and push the needle through his skin.
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make a sound, but I feel his muscles tense beneath my touch. Blood seeps around the thread, and I have to blink back tears as I work.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” His good hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing away an escaping tear. “You saved my life back there. If you hadn’t fought alongside me…”
“If I’d fired sooner, if I’d…” My voice cracks. “You almost died because of me.”
“I’d do it again.” The certainty in his voice steals my breath. “A thousand times over.”
I finish the stitches in silence, my hands steadier now.
When I tie off the last one and bandage his shoulder, he catches my wrist and pulls me down beside him on the narrow bed.
The mattress dips under our combined weight, and suddenly we’re so close I can count the flecks of gold in his green eyes.
“Tell me about Nicole,” I say softly. “Really tell me. Not the version you use to justify revenge. The real her.”
Something shifts in his expression. Pain, raw and devastating, floods his features. For a moment, I think he’ll refuse. Then he takes a shaky breath.
“She was everything good in my life.” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper. “After our parents died, it was just the two of us. I promised her I’d keep her safe, give her a normal life despite…” He gestures vaguely, encompassing his world of violence and blood. “Despite what I am.”
I thread my fingers through his, and he grips my hand like it’s a lifeline.
“She wanted to be a doctor. Did I tell you that?” A ghost of a smile crosses his lips. “She used to practice on her stuffed animals, wrapping them in bandages and giving them pretend medicine. She had this way of seeing the good in everyone, even the men who worked for me. Even me.”
“You’re not all bad,” I whisper.
“I failed her.” The words come out broken. “I was supposed to protect her, and I failed. When those men broke into our home, when they…” His jaw clenches, and I see the muscle jump. “She was sixteen. Just a kid. And they destroyed her.”
I shift closer, resting my head against his uninjured shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I should have been there. Should have known she was still breaking when she started withdrawing, when she stopped eating. I was too focused on business, on expanding territory, on proving I was worthy of leading the family.” His voice breaks. “Twice I failed her.”
Tears stream down my face now, soaking into his shirt. “I’m so sorry. God, Mikhail, I’m so sorry.”
“I found her in the bathtub.” The words are barely audible. “The water was red. She’d left a note, apologizing. As if any of it was her fault.” His chest heaves with a sob he’s trying to suppress. “She was my baby sister, and I couldn’t save her.”
I lift my head to look at him, and the devastation in his eyes breaks something inside me.
Without thinking, I press my lips to his.
The kiss is soft, tender, nothing like the passionate encounters we’ve shared before.
This is comfort.
Understanding.
Shared grief.
When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine. “Tell me about your brother.”
The request catches me off guard.
I’ve barely thought about Tony since this nightmare began, too consumed with survival and my confusing feelings for Mikhail.
But now the memories flood back, sharp and painful.
“Tony was my hero,” I begin, my voice thick with emotion.
“Four years older than me, always looking out for his little sister. When our father started drinking, started disappearing for days at a time, Tony stepped up. He made sure I had lunch money, helped me with homework, scared off the boys who tried to bother me.”
Mikhail’s thumb traces circles on the back of my hand, encouraging me to continue.
“He died six years ago. Car accident on the interstate. Some drunk driver crossed the median and hit him head-on. Both died.” I close my eyes, but I can still see the police officers at our door, can still hear my own screams. “He was twenty-four, recently engaged, and was planning to go to law school.”
“I’m sorry.” Mikhail’s lips brush my temple. “That’s not fair.”
“None of this is fair.” I pull back to look at him. “Your sister. My brother. The violence that just keeps taking and taking. When does it end?”
“I don’t know.” His honesty surprises me. “I thought revenge would end it, that making your father pay would somehow balance the scales. But it didn’t bring Nicole back. It just created more pain.”
“My father…” I swallow hard. “He wasn’t always bad.
When I was little, before the drinking got really bad, he used to take Tony and me to the park.
He’d push us on the swings for hours, never complaining.
But he changed. He got involved with the wrong people, started owing money, started making terrible choices. ”
“He hurt you.” It’s not a question.
I nod, thinking of that closet, of the suffocating darkness. “He scared me. But he was still my father. And now he’s dead, and I’ll never get answers or closure.”
We sit in silence for a long moment, two broken people clinging to each other in the aftermath of violence.
Outside, wind howls through the pine trees, and somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots.
“I care about you.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “I know I shouldn’t. I know this whole thing started as revenge and force and violence. But somewhere along the way, you became more than my captor. You became…”
“Everything.” He finishes the thought, his voice rough with emotion. “You became everything to me, Sophia. And that terrifies me.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone I love dies.” His green eyes are haunted. “My parents. Nicole. And if something happens to you because of me, because of my world…”
I silence him with another kiss, this one deeper, more urgent. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise me.” His hands frame my face, his touch desperate. “Promise me you’ll survive this. That you’ll live, even if I don’t.”
“We’ll both survive.” I pour every ounce of conviction into the words. “Together.”
The kiss that follows is different from all the others.
There’s no anger, no punishment, no power play.
Just two people who’ve found something precious in the chaos, trying to hold onto it with everything they have.
Mikhail’s good hand slides under my shirt, his touch gentle despite the calluses on his palm.
I help him remove it, then carefully work his ruined shirt off his injured shoulder.
We move slowly, reverently, mapping each other’s scars and wounds.
When he enters me, it’s with a tenderness that brings tears to my eyes.
We move together in the dim light of the cabin, our bodies promising each other.
I love you. I need you. Don’t leave me.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder.
The bullet wound has started bleeding again, seeping through the bandage, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“We should change that,” I murmur, gesturing to his shoulder.
“In a minute.” He pulls me closer. “Just let me hold you for a minute.”
I nestle against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.
For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel something like peace.
Like maybe, just maybe, we can find a way through this together.
That’s when his phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Mikhail tenses immediately, his entire body going rigid. “This a private number.”
He reaches for the phone with his good arm, and I see his face go pale as he reads the screen.
Without a word, he turns it toward me.
The video loads slowly, the connection weak this far into the mountains.
But when the image finally resolves, my blood turns to ice.
Melinda.
She’s tied to a chair in what looks like a basement, her blonde hair matted with blood.
One eye is swollen shut, and her lip is split. Bruises mottle her arms and neck.
She’s crying, her whole body shaking with sobs.
“Sophia,” she whimpers, looking directly at the camera. “Please. Please help me. They said…they said if you don’t come, they’ll…”
The video cuts off abruptly, replaced by a text message. You have 24 hours. Come alone, or your friend dies screaming.
The phone slips from my nerveless fingers, clattering to the floor. This is my fault. I called her. I led them right to her.
“No.” The word comes out as a broken whisper. “No, no, no.”
Mikhail’s arms come around me, but I barely feel them. All I can see is Melinda’s battered face, her terrified eyes, the blood in her hair.
“We’ll get her back.” Mikhail’s voice is hard, determined. “I promise you, Sophia. We’ll get her back.”
But as I stare at the blank phone screen, all I can think is that I’m cursed too.
Every person I love is destroyed.
And I can’t save her.