Chapter 14 Sokolovs Warning
POV: Maya
The tension at the table was so thick it felt impossible to breathe.
After Roman crushed the wine glass, the dinner—already a farce—fell apart completely.
Arthur, the business partner, looked like a man who had just watched a lion kill a lamb in his living room.
He stopped talking about logistics. He stopped talking about anything.
He just stared at Roman's hand, now loosely wrapped in a white linen napkin.
The pristine fabric was rapidly becoming an abstract painting of blood and wine.
Roman didn't seem to feel it. He didn't move. He just kept staring at Viktor Sokolov across the room, a dark monarch challenging his rival. The silence was a war.
Maya felt like she was trapped in the crossfire, and the emerald silk dress wasn't armor. It was a target.
She was the reason. She knew it. This man, Sokolov—Leo's loan shark, Roman's enemy—was here because of her. And Roman had brought her here because of him. She was the luxury pawn, placed at the center of the board.
The waiter, with a courage Maya admired, approached to clean up the shards of glass and blood. Roman dismissed him with an almost imperceptible nod, never taking his eyes off Sokolov.
Then something changed.
A low, electronic buzz.
Maya didn't hear it—she felt it. It came from Roman's inner pocket. It wasn't the business phone on the table. It was something private.
Roman blinked. The first crack in his icy facade.
He pulled out the phone, shielding the screen with his bloodied hand. His eyes scanned the screen. The vein in his temple, which had stopped pulsing, jumped.
It was a call he couldn't ignore.
He stood up. The movement was abrupt, making Arthur jump in his chair. Roman looked at Maya, and the command in his eyes was clear as a shout.
“Don't. Move.”
He didn't wait for an answer. He walked away from the table, the bloodied napkin still in his hand, and marched toward the lobby, his voice already low and furious on the phone before he even disappeared from view.
He left her.
He left her alone at the table, with a terrified business partner and a restaurant full of sharks. And across the room, Viktor Sokolov.
Roman's hand was no longer on her knee, but the ghost of his grip still burned. Panic rose in Maya's throat, a taste of sour wine and fear. She couldn't breathe. The dress was too tight. The room was spinning.
“Excuse me,” she whispered to Arthur, who barely heard her.
She stood up. The stiletto heels Roman had chosen felt like stakes driven into her feet, but she didn't care. She needed air. She needed a second away from that battlefield.
She turned and walked, not toward the lobby where Roman was, but in the opposite direction, following a small bronze sign that said “Restrooms.”
The hallway was an abrupt change. The main restaurant was dark and full of murmurs.
This hallway was silent, lined with thick carpets that muffled her steps and lit by dim sconces that cast long shadows.
The walls were dark oak, covered with old oil paintings.
It was like walking inside a luxury coffin.
She was halfway down the hallway, the women's restroom door still a few yards away, when a shadow moved.
She didn't hear anyone. He was like smoke.
Viktor Sokolov stepped out of a small alcove, where he'd probably been admiring a still life. He stopped directly in her path.
Maya froze, her heart pounding so hard it hurt.
Up close, he was the exact opposite of Roman. Where Roman was darkness, brutality, and volcanic heat, Sokolov was cold light and silver. His hair was truly silver, impeccable. His eyes were pale, icy blue, and full of… amusement. He was smiling, a gentle, polite smile that didn't reach his eyes.
He looked like a charming grandfather. A grandfather who broke people's legs for money.
“Miss Ventura, I presume,” he said. His voice was soft, cultured, with a slight Eastern European accent that made the words almost a song.
Maya opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She took a step back, instinctively.
“Please,” he said, raising a hand gloved in soft leather. “Don't be frightened. I don't bite.” He paused, the smile widening. “At least, not as hard as our mutual friend.”
He knew. Had he seen the kiss at the museum? He…
“What… what do you want?” she finally managed, her voice thin with panic. She looked over her shoulder at the empty hallway. Where was Roman?
“Ah, my dear.” Sokolov took a step toward her. He was taller than he'd looked sitting down. “You seem to be in a panic. He does that to people. Roman has the tact of a war tank.”
He stopped at a polite distance. He didn't corner her against the wall like Roman would have. He gave her space. And somehow, that was more terrifying.
“I am Viktor Sokolov,” he said, as if introducing himself at a cocktail party. He extended his gloved hand.
Maya looked at the hand but didn't take it.
Viktor laughed, a soft sound. “Understandable.” He lowered his hand. “You're thinking, 'This is the monster. This is the man who threatened my brother.' And you're right. In part.”
“Stay away from me,” she said, trying to find her voice. “Stay away from my brother.”
“Oh, but my dear, I am.” Viktor's smile turned compassionate. It was the fakest look she'd ever seen. “Your brother's problem... is resolved. Roman took care of it.”
He leaned closer, his tone turning conspiratorial. He smelled of expensive cologne and something metallic, like coins.
“And that's why I needed to speak with you. You think he's your savior, don't you? The dark knight who paid the debt.”
Maya said nothing. She was frozen.
“My dear,” he said, his voice low and gentle, “you don't know what you've gotten yourself into. Do you really think Roman Lazarov does anything out of kindness?”
He shook his head, a gesture of false sadness.
“Roman Lazarov... he's a man of intense appetites. And he breaks his toys with the same intensity he uses to acquire them.”
The phrase hit her. He breaks his toys.
“I saw you at the museum,” he continued, his voice soft. “A little fighting sparrow, spitting fire. And I saw him watching you. And I thought, 'Oh, no. He's going to break that one.'”
The seed of doubt took root. This man was the loan shark. This man was the villain. But his words echoed what she already felt about Roman.
“He didn't do it for you,” Sokolov said, his voice now a whisper. “Leo's debt.”
Maya looked at him, confused.
“Don't think, for a second, that he paid those seventy thousand for you, or for your brother.
He doesn't care about either of you.” Sokolov drew closer, and the charm gave way to cold seriousness.
“Roman can't stand anyone else having something he might want.
He wasn't saving your brother, Maya. He was buying you from me.”
The air left Maya's lungs.
Asset. Property.
Sokolov's words fit perfectly into the narrative Roman had already created. It wasn't protection. It was a hostile takeover.
“He doesn't see you as a person,” Sokolov said, reading the horror on her face. “He sees you as a prize he took from me. An object to display.” He gestured to her emerald dress. “A pretty doll. And when he gets tired of playing...”
He let the threat hang in the air.
Maya felt sick. She hated Roman. She feared him. But this man, Sokolov... he was the devil. And he was telling her truths she already knew. She was trapped between two monsters.
“Why... why are you telling me this?” she stammered.
Viktor's gentle smile returned. “Because I have a weakness for fighting sparrows. And because no one, not even Roman Lazarov, deserves to destroy something so... genuine.”
He stepped aside, clearing the hallway. “Be careful, my dear. The only man in this room more dangerous than me... is the one paying for your dinner.”
He was about to say something else, but a shadow fell across the end of the hallway.
Roman.
He stood there, the phone gone, his bloodied hand clenched at his side. He wasn't looking at Sokolov. His eyes, two shards of gray ice, were fixed on Maya. The fury radiating from him was so potent it chilled the air.
Viktor Sokolov didn't flinch. He turned, the polite smile fixed in place.
“Roman,” he greeted, his voice cheerful. “Good to see you. I was just introducing myself to your... charming companion.” He looked at Maya and gave an almost imperceptible wink. “She's everything you said she was.”
“Viktor,” Roman growled, the name tearing from his throat.
“Have a good evening,” Sokolov said to Maya, ignoring Roman completely. He leaned in and whispered, loud enough only for her to hear: “Remember what I said. He breaks what he can't control.”
And with a polite nod, Viktor Sokolov walked past Roman in the hallway. He didn't quicken his pace. He didn't look back. He disappeared into the main dining room, leaving a trail of expensive cologne and poison.
Maya was alone in the hallway with Roman.
She had never felt so afraid in her life.
The silence was deafening. He didn't move. He just watched her, the fury on his face so pure, so concentrated, it was a physical thing.
“I told you,” he finally said, his voice so low it was almost a hiss, “not to move.”
He took a step toward her. Maya flinched, her instinct screaming at her to run.
He grabbed her arm. The grip was steel. His fingers bit painfully into the silk dress, right where Sokolov had been so polite.
“What,” he growled, pulling her close, “did he say to you?”
Maya looked at his face—the rage, the possessiveness. She looked at his bloodied hand.
She saw the monster Sokolov had warned her about.
And for the first time since she'd met him, she didn't know which of them was worse.