Chapter 17 Sophia
SOPHIA
The morning sun filters through the guest bedroom curtains, casting soft golden light across Melinda’s battered face.
I’ve been awake all night, sitting in the chair beside her bed, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest.
Every breath she takes feels like a small miracle after what Adrian put her through.
Mikhail sat with me for a while last night but ultimately left me alone to deal with my best friend.
Her good eye flutters open, and I’m on my feet immediately, reaching for the water glass on the nightstand.
“Hey,” I whisper, helping her sit up against the pillows. “Take it slow.”
She winces as she moves, her split lip cracking slightly. “Sophia.” My name comes out hoarse, damaged. “How long have I been out?”
“About twelve hours. The doctor said you needed rest.” I press the glass to her lips, and she drinks gratefully. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.” She manages a weak smile that doesn’t reach her swollen eye. “But alive. Thanks to you and him.”
Guilt twists in my stomach. “Mel, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t called you—”
“Stop.” Her hand finds mine, squeezing with surprising strength. “You didn’t do this to me. Those monsters did.” She pauses, her expression darkening. “Sophia, I need to talk to Mikhail. There are things you both need to know.”
Something in her tone makes my blood run cold. “What things?”
“Just…get him. Please.”
I find Mikhail in his study, staring at the wall of photographs of Nicole.
He hasn’t changed clothes since yesterday, his shirt still stained with Adrian’s blood, telling me he’s been awake all night too.
When he hears me enter, he turns, and the exhaustion in his green eyes is soul deep.
“Melinda’s awake,” I say. “She needs to speak with you. Both of us.”
He’s on his feet immediately, following me back to the guest room.
Melinda struggles to sit up straighter when she sees him, and I notice the way she flinches slightly.
Even knowing he saved her, she’s still afraid of him. I can’t blame her.
“Mrs. Artyomov said you have information for me.” Mikhail’s voice is carefully neutral as he emphasizes my new married name, but I can see the tension in his shoulders.
Melinda’s eyes widened, and she glances at me in surprise. Her eyebrows raise, but then she shakes her head slightly, as if to clear her thoughts, and turns to Mikhail.
“It’s about your sister, Nicole,” she says, and Mikhail goes completely still. “And about Sophia’s father. About what really happened that night.”
I sink into the chair beside the bed, my heart hammering. Mikhail remains standing, his hands clenched at his sides.
“When Adrian’s men had me,” Melinda continues, her voice shaking, “they talked. They didn’t think I’d survive to tell anyone, so they didn’t bother being careful.” She looks at me, tears welling in her good eye. “Sophia, your father…he wasn’t one of the men who raped Nicole.”
The words don’t make sense at first. I stare at her, trying to process what she’s saying. “What?”
“He was there that night, but he was trying to stop it. He tried to save her.” Melinda’s tears spill over. “Adrian and his men were laughing about it. About how they framed Vincent Moretti, made it look like he was part of it when he was actually trying to rescue her.”
The room tilts around me. I grip the arms of the chair, my knuckles white. “That’s not possible. Mikhail showed me—”
“The evidence was planted.” Melinda turns to Mikhail, who looks like he’s been turned to stone. “The real orchestrator was someone else.”
“Who?” Mikhail’s voice is deadly quiet.
“Your uncle Lorenzo.”
The name hangs in the air like a bomb waiting to explode.
I watch Mikhail’s face drain of color, watch his jaw clench so hard I’m afraid his teeth will crack.
“No.” The word is barely a whisper. “Lorenzo raised me. He’s family.”
“He’s a traitor.” Melinda’s voice is stronger now, more certain.
“Adrian said Lorenzo orchestrated the whole thing. He wanted to take over your organization, but he needed you broken first. So he arranged Nicole’s rape, made sure Vincent took the fall, then sat back and watched you destroy yourself with revenge. ”
I can’t breathe.
My father wasn’t a monster.
He was trying to save Nicole.
He died trying to expose the truth, and Mikhail killed him for it.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Mikhail’s hands are shaking now, his control slipping. “How do I know this isn’t some trick? Nicole was Lorenzo’s niece! He wouldn’t arrange for such torture of her.”
“Because I have nothing to gain by lying.” Melinda meets his gaze steadily.
“And because deep down, you know I’m right.
Think about it. Who had access to your security schedules?
Who knew exactly when Nicole would be alone?
Who benefited most from your father’s death and your obsession with revenge? ”
She pauses to give me a wry smile. “As I said, they talked freely in front of me, so I learned a lot about the Artyomovs and how they were able to break in that night and…” The unbruised portions of her face pale. “And what they did to her.”
Mikhail staggers backward, his hand reaching for the wall to steady himself.
I’ve never seen him look so lost, so completely shattered.
Then he abruptly turns on his heels and leaves.
I shoot a worried glance at Melinda.
She waves a hand toward the door. “Go. I’m exhausted. Go talk to him. I’m just going back to sleep for a bit.”
I hesitate then rush after Mikhail, closing Melinda’s door behind me. I find him in his bedroom, looking out the window.
“Lorenzo,” he breathes without turning to look at me. “It was Lorenzo all along.”
I move on trembling legs to him. When I touch his arm, he flinches like I’ve burned him. “Mikhail—”
“Your father.” He turns to me, and the anguish in his eyes steals my breath. “Sophia, I killed your father. I tortured him. I made you watch the photos. And he was innocent.”
“He wasn’t innocent,” I say softly, thinking of all the terrible things my father did in his life. “But he didn’t deserve what you did to him. Not for that.”
Mikhail’s legs give out, and he sinks to the floor, his back against the wall.
I’ve seen him face down armed men without flinching, but this truth has brought him to his knees.
“I destroyed you for nothing.” His voice breaks. “I took everything from you, made you suffer, forced you to marry me, all because of a lie.”
I kneel beside him, taking his face in my hands and blinking back tears. “You didn’t know.”
“I should have known. I should have questioned it. Should have investigated more thoroughly. But I was so consumed by rage, so desperate for someone to blame—”
“Lorenzo manipulated you.” I gently cup the side of his face. “He manipulated both of us. Both of our families.”
“How can you even look at me?” He grabs my wrists, his grip almost painful. “After everything I’ve done to you, how can you not hate me?”
He pulls me against his chest, burying his face in my hair, and I hold him as tightly as I can.
“I’m sorry.” Mikhail’s words are muffled against my neck. “God, Sophia, I’m so sorry. For your father. For what I put you through. For everything.”
“I know.” I pull back to look at him. “I…I don’t hold it against you.”
“How?” His green eyes search mine desperately. “How can you forgive me?”
“Because you were hurting. Because you thought you were avenging your sister. Because underneath all the violence and rage, you’re a good man who was broken by grief.
” I kiss him softly. I know a glimpse of the rage he felt, the horror and fury I felt at losing my brother.
There was no revenge to be had, but I craved it so badly then.
“And because I choose to. I choose you, Mikhail. All of you, even the dark parts.”
He kisses me back with desperate intensity, his hands tangling in my hair. It’s not the rough, claiming kiss of before. This is raw and vulnerable, full of apology and need and love.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers against my lips.
“Probably not.” I smile through my own tears. “But you’re stuck with me anyway.”
He stands, pulling me up with him, and leads me toward the bed. Suddenly we’re tearing at each other’s clothes with frantic hands.
“I need you,” Mikhail breathes, his lips trailing down my neck. “Need to feel you, to know you’re real, that you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.” I help him strip off his bloodstained shirt. “Always yours.”
We fall onto the bed together. When he enters me, it’s with a tenderness that makes me cry. He moves slowly, reverently, his eyes never leaving mine.
Our climax builds slowly, intensely, until we’re both trembling on the edge. When we finally fall over together, it feels like a promise.
Like a new beginning.
Afterward, we lie tangled together. The silence is comfortable, healing.
“What do we do now?” I ask quietly.
“We find Lorenzo.” Mikhail’s voice hardens. “We make him pay for what he’s done. To Nicole. To your father. To us.”
“And then?”
The sound of vehicles approaching stops whatever Mikhail was going to say. Multiple vehicles, their engines loud in the quiet morning.
Mikhail is on his feet instantly, pulling on his pants and reaching for the gun he keeps in the nightstand.
I scramble into my clothes, my heart racing.
“Stay here,” he orders, moving toward the window.
But I follow him, looking over his shoulder at the scene unfolding below.
Three black SUVs have pulled up to the front gates, and armed men are pouring out.
At least a dozen of them, all carrying automatic weapons.
Standing in the center of them, looking up at the mansion with a cold smile, is a man I recognize from the photos in Mikhail’s study.
Lorenzo.