Chapter 21 Sophia
SOPHIA
The nausea hits me the moment I see Tony’s face on that screen.
At first, I think it’s shock, the impossible reality of my brother alive after six years of believing him dead.
But as I lean over the warehouse sink, retching up the meager breakfast I managed to eat this morning, I realize this feeling has been building for days.
The exhaustion that drags at my bones.
The way certain smells make my stomach turn.
The tenderness in my breasts that I’ve been ignoring.
Stress. This has to be due to all the stress I’ve been under.
“Sophia.” Mikhail’s hand is warm on my back, steadying me. “We’ll get him back. I promise you.”
I rinse my mouth and straighten, pushing the physical symptoms aside. I can deal with that later.
Right now, my brother is alive and in Lorenzo’s hands, and that’s all that matters.
“How?” My voice comes out raw. “How is he alive? I saw the police report.”
He was burned beyond recognition, so I couldn’t identify his body by sight. But still. The DNA tests matched. The body was in Tony’s car, and even fragments of his wallet had been found.
Marco shifts uncomfortably near the doorway. “Lorenzo must have staged it. Paid off the right people, found a body that matched Tony’s description. It wouldn’t be hard for someone with his resources.”
The room spins slightly, and I grip the edge of the sink. Mikhail’s arm comes around my waist immediately, supporting me.
His green eyes search my face with concern that makes my chest ache.
“When did you last eat?” he asks.
“This morning.” The lie comes easily. I can’t remember the last meal I didn’t pick through. “I’m fine. We need to focus on Tony.”
But I’m not fine.
My brother has been Lorenzo’s prisoner for six years. Six years of god knows what kind of torture he’s suffered.
“We go in tonight,” Mikhail says, his voice hard with determination. “Lorenzo’s expecting us to wait, to plan. We hit him while he thinks we’re still reeling.”
Ricardo Castellano arrives an hour later with his best men. We spread maps across the makeshift table, marking entry points and escape routes.
The building where Lorenzo is holding Tony is an old textile factory on the east side, the same place where we rescued Melinda.
Lorenzo is nothing if not predictable in his cruelty.
I study the blueprints until my eyes blur, memorizing every corridor and stairwell. Mikhail keeps glancing at me, and I know he sees the exhaustion I’m trying to hide.
But he doesn’t push.
He understands that I need this, to be part of saving my brother.
Or so I thought.
“You’re staying in the vehicle,” he says when we’re alone, preparing our weapons.
“Like hell I am.” I check the magazine in my Glock, the weight familiar in my hands now. “That’s my brother in there.”
“Which is exactly why you should stay back.” Mikhail catches my wrist, his touch gentle despite the urgency in his voice. “You’re not thinking clearly. You’re exhausted, you’ve been sick all morning, and Lorenzo will use that against you.”
“I’m going.” I meet his gaze steadily. “You can’t stop me.”
Something shifts in his expression, a mixture of frustration and admiration. “I almost lost you when we saved Melinda. I…can’t do that again. Stay right next to me. No unnecessary risks. And if I tell you to run, you run. Understood?”
I nod, even though we both know I won’t run if it means leaving Tony behind.
The factory looms against the night sky like a monument to decay. We approach in three vehicles, lights off, engines barely audible.
My heart hammers against my ribs as we park around the corner and move in on foot.
The nausea returns, stronger this time, and I have to stop and breathe through it. Mikhail’s hand finds mine in the darkness, squeezing once.
I squeeze back, drawing strength from his presence.
“Two guards at the main entrance,” Marco whispers through the comm. “Three more on the roof.”
“Take them out quietly,” Mikhail orders. “We don’t want Lorenzo knowing we’re here until we have Tony.”
I watch as our men move like shadows, efficient and deadly. The guards drop without a sound, and then we’re inside, moving through corridors that smell of rust and old machinery.
The building is too quiet.
No guards patrolling the halls, no sounds of activity.
Every instinct I’ve developed over these past weeks screams that something is wrong.
“It’s a trap,” I whisper to Mikhail.
“I know.” His jaw is tight, his weapon raised. “But we’re already committed.”
We find Tony on the second floor, in a room lit by a single bare bulb.
He’s tied to a chair in the center of the space, his head hanging forward, dark hair obscuring his face.
My breath catches at the sight of him.
“Tony!” I start forward, but Mikhail’s arm shoots out, stopping me.
“Wait,” he says, his voice low and urgent.
But I can’t wait.
That’s my brother, the person I’ve mourned for six years, and he’s right there.
I pull free from Mikhail’s grip and run to him.
“Tony, it’s me. It’s Sophia. We’re getting you out of here.”
My hands shake as I work at the ropes binding his wrists. They’re loose, I realize with growing dread. Too loose. As if they were never meant to hold him at all.
Tony’s head lifts, and when his green eyes meet mine, they’re clear and focused. Not the eyes of someone who’s been tortured and beaten. Not the eyes of a prisoner.
The eyes of a predator.
“Hello, sister,” he says, and his voice is cold, empty of the warmth I remember.
He moves faster than I can process, the ropes falling away as he stands.
His hand closes around my throat, and suddenly I’m being dragged backward, away from Mikhail and our men who have fanned out around the room.
“Don’t move,” Tony calls out, and I feel the cold press of a gun barrel against my temple.
“Tony, what are you doing?” The words come out strangled, my mind refusing to accept what’s happening. “It’s me. It’s Sophia.”
“I know exactly who you are.” His grip tightens, cutting off more of my air. “You’re the sister who chose her father’s killer over her own blood.”
“What?” I claw at his arm, trying to breathe. “Lorenzo…lied to you. He’s been…lying to everyone.”
“Lorenzo told me the truth.” Tony’s voice is hard, certain. “He told me how Mikhail Artyomov tortured and murdered our father. How he made Dad beg for his life before putting a bullet in his head. And you married him. You spread your legs for the man who killed our father.”
The words hit like physical blows. I see Mikhail tense, see the guilt and rage warring in his expression.
Around us, our men have their weapons raised, but no one dares shoot with Tony holding me.
“Dad was trying to save Nicole,” I gasp out. “Lorenzo framed him. He orchestrated everything.”
“Lies.” Tony’s laugh is bitter. “Lorenzo showed me the evidence. Photos, videos, witness statements. Dad was one of the men who raped that girl. And Artyomov killed him for it.”
“No.” Tears stream down my face. “Tony, please… Lorenzo is manipulating you… He’s been manipulating all of us.”
“The only one being manipulated is you.” Tony’s breath is hot against my ear.
“Lorenzo saved me. When that drunk driver hit my car, when I was bleeding out on the side of the road, Lorenzo’s men found me.
They got me to a hospital, paid for my treatment, gave me a new life.
And in return, all he asked was that I help him out. ”
My vision blurs at the edges, whether from lack of oxygen or shock, I can’t tell.
This can’t be happening.
My brother can’t be working for Lorenzo.
Can’t be the enemy.
“Let her go, Tony.” Mikhail’s voice cuts through my panic, calm and controlled. “Your fight is with me, not her.”
“My fight is with both of you.” Tony shifts, and I feel the gun press harder against my skull. “She chose you over family. Over blood. That makes her a traitor.”
“She didn’t know the truth,” Mikhail says, and I hear the desperation creeping into his voice. “None of us did. Lorenzo has been playing us all.”
“Shut up!” Tony’s shout echoes off the factory walls. “You don’t get to talk about truth. You tortured my father. You made him suffer. And now you’re going to watch your wife die the same way.”
Another wave of nausea hits me, stronger than before. My knees buckle, and only Tony’s grip keeps me upright. The room tilts sickeningly.
“Tony, please.” I force the words out past the constriction in my throat. “Remember when we were kids. Remember…how you used to protect me from Dad when he was drunk. Remember the promises we made to always look out for each other.”
For just a moment, I feel his grip loosen. See something flicker in his eyes that might be recognition, might be doubt.
“That was before you betrayed everything we stood for,” he says, but his voice wavers slightly.
“I never betrayed you.” I reach up slowly, carefully, and touch his arm. “I love you, Tony. You’re my brother. My family. Nothing Lorenzo told you changes that.”
“He killed our father.” But the certainty is cracking, I can hear it.
The gun lowers slightly, and hope flares in my chest. I’m reaching him. I’m breaking through Lorenzo’s conditioning.
Then Lorenzo’s voice echoes through the factory, amplified by hidden speakers.
“Touching reunion, isn’t it? But I’m afraid it’s time to end this little family drama.”
Lights flood the room, blinding after the dimness. When my vision clears, I see Lorenzo standing on a catwalk above us, surrounded by at least twenty armed men. We’re completely surrounded.
“Tony,” Lorenzo calls down, his voice almost paternal. “You know what you have to do. You know what she deserves for betraying your father’s memory.”
Tony’s grip tightens again, and the gun returns to my temple. But I feel the tremor in his hand.
“I’m sorry.” His voice breaks. “I’m sorry, Sophia. But you chose the wrong side.”