Chapter 23 – Sofia
As soon as we touch down in Moscow, security is everywhere.
It’s like we’re already in a war zone. The gray, biting cold of the Russian air hits my face for only a fraction of a second before men armed with huge guns surround us, forming a moving wall of tactical gear and black steel.
They lead Lukyan and me across the tarmac to a waiting convoy, and we’re in the backseat of a heavily armored car before I even know it.
The door slams shut with a thick, airtight thud, cutting off the roar of the jet engines.
“Where are we going now?” I ask, turning my head to look at him. “Are we going straight to a safe house?”
“No, we don’t idle,” Lukyan says, his voice flat and commanding as he reaches across the seat.
He takes my hand, bringing it up to his lips, and kisses my knuckles gently.
“We’re going to the storage facility to grab the books first. We get what you need, then we go straight to a hotel, secure the perimeter, and fly back to the States tomorrow morning.
I’m not keeping you in this city a second longer than necessary. ”
I smile, the tight knot in my chest loosening just enough for me to breathe. “A hotel? Is it safe?”
“It’s mine,” he replies thoroughly, his eyes offering a silent, lethal promise of absolute safety. “Every employee on the floor is on my payroll, and my men will own the hallways. No one gets within three floors of us.”
“Okay,” I whisper. I turn and look out the window as the car zooms out of the hangar and into the chaotic traffic of Moscow.
Russia carries the weight of my past, and stepping back into it brings a mixture of deep nostalgia and sharp unease.
The familiar gray architecture, the Cyrillic signs, and the heavy winter sky all remind me of the girl I used to be.
But there is no time to drown in old ghosts.
The focus quickly shifts to the task at hand as the convoy pulls into a heavily fortified, industrial perimeter and stops right outside the storage facility where my belongings have been kept since I fled.
The heavy metal shutter of the unit is rolled open with a loud, echoing screech, revealing stacks of cardboard boxes that have remained completely untouched for years. A thin layer of dust coats everything.
I step inside, the scent of aged paper and old cardboard immediately washing over me. I move through them carefully, recognizing items from my past—a porcelain teacup, a woolen scarf, an old photo frame. Each object carries fragments of memory, pulling at my heart.
The emotional undercurrent is heavy, threatening to pull me under, but I bite the inside of my cheek and refuse to allow myself to linger.
“Sofia.” Lukyan’s voice cuts through the quiet of the locker. He stands at the entrance, his hand resting near his holster as his eyes scan the perimeter. “We need to move. Pick up the pace. Which box is it?”
“It’s the wooden crate at the back,” I tell him, my focus remaining entirely on the books. “The one with the iron clasps. My father packed it himself.”
I kneel before the crate, my hands moving fast as I pop the latches and dig past the protective linen. I begin locating the missing pieces, identifying them with growing certainty as my fingers brush against the worn spines.
“I found them,” I breathe out, lifting the heavy volumes. “The volume of Pushkin. And the historical biography. Look at the edges—the gold leafing matches the cipher grid perfectly.”
The moment my fingers wrap around the leather covers, the intricate pattern I uncovered back in the library starts to reassemble in my mind as the books are finally brought together. The missing links are in my hands.
Lukyan steps closer, holding open a specialized, padded tactical case. “Hand them over, Sofia. Let me secure them. We need to get these packed into the transport vehicle right now.”
“Be careful with them,” I say, gently placing the books into the foam slots. “If a single page rips, we lose the alignment.”
“They’re safer than crown jewels,” he says sharply, snapping the lid of the case shut and signaling the guards outside. “Convoy is ready. Let’s move out.”
“Wait.” I glance around the room. “I need to grab a few other things. Please. They’re important.”
Lukyan nods. “Okay. But these need to go back to the hotel now. They’ll be safer there.”
I nod in agreement.
Lukyan immediately hands the case to Maxim. “Take this to Ben outside,” he orders. “Tell him to leave with the security detail immediately and head straight to the hotel.”
“Understood.”
Maxim disappears through the doorway with the case.
I turn back to the room, scanning shelves, drawers, and forgotten corners. There are too many pieces of history here to leave behind.
A few moments later, Maxim returns.
“Ben has left,” he reports. “The convoy is moving with full security.”
Relief eases some of the tension in my chest.
For the next ten minutes, I move through the room gathering anything that looks remotely important. Documents. Notes. Maps. Artifacts. The men follow behind me, carrying everything outside as quickly as I identify it.
Eventually, there’s nothing left worth taking.
I take one final look around the room.
“I’m done,” I say, turning to Lukyan. “Let’s go.”
Before we can move, I hear a loud, deafening bang. The concussive blast of a flashbang echoes off the concrete walls of the storage facility, violently shattering the silence.
Smoke and blinding light fill the narrow corridor instantly. I’m completely disoriented for a moment, my ears ringing with a sharp, high-pitched hum as the world spins out of focus.
The transition from quiet reconstruction to absolute chaos is immediate.
“Ambush!” Maxim roars, his voice sounding like it’s underwater through the ringing in my ears.
The storage unit is under attack. Armed men clad in dark, unmarked tactical gear breach the facility space, their movements highly coordinated and aggressively swift. Gunfire erupts, the sparks cutting through the thick smoke.
Suddenly, my survival instincts take over. The terror recedes, and my awareness sharpens into a hyper-focused clarity as I process the situation in brutal fragments—the smell of gunpowder, the shattering of light bulbs overhead, the heavy stomp of combat boots.
Lukyan reacts instantly. Before a single bullet can stray into the unit, his massive hand grips the front of my jacket, violently pulling me behind his frame. He positions himself entirely between me and the threat, using his own armored body as a shield.
“Stay down, Sofia! Behind the crates!” Lukyan commands, his voice a low, terrifying growl that cuts through the noise.
The fight that follows is controlled but utterly brutal.
Lukyan draws his weapon in a fluid motion, his movements precise and lethal as he steps out to neutralize each attacker.
A man rounds the corner with an assault rifle, but Lukyan fires two rounds directly into his chest before the attacker can even raise his barrel.
There is absolutely no hesitation in him, no wasted motion.
Another shooter lunges into the doorway, trying to bypass him to get to me or the case.
Lukyan blocks the rifle barrel with his forearm, slams his weight forward, and rams the man’s head into the steel frame of the storage door with a sickening crunch.
His focus remains entirely divided between two things: eliminating every single threat in the hallway and ensuring I remain completely unharmed.
“Maxim! Right side!” Lukyan shouts over the din, firing three more rapid shots into the smoke.
“I got him!” Maxim yells back, his weapon firing in tandem, dropping a third mercenary who is trying to flank us from the loading bay.
Within less than ten minutes, the gunfire abruptly stops, replaced by the heavy, ragged breathing of the men and the hiss of a punctured pipe. The attack is contained quickly, and the bodies of the attackers slump motionless on the concrete floor.
Lukyan turns around instantly, his eyes frantic as he sweeps his gaze over my body. He drops to one knee in front of me, grabbing my shoulders. “Sofia. Look at me. Are you hit? Are you bleeding anywhere?”
“I’m—I’m fine,” I stammer, my hands shaking as I look past him at the blood pooling near the entrance. “Who are they? Is it Karl?”
Lukyan’s face hardens into pure stone as he stands up, looking down at one of the fallen men. He uses his boot to kick over the dead man’s wrist, revealing a specific, tactical comms unit blinking on his vest.
“This wasn’t random,” Lukyan says, his voice flat and freezing cold as he looks back at Maxim, who is already picking up the tactical case containing the books. “They knew the exact grid. This isn’t to warn us. He sent a clean-up crew to bury us in this locker.”
Fear grips me, tight and unyielding, threading through my veins like ice. The reality of how exposed we are crashes down on me all at once. Karl isn’t just watching us from afar; he’s right on our heels, anticipating our every move.
“He’s closing in,” I whisper, my voice trembling as I look at the smoke clearing in the corridor. “We have to move quickly.”
“We’re moving,” Lukyan says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I let him lead me quickly out of the shattered storage unit, stepping over the fallen men, and straight back to the armored car.
The guards form a tight, impenetrable perimeter around us until the doors slam shut.
I can only finally breathe when the tires screech and we’re driving off, speeding away from the warehouse district. At least the books are safe.
Before I can say anything else, Lukyan reaches out and drags me across the leather seat toward him, wrapping his large arms securely around my shaking frame.
“Come here,” he murmurs roughly against my hair, holding me so close I can feel the steady, powerful thud of his heartbeat. “You’re safe, Sofia. Nothing will harm you. I’ll protect you with my life.”
Listening to the absolute certainty in his voice, surrounded by his warmth, the terror in my chest slowly begins to recede.
I believe him.